The Night of Tears

A long time ago, before the age of man, men lived in a land far to the north across the sea of ghosts. An ancient land known today as Atmora. Legends say it was a land of frost and ice, stone and waters, where nothing grew and thus only predators ruled. And the mightiest of predators were the Atmorians, precursors of man and fathers of the Nords. Mighty warriors, living in a land where only the mightiest survived. And no matter how hard of a land it was, they thrived. Building tools and houses, cities and ships. And this very progress gave birth to jealousy, jealousy birth to war and war birth to death by brethren hands. Some men were wise and saw how their progress split the Atmorans and pitted them against one another. A proud people, fallen to nothing but barbaric tribes fighting each other for progress they once shared. One of these wise men was Ysgramor. Mighty and wise warrior chef.

It is said Ysgramor took his family, friends and anyone else willing, to sea. To escape that frozen war. And crossing the sea, they came across a new land. A land where the snow was spotted by green, where creatures existed that did not eat flesh, where the very earth gifted food for the living. This land was later to be known as Skyrim. But at this moment it had not yet been named such.

But Ysgamor and his followers was soon to realize that they were not alone in this land. Other beings had lived here for ages past. And thus Man and Mer met. They called themselves Falmer, and were those who Man came to later give the name "Snow Elves"

Ysgramor told the Falmers of their escape from a frozen war, how his fellow men had turned against each other, an how he had taken his people to search for a new home, to again birth peace. Ysgramor told the Falmers many things. And the Falmes listened, understood and accepted. And they gave Ysgramor and his people land to call home. The very land their ships had first touched ashore.

And so the first city of man, Saarthal, rose in this new world. And once again Ysgramor's people knew peace. And for many years the city would grow, and the people with it. And the people grew, and the city with them.

RATS! The Falmers whispered amongst each other. Breeding rats! Growing weed! Creatures of death! Eating and breeding and breeding and eating!

And so came a night, a night as dark as the darkest of nights, both in meaning and not. And then came the screams, reaching for the sky. Screams of fear and death, screams of red that begged for help where no help was to be found. And when the screams ended there was silence. And when the silence ended there was laughter. Laughter of joy and triumph. And Ysgramor heard it was the Falmers laughter.

In the darkest of nights Ysgramor ran, and his sons ran with him, and only the sound of six feet ran. All else was but silence and laughter. Ysgramor and his sons set sail to flee, to the only place they could flee. And as the sea of ghosts licked the ship Ysgramor turned to see his city of peace. And he saw I was not a city of peace, but a city of fire and red, silence and death.

And Ysgramor wept, of fear he wept, of sorrow he wept, of darkness he wept, of anger he wept, of rage he wept, of pain he wept, of sadness he wept, of all he wept, of nothing he wept, but mostly, against the elves he wept.

And as Ysgramor wept, his tears fell to the deck, like stones and rocks, like gravel and sand. Tears as dark as the darkest of nights. And the tears was the night and the night was the tears.

And his sons saw their fathers' tears, like stones and rocks, like gravel and sand on the deck of the ship, and the first son held the tears in his hands and lifted them towards the stormy sky, and the other son took the lightning from the storm and held the lightning to the tears. And the tears and the lightning turned into fire, and the fire was water, and the water was red. And in their hand the brothers shaped it. And they shaped it well. But the shape was red, and the red was water, and the water was fire. So the brothers gave the shape to the sea, and the sea ate the fire, and the sea ate the water, and the sea ate the red. And all that was left was the shape. And the shape was well.

And so the two sons gave the shape to Ysgramor. And Ysgramor named the shape in the name of Storm, and Ysgramor named the shape in the name of Tears.

I turned the scroll over and contemplated its content as I looked over its empty backside. The parchment had almost turned yellow of age. Farkas was slowly chewing down some salted venison as he sat on a boulder, staring out into the Whiterun fields lost in thought. Farkas, lost in thought? What an odd sight to see.

¨Quite poetic,¨ I said as I carefully rolled up the scroll, waking Farkas from his thoughts as he turned his attention toward me.

¨Vignar thought you might like the read,¨ He said and threw the last piece of the dried venison into his mouth, barely chewing before swallowing.

Jorrvaskr didn't have much of a library. But Vignar and Kodlak alike tended to hold a small collection of Companion history and lore in their chambers. Oh, how many times I had found Vilkas reading away in Vignars chamber. If he wasn't exercising or counting the Companions collected treasury. This scroll however held few answers as to what Wuuthrad truly was. It spoke in storytelling and symbolism more so than facts and history. I wonder how much of it was true, and not legend bent into myth by time. I still didn't fully understand what Whuutrad was. And the scroll only describes it as a shape.

"What is Whuutrad?" I asked, reaching the now closed scroll back to Farkas.

"Ysgramor was the hero who started the Companions. Wuuthrad was his weapon." Farkas answered as he dusted off his hands against the skirt part of his armor before accepting the scroll. "He came from the ancient homelands and killed all the elves. But not all of them, because some of them are still here."

I studied his face as he placed the scroll in a piece of clean cloth and put it back in the bag he had originally taken it from. Such a simple answer could only be given by Farkas. Well, I kind of figured it was a weapon but... Guess I'll just have to leave it at that.

¨We should keep moving.¨ Farkas said as he had finished. ¨We're not far from Dustman's Cairn now.¨

I looked in the direction he was pointing as I stood up, dusting dirt from my ass. I looked over the old stone pillars that could be seen in the near distance on a stoned hill. Extricating old Nordic tombs rarely sat high on the honor spectrum we companions tended to follow. But I guess we'd make an exception for a piece of Wuuthrad.

¨I'm ready.¨ I said as I pulled my backpack over my shoulders and began to walk.