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【书籍搬运】Vernaccus and Bourlor Vernaccus和Bourlor

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

作者:塔维·德米奥

翻译:花溪流萤

周六晚上,海格德一脸悲伤的步入国王火腿店中。在他点了一杯格瑞夫(一种药酒)后,他的好朋友格拉茨和席翁马拉凑上前来,向他致以诚挚的关心。

“你怎么了,海格德?” 席翁马拉问道。“你迟到了,而且看起来你肯定被什么灾难打击到了,丢钱了还是失去亲人了。”

“我没丢钱”海格德皱眉说道:“我刚从我的外甥那里收到音信,我的表姐安丽琪死了。信中说这是自然死亡,毕竟年纪大了。安丽琪就比我小10岁。”

“啊,真是不幸。但这正说明了尽情享受人生乐趣是多么的重要,因为你永远不会知道什么你什么时候大限将至,格拉茨感叹道,最近几个小时,他一直坐在烟熏火燎的长凳上,他不是一个抱怨自我命运的人。

席翁马拉附和道:“生命尽然短暂。“但请原谅我的我的自作多情,很少有人意识到我们死去后仍然能带来影响。或许这能令人欣慰一些。例如,我跟你说过韦纳苏斯和本洛的故事么?”

“这点我不相信”海格德说道

韦纳苏斯是个迪德拉(席翁马拉向壁炉上丢了几个小球,调整了下心情之后说道)尽管这个故事发生在很久很久以前,但是公平地说韦纳苏斯还是那个韦纳苏斯,时间对于不朽的 迪德拉来说有什么意义?”

“没错”格拉茨打断了他:“我明白不朽意味着什么—”

“此时我只是想试着给我们的朋友讲一个他真正需要的鼓舞人心的故事罢了”席翁马拉吼道:“如果你不介意的话,我不可能整夜你争论这个”。

“你们一定没有听说过韦纳苏斯( 席翁马拉说道,暂时抛开不朽这个话题)即便拥有像他那样的力量和声名,他仍然被当时公认过高的标准当作弱小的存在,毫无疑问,对他缺乏尊重的行为激怒了他,他的表现和那些弱小的迪德拉差不多,展开了血腥的杀戮。

很快恐怖的传言就席卷了科洛文 西部 所有的村子。举村被荡平,城堡被摧毁,果园和田地被付之一炬,并且变得寸草不生。

更令村民们感到雪上加霜的是,一个他在湮灭领域的老对手前来拜访他,她是一个叫赫拉瓦萨的迪德拉 魅惑者,她很乐于奚落他,然后看他到底能被自己激怒到何种地步。

“你以为冲毁一个村庄就能给人留下深刻印象?”她嘲笑道:“搞垮整个大陆吧,这或许能让你获得一丁点儿的关注。”

韦纳苏斯被彻底激怒了。尽管他距离颠覆整个泰姆瑞尔大陆还差得很远,但他一直都在不断尝试。

必须要有一个英雄出来阻止这个疯狂的迪德拉了,幸运的是,这个英雄出现了。

他的名字叫做本洛尔,据说他受凯娜瑞斯神的庇佑。这是他非人般的弓箭射击精度的唯一解释,他从来没有脱过靶。当他还是个孩子时,他就通过大自然的锤炼学习箭术。大自然教会了他如何坚定步伐,如何迅速搭箭,弓弦的正确握持,最好的射击方式。他忘记了一切自然法则,每一次箭都承载着风的气息直捣靶标,不管靶标距离咫尺还是远在数里之外。指哪打哪,从无落空。

本洛尔对村长们寻求帮助的乞求做出了回应。不幸的是,做为一个伟大的射手,他在骑行方面并不同样擅长。当他穿过森林赶到某位村长所在地,一个叫做依文萨康的地方时,韦纳苏斯已经杀光了那里所有的村民,赫拉瓦萨看到这里,仅是不屑叹了口气。

“要知道杀死一个小地方的长官并不能令你成名。你需要击败的是伟大的战士。伊斯格拉莫 或者 佩林纳尔·怀兹塔可亦或—”她透过森林凝视着出现在那里的人影说道:“那个家伙”。

“他是谁?”韦纳苏斯冲着浑身布满伤痕,瑟瑟发抖的村长吼道

“泰姆瑞尔最伟大的弓箭手,他从来没有脱过靶”

