Think of this as a long Prologue. It is pronounced: Per - cee- lee - an
Would like to also add Oblivion does not belong to me, the only thing I own is the plot of this story and my own characters.
Percelian
The newborn's cries echoed in the night like symphony of nature with various birds and insects adding a chorus with the child's cries. The stars above lay a blanket of light over the landscape creating false serenity amongst the entangled weeds and murky waters of the marsh surrounding the shaman's hut. Childbirth was a miracle in some sense, an occasion to celebrate new life and new blood to a family. But due to tradition and racial complications the birth of a high born Altmer was not one to welcome with such frivolous emotion.
The wooden hut was small, and was typical in its own ways. Herbs and strange artefacts – the most unnerving one being an infant's skull – cluttered the various shelves that bordered the four wooden walls. A bed of animal fur rested in the corner on a stone slab, an Altmer woman lay under its dishevelled blankets with a tear stained face. The tears of pain and exhaustion but no sorrow stained her face. Her golden hair stuck to her face with perspiration. The father on the other hand was the opposite lines of worry and sorrow echoed through his features. He stood beside his wife watching the healer carry the newborn to a silver basin at the table on the other side of the room.
The Orc Shaman, notorious amongst the Altmer nobles who wished for the purest heirs sat watching the couple with an impassive expression placed upon her face. She sat in the middle of the room surrounded by feathery charms hanging from the ceiling and small wooden figures of Daedric Princes.
The Shaman withdrew a silken bag from her rough cloak, her eyes now falling down to the silver dish in front of her. It was unremarkable with no shine to its metal and looked stained inside. With a nod towards the healer she removed the lace from the silken bag spilling what looked like small human finger bones into her hand. She threw them in the air, muttering a prayer to the spirits she was about to call upon. They landed with a clatter in the centre, and the Orc's eyes widened in surprise as she read their shapes which meant nothing to the two parents. "Interesting..."
The father cared little for The Shaman's response to the reading as all he wished to do was hold the child. The Shaman looked up, nodding again at the healer and he approached presenting the small bundle to the father. "It's a boy sir." There were no congratulations, no identifying his son as nothing more than an item waiting for inspection. This was not a moment for wishes best or ill. It was a moment of trial.
Before the mother could voice her protest the father reached out for his son...his son. There was no test in the world which could rip that fact from him. No God, no man or mer or beast alike could deny the fact that this child was his. He did not care if Akatosh himself fell from the heavens and cast blasphemies at the babe, nothing could ruin the feeling, the raw emotion of what he felt towards the child he had held for merely a few moments which felt like a lifetime. He was the newborn's father, and the newborn was his son.
"What do you see?" his wife hissed from the bed, her voice burdened by impatience and fatigue. "What do the spirits say about the child? My father wants the purest for his heir since my brother is dead we need a male heritage." Her voice was usually silkier – it was a sign of good breeding her father would say as if his daughter was nothing more than a carriage horse. Breeding...that was all that mattered in her family's mind. It was important in livestock, animals that were herded senselessly in flocks. It described the nobility of Summerset Isle too well for the father's liking. However, such opinions could not be stated out loud, to do so was a sign of weakness...ill breeding.
It was his facade of tradition which allowed him to marry his love, without it he would be an outcast...a disgrace. But even without the haughty attitude of his wife, he still disliked the fact his first son was born in such squalor and so far away from home.
The father ignored his wife's demands of the Shaman whose eyes were on him. He looked down at the still crying child, whose eyes had now opened to reveal a lovely icy blue. Those eyes...so familiar it brought a chill to his soul. "My father..." the man muttered to the others or whoever was listening. "He has my father's eyes like small gems passed down in heritage. I wonder if his title would fit him as well as the eyes..."
"Do not be foolish!" His wife snapped, a disapproving and stern glare flashed like a warning beacon. "It has no name until it's considered worthy of one."
At once the child was snatched from him, the Altmer healer already crossing the room to measure the child's abilities and physical attributes. He circled the babe, who was innocent and oblivious to the decision which had to be made as if he were a bird of prey waiting and watching for any sign of weakness. It was harrowing for the father...he did not wish to think how harrowing it must have been for the crying child.
The Orc was now back to the bones which lay idle in the dish, again she seemed to be muttering a prayer under her breath. She withdrew another item, a vial filled with a liquid which looked like ink and blood combined together – red and black entangled. She pulled the tiny cork from the vial and proceeded to spill it over the bones. As soon as the two made contact, the liquid hissed and the bones began to twitch awkwardly. Fumes, light and wavering, similar to fumes from recently snuffed candles swirled from the dish. The bones curling up like frightened caterpillars.
