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【书籍搬运】Chance's Folly 机会的讽刺

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原文地址:http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Skyrim:Chance%27s_Folly
作者:Zylmoc Golge
翻译:花溪流萤

(译者按:此处机会可以理解成机关算尽)
Minevah Iolos16岁时,便已成为令Balmora每个商铺和庄园最为头痛的不速之客。有时,她将一切贵重物品席卷一空;有时,她只是单纯的想体验撬锁和绕过陷阱找寻合适路径的乐趣。无论以上何种情况,她都会在显眼位置留下一对骰子,作为自己的标志以告知屋主这是自己的杰作。因此,这个神秘的幽灵被当地人命名为“机会”(用骰子决定偷多少?)。

以下是当时Balmora的经典对白之一:

亲爱的,你那个稀世项链哪去了?

亲爱的,它从机会手中溜走了。

机会一直对自己的爱好乐此不疲,除非预估出现偏差,或者撞上守卫或屋主,否则绝不收手。迄今为止,,虽有多次险些露出马脚,却从未失手被擒,甚至不曾遭人目击。直到某天,她决定扩大自己的搜索范围。她本打算前往维威克或者格尼西斯,但是一天晚上,她在Eight Plates(八碗碟)听到一个关于Heran Ancestral Tomb的传说,那座墓穴到处都是陷阱并且埋葬着Heran家族数百年来积攒的秘宝。

她脑中很快浮现穿越墓穴防线并窃取其中秘宝的想法,此举虽有吸引力,但对付墓室守卫并非自己所长。正当她苦思对策时,她看到了寻常般独坐于邻桌的Ulstyr Moresby。他是一个有些古怪的强壮布莱顿人,被认为是失去理智的卓越战士,相比周遭世界更倾向于倾听自己脑袋中的胡言乱语。

机会心想,如若这次冒险非找一个伙伴不可,眼前此人正是不二人选。他脑中没有也不会理解战利品应当等分这一概念。就算遭遇最坏情况,也就是说他在探索过程中不幸战死,也没有人会留意他的失踪(存在感好淡薄)。当然,等到他失去利用价值或者提起非分要求时,自己大可将他遗弃在迷宫中。

“Ulstyr,初次见面,我的名字叫 Minevah”她上前说道。“我正计划去Heran Ancestral Tomb冒险。如果你能对付那些怪物的话,剩下的门锁和陷阱放心交于我处理。你觉得如何?”

布莱顿人踌躇片刻方才回答,放佛要同脑袋中的声音商议一番。最终他还是点头同意,口中喃喃道,“对,对,对,用块石头抵住,滚烫的钢板。甲壳。门后墙壁。五十三。两个月后返回。”

“太好了”机会说道,对他的胡言乱语置若罔闻,“我们明天一早出发。”

第二天早上,机会和Ulstyr顺利接头, Ulstyr穿着一件壳制盔甲,手持一把隐约吐着火舌的附魔宝剑。一路上,她尝试着与他进行交流,但他的回复乱无条理,随后便放弃了这个打算。不久,一场突如其来的暴风雨纷至沓来,将两人淋成了落汤鸡。还好她并没有穿着盔甲, Ulstyr佩戴的也是光滑的壳甲,所以(身上积水不多?衣服没有变重?)对行程并无大碍。

深入昏暗墓穴之后,他们开始了探索。她的直觉相当正确—他俩真是黄金搭档。

她在古老的断绳机关,顶层落柱和踏空陷阱起效前就将其一一排除,并撬开了所有种类的锁头:简单的齿轮锁,复合锁,扭曲的搭扣锁,双挡片锁,以及各式各样叫不上名字的古锁,有的锁孔已经锈迹斑斑即便用对应的钥匙也难以打开。

与此同时,Ulstyr干掉了大量畸形魔怪,大部分都是城里女孩机会见所未见的类型。他所持宝剑上的火属性附魔对付本地的冰霜元素能够发挥奇效。他甚至在她失足滑入地面一个隐蔽缝隙前救了她一命。