此时本洛尔已经弯弓搭箭,并瞄准了这个迪德拉。与此同时,韦纳苏斯忽然觉得想笑 -这个家伙根本就没有瞄向他-但是他仍然保有很强的自我保护意识。眼前的男人看起来如此的自信,以至于迪德拉 相信赫拉瓦萨的传说所言非虚。箭甫一离弦,韦纳苏斯就化为一团火焰逃遁了。

箭矢射入了一棵大树之中。本格尔怔怔的站在那里凝望远方。他的箭,脱靶了。

在湮灭领域内,韦纳苏斯愤怒异常。从一个像这样的凡人那里溜走—一个卑贱的邋遢鬼都不会表现的如此懦弱。他感觉自己是多么卑微,怯弱的生物啊。在他想方设法对这样的情况采取补救措施时,他发现最为令人恐惧的迪德拉 王子莫拉格·巴尔已经站在了他的面前。

“我从来没指责过你的无能”巨人咆哮道:“但是比证明你的价值更重要的是,你应该向曼德斯的生物证明一个迪德拉的力量远比所谓的神赐要强大。

湮灭空间的其他居民也很快同意了(就像他们一直做的那样)莫拉格·巴尔的观点。对于各种被人类英雄亲手击败的事情,迪德拉 总是表现的很敏感。韦纳苏斯被封为难以捉摸的野兽,不可延续的存在,不可触摸之人,凯娜瑞斯的灾难。他的神祇被建造于晨风和天际最偏远的角落里。

与此同时,本洛尔发现自己相当的失败,再也没有人请求他去拯救村庄。他对自己的失败如此的伤心以至于成为了一个隐士,终生没有重拾自己的弓箭。几个月以后,他死了,没有人知道也没有人前去哀悼。

“这就是你想要鼓舞我的故事?”海格德怀疑道:“蠕虫之王讲的故事都比它激动人心。”

“等一下”席翁马拉笑道:“还没有完。”

年复一年,韦纳苏斯满足于自己日益传奇的故事以及遍布湮灭领域逐年增加的崇拜者,除了怯懦和俞来俞趋向于凶暴,他也是一个懒惰的生物,他的追随者宣称他躲过了上千弓箭手的箭矢,穿越海洋但是身上滴水不沾,以及其他可怕的不能展示于人的特殊能力,感谢他们,他曾败退于本洛尔 的真实故事反而被遗忘了。

但是来自赫拉瓦萨的充满恶意的坏消息也接踵而来,她嫉妒他日益崇高的威望,所以坏笑着对他说:“你的神殿正在被捣毁。”

“看谁敢?”他咆哮道

“每一个在旷野中途经你神殿的人都会向那里投掷石头”赫拉瓦萨鬼笑道:“你并不能惩罚他们,你代表不可被触碰的男人。人们怎么认为他们可以打中你?”

韦纳苏斯透过面纱瞥向曼德斯世界,发现这件事情是真的。他在科洛文 西部的其中一个神祇被一大群雇佣兵团团包围,他们在兴高采烈的向其神像投掷石子。他的信徒混迹其中,祈祷奇迹的发生。

一个瞬间,他出现在这群雇佣兵面前,他的愤怒令人恐惧到难以逼视。在被他杀掉一个之前,这些雇佣兵慌忙逃进森林之中。他的信徒慌忙开启神殿的大门,又害怕又高兴的拜倒在他的脚下。他的愤怒消失了。然后他被一颗石子击中了。

接着又是一个,他转过身去寻找攻击者,但是空气中突然到处都充满了石子。

韦纳苏斯看不到他们,但是可以听到树林里的雇佣兵讥笑道:“甚至没有打不中的石子。”

“不击中他才是不可能的!”另一个雇佣兵附和道

在巨大的屈辱中,这个迪德拉跌跌撞撞的逃进了神殿以躲避攻击,一颗石头击穿了关闭着的大门,击中了他的后背。他的脸被打破,愤怒和羞愧消失了,取而代之的是刺骨的疼痛。他转过身来颤栗着,那些信徒们在神殿的阴影中抱做一团,他们的信仰破灭了。

