The Thornfist Knights

Volume I : Morals and chivalry

Chapter I : Hard work and humble beginnings

It was the beginning of spring in the northern town of Bruma. The soft crunch of snow was heard as people walked by, their footprints left in the snow behind them in neat lines. Gallan was just leaving his house as he saw the picturesque scene in front of him. The two small rows of houses were a deep brown contrast to the white snow that covered them. And the town chapel with its tall bell tower and finely crafted stone glistened with the ice that covered the rough and uneven surface. The already thin and delicate layer of shining glass was slowly melting away in the warm glow of the early spring sun. The tower bell had started to toll, announcing noon. Gallan had noticed a small group of people at the front gate of the town. The two guards in yellow chain mail were struggling to keep a small group of town's people from rioting. Now what's that about? He thought. They were yelling and arguing about something he couldn't quite hear, although he thought he heard a rumour about bandits. He walked over to the commotion to see his friend Adrian and another guard trying to calm the crowd. The crowd was frantically shouting about bandits and marauders. The noise was unbearable. As Gallan approached the group a piercing yell from Adrian managed to silence the crowd momentarily.

"Alright, you all have your worries about these marauders. But I can assure you that they will not get in through these walls. We had managed to defeat an oblivion army here! We will not fall to a group of savage bandits like them!" he shouted.

"Aye, but that was with the help of Martin and his champion!" yelled one person from the crowd.

"If anyone else has anything to say, I'll lock them up in the dungeon for a day! You'll be safe from the bandits there!" The other guard shouted.

The crowd's mood shifted. They all started to shuffle back to their homes, with the exception of a beggar. He stood there looking confused; and Gallan felt a pang of sympathy for him, he had to spend everyday out in the cold. He was about to open his mouth when Adrian said "Jorck you can stay in the warm cell tonight." The beggar thanked him and ran off towards the castle. Gallan approached Adrian and asked about the marauders.

"They just showed up a couple of weeks ago, they demanded we lowered the gates and let them in. When we refused they shot an arrow at the captain, it got him in the arm. They laughed as they rode into a cave just north of town." He explained. "Half of the guard wanted to ride down and clear them out right then and there."

"I am sorry to hear that, is the captain alright?" Gallan asked.

"Yes, the countess's steward took care of him, but the marauders are still in that cave, and they come around every day just looking for a way in," he said with a sigh. Gallan had just noticed the dark circles under Adrian's eyes. "Adrian, you really should get some rest. You look as if you'll fall over." he said, concerned.

"I suppose you're right, but all of us are tired from the late watches. Sooner or later those bandits will attack and we have to keep watch… I don't think we could hold them off if they wait much longer. We all can barely raise our weapons…" His voice trailed off. After a few moments of silently standing in front of the gate, Adrian bid farewell to Gallan and left towards the guard's quarters.

Gallan started to walk towards the Hammer and Axe. He needed to earn some gold and he thought that Fjotreid would need some help around the shop. He wanted to take a trip to the Imperial City, but he needed more gold to buy and sell things in the grand market. As he entered the large wooden building he was blind for a few moments. It was much darker than outside, the only light coming from the forge, and a small candle on a table near the door. The scent of burning wood, iron and sweat entered Gallan's nostrils. He saw Fjotreid by the furnace, pumping the bellows vigorously. He looked up for a moment and noticed Gallan. He stopped pumping and relaxed slightly.

"I'm sorry I'm not taking any orders right now, the count just ordered enough steel plate mail to suit the whole city guard." he wheezed.

"I am not here to purchase anything, I am looking for some work, and by the looks of things you might need it." Gallan said, hoping the old blacksmith would accept.

He panted and looked up. "You want to work? Well I guess you could help around here… I'll give you what your worth. Best hope you know how to fold the steel boy." The smith said with a wink.

Gallan thought for a moment, but was interrupted by the man's orders.

"Well if I'm going to pay you start on the other bellows!" he shouted.

Gallan walked over to the forge and started pumping the bellows. He was there for hours. The work seemed endless; if he wasn't pumping the bellows he was cooling and heating the plates to try and harden the steel. At the end of the day he was exhausted. He looked back towards Fjotreid before he walked out the door, and noticed he showed no signs of stopping, he was going to work through the night.

