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【书籍搬运】Flight from the Thalmor 逃离萨尔摩

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原文地址:http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Skyrim:Flight_from_the_Thalmor

全文翻译:

逃离萨尔摩

——哈德里克·橡心

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最为亲爱的读者:您将要阅读的作品曾被抄写转录,以便其中故事可在帝国全境流传。但请不要将这故事误认为小说。本作中所记载的事件俱为属实,原稿均出自一本私人日志(此日志目前正由落锤的羽笔之堂精心保管),事件发生距离本书出版尚不足一年。

——阿沙德·伊本·卡立德,文书长,羽笔之堂,落锤

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已经九天了。自我逃出桎喾的九天。自我用锁紧双手的锁链扼死捕获者的九天。自我冲入夜色,随时探听周围动静却不敢回首去看的九天。

要理解我目前的处境,必须先知道我来自何方,而我的故事正是由此开始。

我名叫哈德里克·橡心,是天际骄傲的诺德人。我是个职业吟唱诗人,在孤寂城的诗人学院接受了正规培训。多年来我以作旅行乐手谋生,还在许多领主的军队里承担过战诗人的工作。

完全可以说,如果我不是个诗人,从一开始我就不会落入这摊烂事中来。

麻烦始于我开始歌唱第九也是最伟大神灵塔洛斯的故事。塔洛斯被天际省的居民所敬爱,不过事实证明,萨尔摩可并不爱他。

啊,当然,萨尔摩,在如今的天际省像感冒一样常见,也是同等程度地烦人。或者至少在他们展现出真正的力量和影响之前,我是这么想的。

给那些不知道来龙去脉的人做个解释:萨尔摩是近来天际省的“贵宾”——是来自艾德莫精灵国的高精灵,慈悲为怀所以才在卫国战争中没有把我们所有人扫荡干净。

但是,天际省每个诺德人都知道,萨尔摩的慈悲代价高昂。白金条约——我们与他们的和约——中的一条就是废止塔洛斯崇拜。区区人类得以升神?荒谬可笑,萨尔摩宣称。所以塔洛斯的公开崇拜在天际省全境被禁,而但有萨尔摩存在的城市这条禁令就执行得更为严格。城市,我不得不强调,原本是帝国最为安全的落脚处。

在其中一个这样的城市里——就是麦卡斯——我自行决定要反抗塔洛斯崇拜的禁令。我的反抗方式是——还能是什么呢——唱歌。若是花费许多功夫原创了一首曲子并练习了多次,又有哪个诗人有不演唱之理?于是我就演唱了,不是一场,不是两场,而是七场。一天一场,持续了七天。

有些事情我的绝大多数同胞并不清楚:天际省中并非所有的萨尔摩都地位相等,职责相同。实际上萨尔摩中特别有一组成员在阴影中秘密行动——观察并等待有诺德人违反法律继续崇拜全能的塔洛斯。这些人就是裁判官,他们的工作就是强化禁令——白金条约中最为可怕的条款。

如果有机会的话,我会第八次演唱我的歌曲。可惜的是,我并没有机会,因为那些裁判官一直在观察,在等待。凌晨半夜我被头套黑布袋,绑上马车颠簸一路,还有人恶狠狠保证我会在“新家”居住愉快,于是我便明白那肯定是萨尔摩的秘密监狱或者拘留营。我确信我是没办法活着从那里出去了。

我即刻意识到自己必须逃出去。不管用什么办法——就算在过程中被杀也好——我也必须从这群捕获者的手中逃出。什么都比在这群萨尔摩的弃神监狱中腐烂到世界末日要好。

马车停下,我们安营过夜,这时我终于抓住了机会。我的两个萨尔摩看守之一进林狩猎,把我留给另外一个单独看管。幸亏如此,我的计划终得实现。

如今已是九天过去,现在我总算意识到自己有多么愚蠢。我怎么就不能只唱一遍呢?或许两遍?或许根本就不该唱?我是没办法收敛自己身为诺德人的骄傲,却也想不到萨尔摩对领主们的影响力究竟有多大?

