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【书籍搬运】Red Eagle's Rite 红鹰仪式

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

红鹰传奇

这(原文This的T是个大写的图片)个故事是根据冬堡学生克拉里斯·维恩的记忆笔录下来的。故事发生的时间据推测应该是1E1030年,不过和其他的口头传承的故事差不多,大部分都会有一个时空错误的毛病。有趣的是,还有一个跟这个类似的国王和他的传奇兵刃的故事也出现在其他的河源地古代神话中。 很久以前,一个小孩诞生于碎裂岭。因为他出生的时候鸟儿尖声高鸣欢迎他的降世,秋天的山岭上也一片喜庆的绯红,因此人们叫他法兰,在河源地的方言中是“红鹰”的意思。

从此他的传奇开始了:河源地之子,生于吉祥的天空之下,以及他以血的颜色命名的名字。

当时有十个王统治着河源地,尽管人们很自由,但他们仍然要饱受分裂和内战之苦。预言师预见到了这个男孩的命数:举世无双的战士,元始的河源地之主,注定将一切统一在他的名下。

法兰的力量与日俱增,看起来预言似乎就要应验了。河源地的绝壁上到处矗立着红鹰的旗帜,他的子民生活繁荣昌盛。

然后南方的女皇海斯特拉大军压境了,一个个国王站在她面前,一个个国王又在她面前倒下,向她屈膝称臣,或是在战场上被屠戮殆尽。

她的军团最后来到了碎裂岭,并派出使节要求他们投降。法兰拒绝出卖他的子民的自由,但长老们屈从了,将他流放,并接受了帝国赋予的枷锁。

至此他的土地、他的人民和他的名号都被外国的侵略者所窃取。在接下来的岁月里,红鹰广为人知,以其代表了河源地永不屈服的精神,百折不弯,不可摧毁,浴血奋战。

他将那些怀念旧时光、渴望自由、希望建立新的国家并忠实于他的河源地人集结了起来。他们在晚上一同袭击侵略者和叛徒,一到早上就隐遁回绝壁和洞穴之间逃避追捕。但这是远远不够的,那些帝国的巡逻队和守军就已让他们疲于应对,更不要说还有更多的军队从葱翠富庶的南部前来接替了。

在一个云雾笼罩的夜里,红鹰的队伍正在靠烧苔藓微弱的烟火取暖,一个破布蔽体看起来乱蓬蓬的蒙面人向他们蹒跚走来。尽管手下们一边嘲弄一边向来人丢石头,法兰却感到有什么东西冥冥之中召唤着他。来人把兜帽摘下扔到黯淡的火焰中,这下看清了她原来是一名古老而可敬的鸦婆。她来签订一个契约,提供力量并索取代价。

老巫婆的条件是他的心,他的意志和他的人格。从那天起,他成为了复仇、残酷和无情的幽灵。叛军的人数和力量都有所增长,没有什么人能够和他们对抗了。法兰的眼睛在那些日子里变得阴冷,黑色的眼眸里反映的已经不完全是他自己的意识了。过了两年,外国侵略者就被干干净净地赶出了河源地。

然而这样的和平却无法持续,一支从未见过的迅捷无比的侵略军向他们袭来。海斯特拉的将军们包围了红鹰的要塞两个星期,直到他亲自参战,孤身一人,没有甲胄只有满腔的愤怒。在他的火焰之剑下敌军横尸上千,余众纷纷溃散,并且入夜以后他也是如此。靠近法兰的战士们说,他的眼睛在那最后一晚又变得澄澈了。

他被送往岩石之中为他准备的坟墓。他用尽仅存的力气把他的宝剑交给了他的子民,并立下了誓言:继续战斗,直到河源地重获自由,再将他的兵器送还给他,他将站起来再次领导人民。

他将他的生命、他的梦想和他的宝剑都奉献给了他的子民。但当所有的血债都血偿以后,他将重新获得这些。

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The Legend of Red Eagle
by Tredayn Dren, Archivist of Winterhold
An ancient tale about the invasion of the Reach by the First Empire.


This tale was transcribed from the memory of Clarisse Vien, student of Winterhold. Elements of the legend suggest a date c.1E 1030, though as with any oral tradition, much of it is likely a later anachronism. Curiously, stories of a similar king and his legendary blade appear in other ancient myths of the Reach.
Long ago, a child was born in the Sundered Hills. They named him Faolan, which means 'Red Eagle' in the tongue of the Reach, for the screeching bird-call that greeted his birth, and the crimson blooms on the autumn hills.
Thus began his legend: Reach-child, born under auspicious skies, his very name the color of blood.
Ten kings ruled the Reach in those days, and though men were free, the people were scattered and warred amongst themselves. The augurs foresaw the boy's destiny: a warrior without peer, first and foremost Lord of the Reach, chosen to unite all under his name.
Faolan grew in years and strength, and it seemed the prophecy would be fulfilled. The banner of the Red Eagle was raised along the cliffs of the Reach, and his people prospered.
Then came HestraEmpress of the South, riding to war. One by one, the kings stood before her. One by one, they fell aside, bending knee in Imperial bargains or slaughtered on the battlefield.
Her legions came at last to the Sundered Hills, and envoys were sent to bargain for their surrender. Faolan refused to yield the freedom of his people, but the elders were afraid, cast him out, and accepted the Imperial yoke.
Thus was stolen by the foreign invaders: his land, his people, his very name. In the years that followed, Red Eagle became known as the untamed spirit of the Reach, unbowed, unbroken, stained by the blood of his foes.
He gathered loyal Reachmen to himself, those who clung to the old ways, who yearned for freedom, and forged a new nation. Together, they fell upon the occupiers and the traitors by night, disappearing into the cliffs and caves each morn, evading capture. It was not enough. For every Imperial patrol and garrison they wiped out, yet more seemed to march from the green south to replace them.
One night, under a cloud-choked sky, the men of the Red Eagle warmed themselves over damp fires of smoldering moss. A huddled, shambling figure came to them, cloaked in rags, face cowled. Though his men mocked and cast stones at the stranger, Faolan sensed something, and beckoned. The cowl was thrown back in the dim light, and she revealed herself to be one the ancient and venerableHagravens. She offered power, for a price, and a pact was made.
Thus was brokered to the witch: his heart, his will, his humanity. From that day forth, his was a spirit of vengeance, pitiless and beyond remorse. The rebels grew in strength and numbers, and none could stand against them. Faolan's eyes burned coldly in those days, black opals reflecting a mind not entirely his own. Two years passed, and the foreigners were all but driven from the Reach.
Such peace could not last, however, and a great host fell upon them, a swift army of invaders unlike any before. For a fortnight, Hestra's generals laid siege to Red Eagle's stronghold, till he himself came forth for battle, alone and robed in nothing but his righteous fury. A thousand foreigners fell before his flaming sword, and the enemy was routed. Yet, when night fell, so too did he. The warriors who came to him said Faolan's eyes were clear again on that final night.
He was taken to the place prepared for him, a tomb hidden deep within the rock. With his remaining strength he presented his sword to his people, and swore an oath: Fight on, and when at last the Reach is free, his blade should be returned, that he might rise and lead them again.
Thus was given for his people: his life, his dream, his sword. But when every debt is repaid in blood, these he shall reclaim once more.

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