“建造神殿的木头是哪里来的?”韦纳苏斯呻吟道

“大部分材料都来自依文萨康村庄周围树林里”他的最高祭祀耸肩道

韦纳苏斯点了点头。他倒下了,露出了后背上深深的创伤。一枚埋在大门树材年轮中的生锈箭矢突然射出然后击穿了他。这个迪德拉 随即化为尘土消失于风中。

从那之后,这个神殿就被遗弃了,尽管韦纳苏斯不久后便宣告复活,并且成为界限以及失效之神,并没有完全消失于视线当中。本洛尔的传奇也许永远不会广为人知,但是仍然有人像我一样讲到他的故事。我们的优势在于我们知道一些这个伟大的射手不知道的东西,他的最后一箭终于还是射中了目标(没有脱靶)。

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Vernaccus and Bourlor
by Tavi Dromio
How a short-tempered Daedra tries to make something of himself


Hallgerd walked into the King's Ham that Loredas evening, his face clouded with sadness. While he ordered a mug of greef, his mates Garaz and Xiomara joined him with moderately sincere concern.
"What's wrong with you, Hallgerd?" asked Xiomara. "You're later than usual, and there's a certain air of tragedy you've dragged in with you. Have you lost money, or a nearest and dearest?"
"I haven't lost any money," Hallgerd grimaced. "But I've just received word from my nephew than [sic] my cousin Allioch has died. Perfectly natural, he says, just old age. Allioch was ten years younger than me."
"Aw, that's terrible. But it goes to show that it's important to savor all of life's possibilities, 'cause you never know when your time is coming," said Garaz, who had been sitting at the same stool at the smoky cornerclub for the last several hours. He was not one cursed with self-awareness.
"Life's short all right," agreed Xiomara. "But if you'll pardon a sentimental thought, few of us are aware of the influence we'll have after our deaths. Perhaps there's comfort there. For example, have I told you the story about Vernaccus and Bourlor?"
"I don't believe so," said Hallgerd.
Vernaccus was a daedra (said Xiomara, throwing a few dribbles on [sic] flin on the hearth to cast the proper mood), and though our tale took place many, many years ago, it would be fair to say that Vernaccus still is one. For what after all is time to the immortal daedra?
"Actually," Garaz interrupted. "I understand that the notion of immortality--"
"I am trying to offer our friend an inspirational tale in his hour of need," Xiomara growled. "I don't have all bloody night to tell it, if you don't mind."
You wouldn't have heard of Vernaccus (said Xiomara, abandoning the theme of immortality for the time being) for even at the height of his power and fame, he was considered feeble by the admittedly high standards of the day. Of course, this lack of respect infuriated him, and his reaction was typical of lesser daedra. He went on a murderous rampage.
Soon word spread through all the villages in the Colovian West of the unholy terror. Whole families had been butchered, castles destroyed, orchards and fields torched and cursed so nothing would ever grow there again.
To make things even worse for the villagers, Vernaccus began getting visitations from an old rival of his from Oblivion. She was adaedra seducer named Horavatha, and she delighted in taunting him to see how angry she could make him become.
"You've flooded a village and that's supposed to be impressive?" she would sneer. "Try collapsing a continent, and maybe you'll get a little attention."
Vernaccus could become pretty angry. He didn't come very close to collapsing the continent of Tamriel, but it wasn't for lack of trying.
A hero was needed to face the mad daedra, and fortunately, one was available.
His name was Bourlor, and it was said that he had been blessed by the goddess Kynareth. That was the only explanation for his inhuman accuracy with his bow and arrow, for he never missed a target. As a child he had driven his marksmanship tutors wild with frustration. They would tell him how to plant his feet, how to nock a bolt, the proper grip for the cord, the best method of release. He ignored all the rules, and somehow, every time, the arrow would catch a breath of wind and sail directly to his target. It did not matter if the quarry was moving or still, at very close range or miles away. Whatever he wanted to strike with his arrow would be struck.
Bourlor answered the call when one of the village mayors begged him for help. Unfortunately, he was not as great a horseman as he was an archer. As he rode through the forest toward the mayor's town, a place called Evensacon, Vernaccus was already murdering everyone there. Horavatha watched, and stifled back a yawn.
"Murdering a small town mayor isn't going to put you in famous company, you know. What you need is a great champion to defeat. Someone like Ysgramor or Pelinal Whitestrake or--" she stared at the figure emerging from the forest. "That fellow!"
"Who's he?" growled Vernaccus between bites of the mayor's quivering body.
"The greatest archer in Tamriel. He's never missed."