没错,我没想到。所以我只好逃命去了,就像野兔要从猎狗的嘴里逃开,居无定所,难以休息,不得入眠。可萨尔摩尾随在我身后。下一步我要去往何处?怎样才能从他们手中逃脱?老实说我不知道。我唯一能确信的事情就是,如果艾德莫精灵国的探子没办法奴役你的灵魂,他们就会取走你的性命。

我名叫哈德里克·橡心,我是天际骄傲的诺德人。记住我,因为很快我就会死去。

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Flight from the Thalmor
by Hadrik Oaken-Heart
A written epitaph of a Nordic skald.


Dearest reader: The work you are about to experience has been copied and duplicated, so that the story it relates can be spread throughout the Empire. But make no mistake - this is not a work of fiction. The events chronicled in this account are all true, were originally documented in a private journal (which now remains safely guarded in the House of Quills in Hammerfell) and occurred not more than a year before this book was printed.
- Ashad Ibn Khaled, High Scribe, House of Quills, Hammerfell

It's been nine days. Nine days since I slipped my bonds. Nine days since I strangled my captor with my own chains. And nine days since I rushed headlong into the night, always listening, but never looking back.
But in order to understand my current predicament, one must first understand where I came from, and just where this story began.
My name is Hadrik Oaken-Heart, and I am a proud Nord of Skyrim. I am a skald by trade, and received my formal training at the Bards College in Solitude. For years, I made my occupation as a traveling musician and minstrel, and even served several stints as war-bard in service to the armies of the various Jarls.
And it's fairly safe to say that if I weren't a bard, I never would have gotten into this mess to begin with.
My troubles began when I first started singing about Talos, the Ninth and greatest Divine, beloved of the people of Skyrim. Turns out, he's not so beloved by the Thalmor.
Ah yes, the Thalmor. As common as a head cold in Skyrim these days, and just as annoying. Or so I thought at the time, before their true power and inlfuence [sic] made itself known.
For those not in the know, the Thalmor are Skyrim's recently honored "guests" - high elves of the Aldmeri Dominion who were gracious enough not to wipe us all out during the Great War.
But, as every Nord of Skyrim knows, Thalmor graciousness comes at a terrible price. One of the stipulations of the White-Gold Concordat - the peace treaty between our peoples - was the abolishment of Talos worship. A man ascend to godhood? Preposterous, claim the Thalmor. And so, the open worship of Talos has been outlawed in Skyrim, and actively enforced in those cities where the Thalmor have a tangible presence. Cities, I might add, in which the Empire has the most secure foothold.
It was in one of these cities - Markarth, to be exact - where I made the conscious decision to defy the ban on Talos worship. And my defiance came in the form of - what else? - a song. For what bard who has spent time writing and rehearsing an original work can possible refrain from performing it? So perform it I did. Not once, not twice, but seven times. Once a day, for an entire week.
Now here's something most of my kinsman are unaware of: not all Thalmor in Skyrim are equal in station, or purpose. In fact, there is one group in particular that operates secretly, in the shadows - watching and waiting for those Nords who break the law, and continue their worship of almighty Talos. These are the Justiciars, and it is their job to enforce this, the most terrible of conditions of the White-Gold Concordat.
And so, I would have performed my song for an eighth time had I been given the opportunity. Sadly, I was not. For the Justiciars had been watching, had been waiting. Instead, I received a black sack over my head in the wee hours of the morning, a dreadfully uncomfortable wagon ride, and sinister promises that I would enjoy my "new home," which I came to realize was some sort of secret Thalmor prison or detention camp. One I was certain I would never leave alive.
It was at that moment I realized I needed to make my escape. No matter what - even if I died in the attempt - I had to slip the grasp of my captors. Better that than rot in some godsforsaken Thalmor jail until the end of time.
I finally got my chance when the wagon stopped, and we made camp for the night. One of my two Thalmor guards set off into the forest to hunt, leaving me alone with the other. And so, my account comes full circle.
It is now nine days later, and in that time, I have realized the true extent of my foolishness. I couldn't have sung the song just once? Or maybe twice? Or not at all? I couldn't have swallowed my stubborn Nord pride and realized just how much power and influence the Thalmor truly have over the Jarls?
No. I could not. So now I run. Like a hare from the hound, I run. Always moving, rarely resting, never sleeping. But the Thalmor dog my every move. Where will I go? How will I escape their grasp? I honestly don't know. The only thing I now understand for certain is this: if the agents of the Aldmeri Dominion cannot have your soul, then they will take your very life.
My name is Hadrik Oaken-Heart, and I am a proud Nord of Skyrim. Remember me. For soon I will be dead.

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