“别伤着自己”他说道,脸上浮现出诚挚的关心。“接下来还有门后之墙,五十三。汲取指环,两个月后返回。用石头支撑呢。快走吧,机会女士。”

机会对Ulstyr的胡言乱语一带而过,但当他说出“机会”这个名字时,她大吃一惊。她当时自我介绍时可是说自己叫Minevah呀。或许那些农民是对的,当一个疯子说话时,其实是在和迪德拉王子希奥格拉丝交流,并从这位疯神口中征询意见和建议?不过更有可能是,他仅仅是在复述自己的见闻,毕竟这些年间“机会”已经和撬锁本身画上了等号。

随后两人继续前进,机会一直在思索Ulstyr的疯话。初次见面时,他曾经提到过“甲壳”,而此刻他正穿着相当实用的甲壳护甲。与之相对,“滚烫钢铁”。“门后之墙”又有何种含义?“两个月后返回又是和解?”数字“五十三”又意味着什么?

机会对Ulstyr刻意隐瞒墓穴知识的行为开始感到恼怒。她下定决心,一等财宝到手,马上甩开这个家伙。他已经将墓穴中的所有活物及不死守卫清理干净,如果获得财宝后按照原路返回,一路上根本不需护卫。

另外一个名词“汲取戒指”也引起了她的高度注意。她从Balmora一处庄园偷取这枚戒指的初衷,仅仅是因为它的光鲜外表。随后她才发现该戒指可以吸收他人精元。Ulstyr已经看穿这一点了么?如果对他使用戒指的话,他会惊讶么?

在他们继续前行的路上,她一直在寻思如何才能最好的甩脱这个布莱顿人。不知不觉来到了走廊尽头,尽头矗立着一扇用金锁锁上的大铁门。机会熟练的运用自己的技能搞定了两个齿轮锁和门闩,随后打开了大门,墓穴宝藏近在眼前。

机会走进门后,悄悄的脱下自己的戒指,亮出汲取指环。宝库中共有五十三袋黄金。回头看时,发现自己于布莱顿人之间的门已经闭上。在她这边看去,已不再是门,而是一堵墙,门后之墙。

很多天来,机会都在不断哭喊着想要找到一条离开宝库的路,但全部以失败告终。之后数天,她只能呆滞的听着自己脑袋中传出的希奥格拉丝的大笑。两个月后,当Ulstyr返回时,机会早已气绝。他用一块岩石支起大门,之后取走了所有金子。

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Chance's Folly
by Zylmoc Golge
The folly of a double-crosser


By the time she was sixteen, Minevah Iolos had been an unwelcome guest in every shop and manor in Balmora. Sometimes, she would take everything of value within; other times, it was enough to experience the pure pleasure of finding a way past the locks and traps. In either situation, she would leave a pair of dice in a prominent location as her calling card to let the owners know who had burgled them. The mysterious ghost became known to the locals as Chance.
A typical conversation in Balmora at this time:


My dear, whatever happened to that marvelous necklace of yours?

My dear, it was taken by Chance.