Bourlor had his bow strung and was pointing it at the daedra. For a moment, Vernaccus felt like laughing -- the fellow was not even aiming straight -- but he had a well-honed sense of self-preservation. There was something about the man's look of confidence that convinced the daedra that Horavatha wasn't lying. As the bolt left the bow, Vernaccus vanished in a sheet of flame.
The arrow impaled a tree. Bourlor stood and stared. He had missed a target.
In Oblivion, Vernaccus raged. Fleeing before a mortal man like that -- not even the basest scamp would have been so craven. He had exposed himself for the weak, cowardly creature he was. As he considered what steps to take to salvage the situation, he found himself face-to-knee with the most fearsome of the Daedra Princes, Molag Bal.
"I never thought anything much of you, Vernaccus," the giant boomed. "But you have more than proven your worth. You have shown the creatures of Mundus that the daedra are more powerful than the blessings of the Gods."
The other denizens of Oblivion quickly agreed (as they always did) with the view of Molag Bal. The daedra are, after all, always very sensitive about their various defeats at the hands of mortal champions. Vernaccus was proclaimed The Elusive Beast, The Unpursuable One, He Who Cannot Be Touched, The Bane of Kynareth. Shrines devoted to him began to be built in remote corners ofMorrowind and Skyrim.
Bourlor meanwhile, now found flawed, was never again called to rescue a village. He was so heartbroken over his failure to strike his target that he became a hermit, and never restrung his bow again. Some months later, he died, unmourned and unremembered.
"Is this really the tale you thought would cheer me?" asked Hallgerd incredulously. "I've heard the King of Worms told more inspirational stories."
"Wait," smiled Xiomara. "I'm not finished yet."
For a year's time, Vernaccus was content to watch his legend grow and his fledging worship spread from his home in Oblivion. He was, in addition to being cowardly and inclined toward murderous rages, also a very lazy creature. His worshippers told tales of their Master avoiding the bolts of a thousand archers, of moving through oceans without getting wet, and other feats of avoidance that he would rather not have to demonstrate in person. The real story of his ignominious retreat from Bourlor was thankfully forgotten.
The bad news, when it came, was delivered to him with some relish by Horavatha. He had delighted in her jealousy at his growing reputation, so it was with a cruel smile she told him, "Your shrines are being assaulted."
"Who dares?" he roared.
"Everyone who passes them in the wilderness feels the need to throw a stone," Horavatha purred. "You can hardly blame them. After all, they represent He Who Cannot Be Touched. How could anyone be expected to resist such a target?"
Vernaccus peered through the veil into the world of Mundus and saw that it was true. One of his shrines in Colovian West country was surrounded by a large platoon of mercenary soldiers, who delighted in pelting it with rocks. His worshippers huddled inside, praying for a miracle.
In an instant, he appeared before the mercenaries and his rage was terrifying to behold. They fled into the woods before he even had a chance to murder one of them. His worshippers threw open the wooden door to the shrine and dropped to their knees in joy and fear. His anger melted. Then a stone struck him.
Then another. He turned to face his assailants, but the air was suddenly filled with rocks.
Vernaccus could not see them, but he heard mercenaries in the woods laugh, "It's not even trying to move out of the way!"
"It's impossible not to hit him!" guffawed another.
With a roar of humiliation, the daedra bounded into the shrine, chased by the onslaught. One of the stones knocked the door closed behind him, striking him in the back. His face broke, anger and embarrassment disappearing, replaced by pain. He turned, shaking, to his worshippers who huddled in the shadows of the shrine, their faith shattered.
"Where did you get the wood to build this shrine?" Vernaccus groaned.
"Mostly from an [sic] copse of trees near the village of Evensacon," his high-priest shrugged.
Vernaccus nodded. He dropped forward, revealing the deep wound in his back. A rusted arrowhead buried in a whorl in the wood of the door had jolted loose in the assault and impaled him. The daedra vanished in a whirlwind of dust.
The shrines were abandoned shortly thereafter, though Vernaccus did have a brief resurgence as the Patron Spirit of Limitations and Impotence before fading from memory altogether. The legend of Bourlor himself never became very well known either, but there are still some who tell the tale, like myself. And we have the advantage of knowing what the Great Archer himself didn't know on his deathbed -- his final arrow found its target after all.

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