The Elder Scrolls's 3: Morrowind
The Legend of Gideon
Prologue Part 1: Home
Turdas 18th day of Sun's Height
I suppose this story begins in the early dawn. The very early dawn, when it was still dark. As the time passed I heard birds slowly starting to chirp, but that brought me little comfort. I cannot remove the picture from my mind. The closed door.
I just don't understand what I did wrong, and now I cannot ever goes back. What did I do? I don't believe I can reason with him. Perhaps Jo'Daro... No, I doubt I could afford to pay him for such a favor. We are, already a days trek from home now. And I suppose, I writing this for a reason, am I not?
Strange... I've never written my thought's down before. Will I ask myself questions on parchment, like the previous one often? And will other reader's think me strange for doing so? Oh yes, other readers... I hadn't thought of that. Well, to the other readers of these writings, my name is Gideon.
Just Gideon... Now.
I was told I no longer have a family name. And also that I have no Father. Except, I do. I do have a Father, and I love him dearly. But I fear he doesn't love me.
I think back to year's ago, when I was still young... But I was old enough to hold a sword, my father would not have tried to teach me other wise. I was terrible of course. The only I've ever known I was good at was reading. And perhaps tidying, like some damn housewife. Perhaps that was it, the other guards laughed at my father because I was an embarrassment to him. The son of a Guardsmen, who was no good with a blade. I can only measure my father's disappointment by his anger at my failings. And such a large amount of rage, I fear I am without hope of redemption.
Perhaps I have not left home, and my father's anger has taken a magical form, and cast me into a nightmare to punish me, rightfully so.
Jo'Daro, Suthag and Gaspel. I wonder what they represent in such a nightmare. We are headed to Skaven, and then to Stonedale, so clearly I am being led somewhere. Although, perhaps thinking in such ways, is what lead me here.
I feel I am writing my words in the way the are written in the books I have read.
No more of that then.
To the reader of this; I am Gideon, a Breton born and raised within the City of Evermore. I arrived into the world of the blessed nine, of the first month of the year 405 of the 3E (the third Era).
My companions, although, I suppose I am theirs, are Jo'Daro Zashar, a friendly Khajiit Merchant. He employs Suthag and Gaspel Galanc. She is an Orc, she looks scary, especially with her word, but she seems nice enough. Gaspel is a Breton as I am. I don't know if he thinks little of me, as guards both Suthag and Gaspel seem to focus on there work, saying little and keeping an eye out for trouble.
But Jo'Daro makes me feel more at ease. I've read Khajiit can be, and are usually tricky, and trickerstery, by their nature. But I trust Jo'Daro Zashar. I don't know why but when I look into his eye's, I feel like I see someone who is wise. Someone who has seen much. But I doubt I am of much importance to him.
Before I met him, earlier today... Or yesterday now I suppose. But before I did, I was standing in front of my house. For a long time, until my legs hurt. I was staring at the door.
I didn't know what else to do.
I just stared at the closed door, the rest world moving along as normal around me. Dark became light, and that light was day. I could hear Evermore waking up, I could sense movement, both further in the city and inside the house's near mine. I didn't want to be looked at I suppose. So I moved along.
I found myself walking down the hill, straight into the south market. I should've sat down, rested my legs. I didn't though, I felt I wasn't allowed. I remember I eyes stung.
I was sure most people didn't notice me. I doubt I looked interesting, I doubt I still do. And yet, after some time of my walking, and occasional standing still, a golden Khajiit approached me, and I don't believe I'll ever forget his first words to me.
"My friend! Let me sell you some new legs! You have surely worn those old ones out!"
He had a warm smile on his face, his hands reached high as he called for me. Jolly is one word to describe him in that moment I suppose. But I also remember thinking, about his golden fur, it looked ever so fluffy and soft.