The only time when Chance disliked her hobby was when she miscalculated, and she came upon an owner or a guard. So far, she had never been caught, or even seen, but dozens of times she had uncomfortably close encounters. There came a day when she felt it was time to expand her reach. She considered going to Vivec or Gnisis, but one night at the Eight Plates, she heard a tale of the Heran Ancestral Tomb, an ancient tomb filled with traps and possessing hundreds of years of the Heran family treasures.
The idea of breaking the spell of the Heran Tomb and gaining the fortune within appealed to Chance, but facing the guardians was outside of her experience. While she was considering her options, she saw Ulstyr Moresby sitting at a table nearby, by himself as usual. He was huge brute of a Breton who had a reputation as a gentle eccentric, a great warrior who had gone mad and paid more attention to the voices in his head than to the world around him.
If she must have a partner in this enterprise, Chance decided, this man would be perfect. He would not demand or understand the concept of getting an equal share of the booty. If worse came to worse, he would not be missed if the inhabitants of the Heran Tomb were too much for him. Or if Chance found his company tiresome and elected to leave him behind.
"Ulstyr, I don't think we've ever met, but my name is Minevah," she said, approaching the table. "I'm fancying a trip to the Heran Ancestral Tomb. If you think you could handle the monsters, I could take care of unlocking doors and popping traps. What do you think?"
The Breton took a moment to reply, as if considering the counsel of the voices in his head. Finally he nodded his head in the affirmative, mumbling, "Yes, yes, yes, prop a rock, hot steel. Chitin. Walls beyond doors. Fifty-three. Two months and back."
"Splendid," said Chance, not the least put off by his rambling. "We'll leave early tomorrow."
When Chance met Ulstyr the next morning, he was wearing chitin armor and had armed himself with an unusual blade that glowed faintly of enchantment. As they began their trek, she tried to engage him in conversation, but his responses were so nonsensical that she quickly abandoned the attempts. A sudden rainstorm swelled over the plain, dousing them, but as she was wearing no armor and Ulstyr was wearing slick chitin, their progress was not impeded.
Into the dark recesses of the Heran Tomb, they delved. Her instincts had been correct -- they made very good partners.
She recognized the ancient snap-wire traps, deadfalls, and brittle backs before they were triggered, and cracked all manners of lock: simple tumbler, combination, twisted hasp, double catch, varieties from antiquity with no modern names, rusted heaps that would have been dangerous to open even if one possessed the actual key.
Ulstyr for his part slew scores of bizarre fiends, the likes of which Chance, a city girl, had never seen before. His enchanted blade's spell of fire was particularly effective against the Frost Atronachs. He even saved her when she lost her footing and nearly plummeted into a shadowy crack in the floor.
"Not to hurt thyself," he said, his face showing genuine concern. "There are walls beyond doors and fifty-three. Drain ring. Two months and back. Prop a rock. Come, Mother Chance."
Chance had not been listening to much of Ulstyr's babbling, but when he said "Chance," she was startled. She had introduced herself to him as Minevah. Could it be that the peasants were right, and that when mad men spoke, they were talking to the daedra prince Sheogorath who gave them advice and information beyond their ken? Or was it rather, more sensibly, that Ulstyr was merely repeating what he heard tell of in Balmora where in recent years "Chance" had become synonymous with lockpicking?
As the two continued on, Chance thought of Ulstyr's mumblings. He had said "chitin" when they met as if it had just occurred to him, and the chitin armor that he wore had proven useful. Likewise, "hot steel." What could "walls beyond doors" mean? Or "two months and back"? What numbered "fifty-three"?
The notion that Ulstyr possessed secret knowledge about her and the tomb they were in began to unnerve Chance. She made up her mind then to abandon her companion once the treasure had been found. He had cut through the living and undead guardians of the dungeon: if she merely left by the path they had entered, she would be safe without a defender.
One phrase he said made perfect sense to her: "drain ring." At one of the manors in Balmora, she had picked up a ring purely because she thought it was pretty. It was not until later that she discovered that it could be used to sap other people's vitality. Could Ulstyr be aware of this? Would he be taken by surprise if she used it on him?
She formulated her plan on how best to desert the Breton as they continued down the hall. Abruptly the passage ended with a large metal door, secured by a golden lock. Using her pick, Chance snapped away the two tumblers and bolt, and swung the door open. The treasure of the Heran Tomb was within.
Chance quietly slipped her glove off her hand, exposing the ring as she stepped into the room. There were fifty-three bags of gold within. As she turned, the door closed between her and the Breton. On her side, it did not resemble a door anymore, but a wall. Walls beyond doors.
For many days, Chance screamed and screamed, as she tried to find a way out of the room. For some days after that, she listened dully to the laughter of Sheogorath within her own head. Two months later, when Ulstyr returned, she was dead. He used a rock to prop open the door and remove the gold.

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