The work over the next few days was backbreaking and blisteringly hard. Gallan had to work the bellows for the better part of the day. But as the fire grew Fjotreid had told him to work with a hammer. He pounded steel and cooled the plates for the smith. Near the end of the day he had to test the size of a steel helmet for the smith. He left tired and hungry, so Gallan decided to stop by Olav's Tap and Tack to eat. He entered to find it unusually crowded. Olav was busy handing out drinks to a table full of drunken men. "Oi, Whass takin so long fer our drinkss?" One of them slurred

"I can only move so fast," said Olav quickly.

Gallan moved towards Olav, but Olav hurried over to another table with drinks in hand. "Excuse me, Olav?" Gallan said, but his voice was lost in the noise of the inn. Olav looked over his shoulder and spotted Gallan. He walked over and asked what he wanted.

"Well I would like some bread and some mead." He said loudly, although his voice sounded like a whisper in the loud tavern.

"Alright," he said as he walked over to the counter, "A bottle of mead and some bread, which will be about, five gold coins." He reached into the cupboard and pulled out a large bottle and a fresh loaf of bread.

"Deal," said Gallan as he handed him the coins. Olav quickly left the counter with more beer and started walking towards the table of drunken traders. As Gallan was about to leave a man by the door stopped him.

"Hey, are you Gallan? Gallan Stone-heart?" he asked.

"Yes I am, why?" he said questioningly.

"I have a message for you from an old friend. He says he wants to see you in the Imperial City, he wanted me to tell you it was Aaron and that he wanted to talk to you." The trader told him.

"What's your name?" asked Gallan, he did not recognize this man, and was puzzled with how he knew who he was.

"My name is Herald," he said quickly. "I was supposed to bring this message to you and then I was to give this bag of gold to Aaron's family here."

"Thank you, why don't we sit and have a drink. I have some mead." Gallan suggested.

They sat down at a table near the door. Olav rushed over and put two pewter tankards on the table. As the two men sat down Gallan opened his bottle of mead. He poured the amber liquid into his tankard and then into his new friend's. They sat and drank the sweet, honey tasting liquid. As they got into the spirit of the tavern, Gallan quickly forgot about his fatigue when they finished their second bottle of mead. He talked with Herald about how his life was and how Aaron was. He heard something about the imperial legion. He found out that Herald was a trader that travelled all of Cyrodiil to find the most exotic goods. Gallan said goodbye to Herald and left with an empty bottle. He approached his house feeling a little sick but happy. He unlocked the door and closed it gently. The soft smell of wood and fire greeted him. His fireplace had burned the wood to nothing but embers and coals. He added a few pieces of wood to it and muttered a slurred spell of fire. Gallan didn't know much magic but he knew enough to help himself when needed. He shuffled over to his soft bed, his feet creaking on the old wood floor. He lay down and slowly drifted off to sleep.

He woke the next day with a painful headache. He lurched out of bed and shuffled over to his drawers. He changed out of the clothes from the day before. He left feeling tired, and he could only imagine how he would feel after working at the blacksmiths forge. Gallan decided to bring some food with him to the smith's and eat there. When he got there it looked as if the smith was a walking corpse. He had circles around his eyes so dark he looked as if he was wearing a mask.

"By Azura! Fjotreid, what happened?" Gallan said loudly.

Fjotreid stopped working and sat down, as he did so he asked for a drink. Gallan grabbed a clay glass and filled it with water. He handed the cold drink to the smith, who drank it quickly.

"I…I have to work, the order will never… never get done if I don't…" The smith said, stuttering. Gallan offered him some bread, which he ate in seconds. The smith sat and ate for a few moments, then got up. Gallan kept his eyes on him.

He was about to question if Fjotreid should be working today when the smith quickly said: "Don't worry about me; with your help, today should be the last day of work. I can finally sleep."

"Wait, you mean to tell me that you haven't slept since you got the order?" Gallan said, amazed. "That was placed over a week ago!"

"I drifted off a few times… but I'll be fine; the chapel priest came and looked me over…, He told me to get some rest…," he muttered.

Gallan was looking at the smith with determination. "I'll finish the order for you, and you get some rest, right now, alright?" he said.

