Chapter I - Relatives
Hills and moors of ice and snow, and a single homestead illuminated by interior candlelight, and most conspicuously, a cozy fire. The local brandy, greef touched touched his lips as his beady Nordic eyes stared at the painting. It was merely artwork, oil on canvas. But the concept of such a life and venue was something he deemed plausible.
Erik Stone-Fist placed the cup of brandy on a nearby table, where two of his distant cousins were passed out from excessive intoxication of alcoholic beverages, one on his back, and the other on his stomach. Most of the activity of his younger brother's wedding shower seemed to be concentrated in the streets where tables and music were arranged outside in the winter weather. The small fishing village of Dagon Fel hardly had any houses or venues worth holding a party in, so the planners had carefully picked a day where it was somewhat sunny and it would not be freezing cold. The End of the World Inn had checked in a few of the relatives while the rest of them spooned with the ones who lived in town.
The Imperial province of Morrowind's population may have been made up mostly of dark elves, though around ninety percent of the island village of Dagon Fel's sparse population was predominately inhabited by those of his fellow nordic race. Frequents of the tiny coastal hamlet were mostly weasel faced smugglers or frothing, greedy treasure hunters who arrived to illegally loot the nearby dwarven ruins of their artifacts. This wedding shower marked a rare moment when anyone beside the more unscrupulous characters poured into town.
Most embarrassing and disconcerting was that Erik didn't recognize most of the people there. Possibly because he spent a sizable percentage of his time aloof from even his closest kin. In fact, it was possible few knew of him aside from his closest kin. The nord's imagination was mostly in a state of despondency, and it was unusual for him to mentally dissect a topic unless he was absolutely necessary. But the novelty concept of his extended family having no idea who Erik was struck a sting of fear into him. There was nothing quite worse than one's soon to be sister-in-law mistaking him for one of the party musicians, or if it was that person's own mother if the luck well was completely stagnant.
He looked out to the dirt street from the tavern's heavily fogged window, as jolly silhouettes and blobs of blur pranced around with merry glee. Most were merely stationary, most likely more cousins, uncles and aunts drinking at the table. Twas quintessential nordliness to drink at least ten tankards of beer or mead a day after your fifteenth birthday. The pale light illuminated his coffee colored hair, and a face shewn with the beard of a bear hunter and the faint scars of a sub par bar fighter. The beard itself stretched just over the top of his adam's apple, and the scars, particularly on the right side of his face were inches long, but thin enough to be unnoticeable in low light.
Mustering the courage, his fur boots kicked his way out of the inn and into the street. The music was mostly wind instruments, puffing faint moist fog out of their tips. The sole fiddle player was of the reptilian argonian race, and his cool blood caused his fingers and entire body to spryly tremble like a recuperating booze hound. For the most part this did not affect the overall quality of the music, but every now and then there would be sudden bursts of chaotic dissonance in the melodies whenever he needed to shake the arctic sensation off his scaley shoulders mid-song.
There was a small fire lit in the center with permission of the watch, though nords, the people of Skyrim were distinguished for their ability to walk through a blizzard stark naked and laugh all the way through it, thus these folks were sparsely in need of artificial warmth. Though there was always the occasional haggard nord who cried like a toddler if he stuck his foot in a bucket of ice water for a few seconds, and those types usually moved to one of the warmer provinces. It seems that in Erik's family, there were no such people. They stood and danced around in summer clothing if they wanted to, and braved the winter.
Erik stepped between the crowd of socialites who yammered away about gossip, the weather, and family memories. He brushed shoulders with cousin Hlargan, who he recognized even now that he was not the boy he goofed around with so much in his youth. Much to his expectation, Hlargan did not recognize him.
When he reached the edge of the crowd, Lief, his clean shaven, long haired brother stood a the end of it, his arms crossed and his face contorted into a brooding frown. Erik stopped immediately, and they exchanged stares for an entire minute of pure awkward tension. To stir things up, Lief quickly clapped his hands together and held them out. "Seven years. Seven! Dad dies, Bera dies, Freyja gets married, and you never show. OR WRITE. Now I'm getting married and... you show up? Suddenly, for this?"
"Erm, uh y-yes." Erik stammered, clearing his throat. He was not used to quarreling with his brother over a subject of this caliber, one where he clearly did not have the upper hand in. As many vicious animals and even more vicious people he felled in his career, getting chewed out by his younger brother was quite an affliction. "Yes, Lief. Yes I never showed up... or wrote."
"Tons of crazy things happened since you've been gone. The family bought land in northern Cyrodiil, an ancient dunmer hero was allegedly reincarnated... and- and he saved this entire province of Morrowind, and- and oh yes and the Emperor was assassinated! Not a word from you since then, eh? Seven years enough for you and- you were fed up?" Lief's voice was more booming than he remembered it being, considering the fact that he was not an adolescent anymore. "You just... drew a straw and decided it was time to lug your deadbeat ass back into the gene pool and see your family? Have you decided to be a Stone-Fist again? Or is this some sort of temporary position? WHERE IN THE NINE HELLS HAVE YOU BEEN?"
"Lief, I'm sorry." Erik extended his arms to his sides, beckoning an embrace that he might not receive. "I'm sorry."
"You know, Erik, I've spent seven years thinking about what to do in this very moment if I saw you again, or... if you asked for money, or a place to stay. I imagined it through my head over and over. And you know very well what my reaction is going to be- oh for the love of-" Lief made a few sounds that sounded like an amalgamation of laughing, sobbing, and sighing. He then took a few steps forward, looking as if he was ready to throw a punch.
Lief's head hit Erik's leather spaulder as they both embraced one another. The former heaved a sigh and pat his leather clad brother's back. "Damn good to have you back, Erik. Damn good."
They unlocked, and Erik unsuccessfully attempted to give his sibling a noogie, but he wrestled his way out of every endeavor. He cupped his hands over his mouth and turned to the side. "Olaf! Go get a few drinks for me and my brother!"
"The hell?" Came an isolated voice from the already talkative crowd.
"That's right! My dumbass brother just pranced into town, and to celebrate, we're gonna make martyrs out of our livers!"