"The child is unfit to meet the standard requirements," the healer stated after examining the child, his voice cold with disgust. Unfit...was there anything crueller than labelling a child something so degrading as it blissfully lay unaware and innocently waiting for the loving arms of a parent. "I believe we have a culled one sir." We...there was no 'we' in it. 'We' belonged to society, narrow minded vipers whose poisonous traditions led him to this moment.
"Shaman..." it was a plea more than a request or perhaps it was both entwined with the other. "...what do you say, we came to you for help...please what do you say about my child?" My...it was deliberate, so pronounced his wife clicked her tongue in annoyance at his words, as if trying to shift a bad taste from her mouth.
With a small intake of breath she closed her eyes ignoring the babe's cries. He could see her eyes moving underneath their lids as if she suffered from a terrible dream. An idol, one of the wooden Daedra Princes fell over. "Ur-dra recognises the child, the spirits tell me of his fate and of his path. I see him hiding in the darkness; secrets lay bitter on his tongue. Bitterness...manipulation...loss...cruelty...it starts with three mages lying dead within their own blood at the base of the spirit world. I feel him trapped at the end, falling into a skeletal cage within the grip of the master lich. Unwavering undead stalk the halls of death. This child is touched by mystery, his birth marks Nocturnal's trial...her decent, within the cover of night she watches. Vanity is a rose amongst thorns...but I cannot see so far in the dark. Power has a price, curiosity with death...so close with death it is unreal."
Her eyes shot open, staring at the child's father and her words of madness came to an end. The child had stopped crying, the father waited with bated breath. All of what she had said was above his head, but when words such as 'death' and 'darkness'were repeated it gave the impression not all was well. "The spirits agree. The child is a culled one. It is custom in these parts of Summerset Isle for the father to perform the culling."
Horror was not a strong enough word for the bitter emotion which rose in his chest. His wife grimaced as the healer brought the child back to his parents, its little form now wriggling in the cloth. "No..." he never wished for this moment in his life. How could anyone hold such a thing in their arms and then just let go to whatever paternal instinct grabbed a hold of their hearts? How could anyone just drop that connection and let it shatter on the floor as if it were beneath them? "We cannot..." he was begging, not the healer or the shaman but the woman who had given birth to his son. "We...we tried so hard for so long."His wife sneered at the bundle the healer offered her, turning her head and forgetting it was ever part of her. "We tried so hard for so many years and now we are blessed with a son...how can we give that up?"
"'It's no blessing Percelian stop speaking as if it is! 'Tis a curse if there ever was one! Did you not hear what was said? We can have other children; there are still ways we can try. He did not seem so strong anyway, probably would not have survived infancy...do away with it before the night is over or get the healer to do it. I wish my sight on it no longer, I would take its life but I feel too weak to do so."
"No, I will do it myself," he spoke the words trying to swallow the bile feelings. He would rather take the child himself than watch a stranger disappearing with him into the night.
The healer shoved the now gurgling child back into his arms. The shaman watched him, pity shaping the tone of her voice as she spoke. "Do not use magic to kill the child Percelian." The father threw a scowl at her for daring to speak his name in such a soft familiar tone as if they had been friends for years. "He is a child of magic, a destined mage and to do so would invoke the wrath of the Gods. Outside there is a small alter with a silver knife. Feed the night with his blood, and then do what you see fit with his body."
The orders were so simply and cruelly put in his head that it was as if evil were mocking him from the void. "A mage..." he whispered. He looked down at the silent babe who was now watching Percelian with beautiful icy blue eyes which seemed to pierce a hole into his heart. "My father was a mage before he died..."
He walked to the door, leaving the incense filled hut with little hesitation. The last thing he saw was the Shaman pulling out a piece of parchment out of her pocket with sorrowful eyes – using a feather from a charm as her quill and the ritual liquid as her ink.
It was as if his feet had taken control over his mind and now directed him out onto the marsh's night. As soon as the cool air gracefully passed the two of them, the child watched him with an innocent look unknowing that the eyes which looked back belonged to a soon to be murderer. Outside she stood waiting, his mother, her aged features eagerly awaiting news. "Well?" she demanded with her wispy silver hair lifting in the light breeze. "Spit it out, what is it? Grandson or granddaughter? Quickly now! I have a carriage back in civilisation waiting to deliver me back to the ship ports!"
He could barely speak, and with a mutter laced with grief he said "You have a grandson...I have a son..."
"Well that's –"she paused, her wizened eyes reading his sorrow. "He is a culled one." She read his emotions like a simple worded book and yet her own were void of any such sadness. "The bastard!" Percelian knew at once she was talking about the father of his wife. "He will not be happy until our whole line wiped out! He sent your father on that insane voyage to those Bosmeri savages and look what happened! I told the fool not to go, but he said we must respect our peers bah! That man just wants to get rid of us; he will use this as an excuse to remarry his daughter to someone else. I cannot believe he sent you out here to talk with barbarians. You might as well ask a sweetroll if a child is worthy. It would probably give you a saner answer...silence...much better than nonsense. This was the reason I moved to Cyrodiil, many more fools but at least these fools do not wield as much power."
