It seems long ago now. Though I suppose it’s not quite so in reality; the day the sky opened up and great chains fell out of it. We did not know what it was then, rather just a terror from beyond that suddenly materialised and dug into the sand like a duneripper. Neighbour, friend and family alike were struck down by the creatures that spewed forth that day.
~My name is Reverielle af-Tahar, and on a warm day in the middle of my village’s bazaar a dark anchor from Coldharbour landed.~
I love the sands, the sun, and the stars of home, the Alik’r Desert. To many it is an oppressive place where the heat and dryness are known to sap the endurance from even the most hardy wayfarer. But for myself and my family, for my kin, my Ra Gada, it is our homeland.
The village of Aswala Stables was a very small and often overlooked by travelers on the trade route from Sentinel to Bergama or Kozanset. Though it matter not to us. We shared our home with our famed Yokudan Charger. My family – as do many others there – tended to them daily. We would often house them inside with us for a time when the heat was especially relentless, or when the sandstorms especially strong. We would groom and platt their manes as if the coarse hair be upon our own head. They are as but our children and we loved them dearly.
~The day the anchor fell many children were slaughtered.~
My family are Forebears, but we still hold to many traditions of our ancestors. One of which is the teaching to all Redguard how to pull a blade in Onsi’s name, and to dance & sword-sing with one in Leki’s. Often we would train under my father’s and uncle’s tutelage. All the children of the village together. Teaching us all the ways of the blade. It’s philosophy. Come nightfall we would often listen to recitals from Frandar Hunding’s ‘The Book of Circles’ and practice our stances. Critiquing our form against the shadows cast upon our home’s stone walls. With two blades, with one, with a blade and a shield. Sometimes with uncle’s old wooden staff for a laugh. Sometime with a broom, when mother was not watching.
~A few that day stood against the seemingly endless horrors coming out of the sky. My kin drenched themselves in honour before their final journey to Tu’whucca’s Far Shore. They died true redguards all. Giving, so many of us may yet live.~
We – my sisters, brother and I – had always planned on leaving our home: To prove ourselves. Our Ra Gada rite of passage. Our walkabout. The great evil from the sky brought that day closer, and with dreadful cost. So, with the heat of desert’s flame and brightness of sun’s flare I go now. I travel to aid where I can. No longer a stable-girl, no longer a farm-hand. A life of purest placidity torn to shreds by the claws of daedra and abhorrence of cultists. With Ruptga’s blessing I will pry out the Dark Anchors from the land, like a sand-tick from the nape of the neck.
Perhaps this was Tall Papa’s plan for me all along? I know not. We like to think we choose our own paths. I pray regardless I have their blessing on my walkabout, and that I may one day return home.
I do plan to, one day. When the Anchors are gone from Tamriel.
Some poems, prose and other words I’ve jotted down whilst on walkabout so far can be found here: Sun, Sands & Stars.