"Alright, but I will be sleeping right there," he said as he pointed towards a small bedroll on a low table. "If you need help with something just wake me up and…" His voice trailed off as he walked over to the cot. Gallan started to get to work on the swords: he pounded steel, cooled it, reheated it, and then pounded it again. After a few hours he was finished the last steel sword. He began on the armour. With hours of rigorous hammering, heating, cooling and more pounding, he managed to finish off the last of the order. Fjotreid still slept on his bed as Gallan sat down and found the water. After He had finished twelve short steel swords and grouped the armour into suits, he decided to try and awake Fjotreid.

The smith awoke and found all the work done. "Well I am impressed! These are fine swords…" Fjotreid said while inspecting a sword. He was swinging it around the shop with speed and precision for someone who just woke up.

"So this armour is for the city guard? Do you think the marauders will leave? Or will the guard have to clear them out?" Gallan asked casually

"They won't leave," he said simply. Gallan was too tired to keep talking. After a few minutes of sitting in the smiths shop he started to ask about his day's pay. Fjotreid walked into the back of the store and came back with a long knife. "What about the gold?" Asked Gallan.

"I want you to have this instead. You'll need it to travel to the Imperial City," the smith said calmly. Gallan examined the blade; It was a dark blue, with what looked like ice melted into the blade, and the hilt was made from pure silver with a sapphire as its pommel. It was the finest blade he had ever seen. "Where did you get this?" Gallan asked.

"To be honest a trader gave me a set of them for a couple hundred gold, they are all apparently hundreds of years old." The knife looked as if it were forged the day before. Gallan picked up his day's pay and thanked Fjotreid, He was surprised to feel that it was cold to the touch. "It can't be more than a few months old! Look how sharp the blade is; surely after hundreds of years it would have dulled!" Gallan exclaimed.

"Apparently they have been enchanted," the smith said. "They were a set of three so they must all be different." he said, as he picked up a small bundle, he unwrapped it to let Gallan see the other two knives. The other two were similar to his but they were different in color and had a few interesting markings on them. The first one had a red blade and a black hilt, with a ruby in place of the sapphire. It had flames that were etched into the blade that seemed to crawl up the side of the red dagger. The third had a strange silver blade that looked as if it were shining. The hilt had a golden hue to it and had an odd yellow stone as its pommel. They looked as if they belonged together. He picked up the red knife and notice it was warm to the touch and then put it down. Gallan thought for a moment and then picked up the silver blade. It felt strange in his hands, it had an odd warm feeling that made the hair on his neck stand up. He put the knife down and thanked Fjotreid a second time. He picked up his new blade and left with a smile on his face.

At his home Gallan had put the blade on his table and looked around. He noticed that his fireplace had once again gone out. He repeated the same incantation as the night before and lit it with a few words. As his small house lit up from the fire he noticed his old trunk. He never used it much, but he knew his father had kept his most precious things in it. Gallan also stored his items of precious worth inside the trunk, such as gold. Though lately he hadn't had much gold to put it in, he now had a reason to open it up and look around. He slid the mass of wood and iron over to a stool and opened it. A musty odour entered his nostrils. He pulled out a small portrait of his mother and father, as well as a large bag of gold coins. He placed the clinking bag of gold down on the table beside him gently. He noticed that there was a cloak at the bottom of the chest. Gallan reached in and grasped it. To his surprise he felt a solid shape. He pulled out the cloak and found underneath there was a sword. It was a modest blade; made of steel that looked dulled and old. He found a note below the cloak. He picked it up and read it, 'Gallan, this sword is my most useful tool and I feel that you should have it. I had to leave it here, I knew you would need it one day and I hope it keeps you safe. Your father, Jared.'

Gallan grasped the sword, and it was perfect; it felt as though it was an extension of his arm. He swung it a few times and almost hit a cupboard. He glanced back at the note and started to smile. He and his father were never close, but this gift meant a lot to Gallan. He put the sword down on the table alongside the dagger with its sheath. He found a strong leather belt and placed it on the table with them. He felt the tip of the sword and it pushed his skin. He frowned, it was dull. He thought of the smith, but then realized that Fjotreid was already dying from exhaustion; he would need to re-forge it himself. He lay down on his bed and fell asleep thinking about the days to come.