"What should I do mother?" Percelian begged for her wisdom which he had ignored for years. "Please, tell me what to do..."
She shook her head giving off a solemn air. "There is nothing you can do; you must do as you were instructed. The child is no longer welcome in Summerset Isle. His fate is in the lap of the Gods, finish him painlessly and let them find a place for him." She stood back into the shadows as he turned to the alter further away. "May the nine bless our souls."
The alter stood proudly in the centre of the Shaman's own marsh area, looking harmless in the silver beam of moonlight that shone down upon its marble works. The only clue to its sinister nature was the silver dagger which lay on top of the small dais, runes decorating the handle. He placed the gurgling child in the middle, his own shaking slender fingers wrapping around the cold handle with tears threatening to cascade down his cheeks as he lifted it above the babe.
It was as if the child had suddenly had a foresight of its brief future and his cries pierced the night once again. A roll of what sounded similar to thunder echoed across the canvas of the night sky and teardrops from the heavens fell upon them, each drop icier than the last. An owl screeched from afar, breaking the once peaceful symphony of nature into anarchy. The toads bellowed their croaks in a sudden unsealed anger as if they were war cries, insects no longer contrasted each other and each seemed to call out to the toads and the bird's song fell silent. Each sound now had its own agenda, and it felt as if nature was turning on him.
The dagger slipped from Percelian's grasp, and he shrieked out to the sky in the hope the Gods would hear him. If they could not hear his words then they would hear his frantic heartbeat which echoed through the marsh. "What do you want! Is my child's blood not good enough for the deities who watch over? Do you Auri-El understand my plight? Is his death for the gods or the pride of my own race? What right do I have over his life? What right does that shaman or my father by marriage have over this small child? I do what I believe is right and nature curses me with its cries!"
In a matter of seconds he swept the child back into his arms, suddenly conscious of the rain falling splashing onto the newborn's skin. Despite the rain, the night sky was still clear and the stars still comforted the scene. "At least you and I still have the stars dear child," he whispered, the child ceasing its crying. "The Gods may not be here but the stars are our comfort. The Serpent has fled and The Mage reigns as it should. No poison in our sky, no venom in our hearts, no toxin in our souls. The world is ours and the night is yours. But am I to follow the orders of spirits or the mercy of the muted stars?"
The child took this moment to reach out with a small hand, clasping a stray braid from his father's hair as the mer spoke to him. Percelian gave a weak laugh, trying to prize the rogue braid from his son's tight clasp. The child was perfect to him with his beautiful almond shaped eyes of ice, the golden hue on his skin which branded his race, the pointed ears. There was no use denying it, he would never kill this child. "Tradition be damned!" he did not care who heard, the spirits themselves could rile a tempest upon this very shore and he would stand by what he felt. If only there was a way...
"My dear Percelian," her words could not have come at a better time. They were not tender and as he turned he could see her aged features were distorted with annoyance. "The sooner your precious wife and yourself are away from this stain on the wilderness the better. Bandits and Sloads crawl around this area in numbers, I passed a few myself on the way here bandits that is, I would never have let a Sload live. So do away with the child quickly and make haste to home!"
It came upon him as a sudden thought and he almost found himself on his knees in plight – but even he had his pride. So instead he stood, tears slowly descending down his cheeks and his voice was choked. "Please," he begged the woman who had once held him the same way he held his son right now. "I cannot kill him...take him to Cyrodiil with you...please..." She was shocked at his words but he cared little for her surprise. "What does it matter if he is away or dead? Either way he is an outsider to this society. I will tell them he is gone, I'll smear my own blood on that alter if it saves him!"
A wizened hand reached out for her Percelian's cheek and instead of a tender pat she slapped him. It was most likely a gesture to bring him to his senses but he still retained that mournful dirge in his eyes. "You foolish man, your compassion will doom us all. I see your point but you are bound by duty. The child is a culled one and no culled one should be spared...give me the child and I will see to it he knows no pain."
"Never!" It was a hiss he threw at her as she reached out for his son. "What use is duty if he is in another province! Were you not saying that these things are for fools? Are you turning away from your words you spitefully threw at my father by marriage? Are you turning your back on what you believe for the sake of appearances?"
He received another slap, this one with more strength behind it. "I do not tempt fate you fool! The child would need a mother to survive infancy anyway; I cannot provide him everything his own mother could. His life bears the omens of death."
"Children have survived without mothers, Father's mother died at birth and he was raised by one parent alone." The thunder rolled above them once more, a chill entered the breeze and this certainly did not help against his mother's case of omens.
She was losing the battle, he could tell by her tired eyes she was fighting some sort of inner fued. Her eyes were the window into her own dilemma, whether it was moral or not it still gave his son a chance at life. "I wish you would stop threatening my heart with your father Percelian. He was foolish like you but he would have agreed. But I still have my doubts...I have no faith in the Shaman as I do not listen to the words of barbarians but this child might end up as whatever she saw him fit to kill him over."
The speech was lost on Percelian and he cared very little for it. "Every child has that chance, but away from here perhaps the chance will be slimmer." He could see reason battling worry in her eyes once again, he went back to the emotional advantage he had over her. "He is a mage, she told me so. Just like father was before he died."
The glimmer of acknowledgement in her eyes could not be missed. Gruffly, so not to show too much emotion as he knew she hated the power he now had over her she asked "Let me look at the babe and I will see for myself." Percelian passed her his son who now seemed to be chewing on his small hand. He was reluctant at first but he saw no danger in the elder woman holding him for a short while. "Hmm..." her eyes were scrutinising and stern observing the bundle in her arms who merely watched her without a flinch. "You were much better looking as a child Percelian, it's that damned harlot –" he flinched at the way she spoke of his wife. "- and her ilk that is to blame for his looks. He looks like a savage Percelian..."
"He looks nothing of the sort, harmless and mild the child seems to be."
"He looks disobedient; those eyes are cunning and sharp so much like his grandfather's. He would fit well in Cheydinhal – feral the lot of them! But he would have his grandmother's grace..." she narrowed her eyes at the child who was continuing to gnaw at his hand. "He is a biter just like you were, chomping on my furniture like an overgrown caterpillar. He is a strange child indeed..."
"He is a beautiful child," Percelian whispered as if enchanted by a weary dream. "He shall have his grandfather's name, a case for the jewels that are his eyes. The hag said he would be a mage, perhaps he could become something his grandfather strived to be. Perhaps the shoes are his to fill..."
"Humph," the elder mer grunted as she turned back to her son. "Let's hope he does not fill my late husband's shoes too much...the fool danced himself into his grave."
Percelian felt warmth for the first time that night, despite the light icy raindrops and the deathly chill in the breeze. "You will take him with you then?"
She seemed hesitant once again, her eyes quickly scanning the marsh for any other signs of life. "This does not abide well with me; I fear something terrible might happen but..." Percelian's eyes widened with the last ounce of hope he had. "...the child may be my only heir to carry on our family. Your father by marriage is a bitter man who would be horrified at the thought of having a bastard heir roaming around." An unpleasant smile crossed her lips. "That is a thought which bodes well with me. And besides, having a mage around will be handy and the people who were living in my house before myself left behind a rather nice oaken cradle." She nodded, finally swallowing her decision. "Very well, I will take him but it will be a miracle if he survives the journey."
The moment was bittersweet for Percelian. He was gaining a son, and losing one at the same moment. He would share a world but not a life with him. He would never hold his child again; never meet the wife he may one day pick. He would never be there for him when the world turned cold, and would never be there to rejoice when his world was alive once more. Would his son know his name? To demand such a thing was impossible, his mother was already risking enough to let the child free. It was too much and yet too little, those blue eyes shining in his mind where the stars had once shone.
"One last goodbye," it was all he wanted and with a look of reluctance the elder Altmer placed the child in his arms once more. He wished he could give his wife the same chance but she had already made her mind to where the child belonged. He wept bitter tears which did not belong to sorrow or joy. With a final kiss on the child's head, the golden tufts of hair became more noticeable as his lips brushed against its softness. It was the only thing he believed belonged to his wife, it was a shame. If she had spent longer with the child, looked more closely at his innocent features perhaps she would have seen enough of herself in him to spare his life.
It was their final parting and it hurt Percelian much more than he had anticipated. Any sounds of creeping were hidden behind the symphony of nature which arose once again at the child's departure. Whether this was a sign of acceptance of the Gods Percelian did not know and to be brutally honest he no longer cared. Before the elder Altmer snuck away into the night, she paused with a graceful half turn of her head. "Shall I give him your name?"
"No..." his voice was barely audible but just above a sobbed whisper. "I stick by my original plan he shall be his grandfather's boy. The name fits does it not?"
"It does," and no more words were spoken in the exchange. With the bundle in her arms, the elder Altmer disappeared into the darkness and he would never see her again. The fates now were mocking, the symphony still hiding the creeping that was out of sight. Closer and closer it came to the oblivious elf, and never would he know his home was further away than ever. He never even heard the sheathing of metal, and his cry was muffled by the owl's screech.
And with his last breath he cried out for the child he would never see. "Falcar..."
a/n: Three Guesses to who the main character may be. Eh? Eh? EH? Well if the title or the character listing or the above line does not give you a clue then you'll just have to wait.
Oh before I forget : Ur-Dra is another title of Nocturnal (my favourite Daedric Prince) and Auri-El is what the Altmer call Akatosh.