Kenil liked his uncle Gul; he was a good man, as good, funny a man as any
within Kenil's experience with men. Although sometimes, his uncle did have
a tendency to often turn sayings wayward, using all sorts of euphemisms and
pessimistic drudgery. Uncle Gul was a funny Dumner, no doubt. But there was
a sad side to him. Arcata had once said, that in his childhood, a board had
been mistakenly placed on top of him, and it fell on his head. After a
while, they were afraid Uncle Gul might die, but it turned out he lived,
but less so than before. He talked, but his words were slurred. His
thoughts were in rambles. And for a while, everyone in Hiaalu Canton
thought he had gone stupid. Thus, Uncle Gul resorted to joking when there
was nothing to do. It was a habit, developed all those years when people
underestimated him for not being able to speak.
Granther was plain tired of him. The same way a person evades someone when he's just sick and tired and a little frustrated with his abundance of jokes. Granther, on the other hand, was a low-browed father. Not that Granther was stupid or anything, but he just kept to himself too much too long. Perhaps, Kenil thought or would like to believe, one day his mother or someone else (he doubted anything else would know about Granther though) would tell him a tale of an age when Granther was not the person he was today, sort of like one of those "Listen son, it's about high time you learned about your family" stories. But that day probably, if it existed, would probably take too long to come. Kenil would just have to keep waiting. Arcata did like telling stories, as shown with his predilection with those audacious legends of Vivec he was so fond of earlier in his youth.
His mother, Arcata, was Kenil supposed, as close to a mother as he could tell. Nothing unwonted about her as far he could tell, although he did have a lack of examples to base his judgment on. One time, Kenil could remember, Arcata had mentioned about her tales prior to her deadlock marriage with Granther. That had been during a bad time, a time when Kenil wished over and over would not happen again. He remembered the words, the curses, the fights over Uncle Gul, or whatnot, it didn't matter what it was about, but the fights themselves were bad.
Kenil remembered about those myths about a land where only race existed, where there was no magic (were there any magic in this world? If so, Kenil hadn't seen any. Although he did hear of it aplenty.) and everybody was reduced to simple drudgery. Every world has its same tendencies to do the same thing, and this world probably wouldn't be much different, Kenil thought.
And as for that world he had referred to, one had to wonder how boring would it be for those people to live on without magic? To live a life without magic, it was unthinkable. As for this world, Kenil knew it was founded on magic. If all those stories of Vivec have done one things, it's that they've told him about the gods, both Aedra and Daedra, and how they happen to create for themselves followers. Did they not put magic within these livings beings, in hope that one day, these beings might grow to become something greater, and along with that, their magic might increase parallel? And how each being, no matter how small in weight and size, has the capacity to use magic. So is the truth, or so Kenil has been told. Each and every being uses a certain amount of magic to sustain them in life. Each uses it to heal when skin is torn. Each breathes magic in their lungs. Each can harness it. All that one needed was willpower. Magic gave hope, and perhaps that was what the people in that No-magic world didn't have for them, no hope. But then, how could one toil in the fields without hope? How could one exist and labor themselves from day in to day out without something to hope for? Perhaps they had something to hope for that was not magical. Just blind faith then, thought Kenil.
Kenil's life was full of hope, because as long as there exists magical elements, there would exist a thing to live for in Kenil, something to desire. The life of a farmer was not completely cruel, one worked from day to night on one plain of field to produce results each year. One breathed an air that had fluttered through his sweat, and through the work of his sweat, and sometimes one worked while the sun began to emerge or set, knowing fully that this would happen for the rest of his life. Nay, it wasn't cruel, simply over-tasking, tepid, boring. This much he knew already. Which was why he desired to become a wizard someday, perhaps something even as lowly as a priest, as long as it was a priest-errant full of adventure. Who knows? Maybe he might become so important that he finally gets to meet great old Vivec himself, in that palace Arcata keeps frequenting in his dreams.
Uncle Gul seemed to enjoy life. Oh yes, Uncle Gul, the family jester. Suddenly Kenil woke from his daydreaming existence, to hear Uncle Gul mention something while laughing.
"Yup. We've got a good-looking, Telvanni princess, wouldn't you say, Kenil?" He punched Kenil in a nice funny way. It showed all the signs of a friendly companionship; it had always suggested they were pals.
You didn't really have to say anything in reply to Uncle Gul. It wasn't because he was not a person of great importance, because he was. He was the greatest uncle. The only uncle. But instead because of the odd way his demeanor suggested nothing to be taken seriously. And so, nothing was and they did their best to decipher which was important and which was for a laugh. Kenil had been helping his mother find the old bed covers, the same the family had stored within the cabinets somewhere within his uncle's room before he had lapsed into a daydream. But, let's face it; his uncle's room had been a mess since the day he came here on Granther's farm.
"Why don't you two stop staring and start helping?" Begged Arcata as she raveled through the old clothes to find one extra bed linen the family kept.
Fortunately, although it was embarrassing, Kenil managed to find a spare set of alit linen. Suddenly, he remembered that his uncle had kept one spare of bed covers with him, it had come from those days when his uncle had been a dumpling, his father had been at an equal size, and his grandparent, may the gods protect them, had still been alive and well. And Arcata? She was doodling around somewhere at some Canton in Vivec. In those years, uncle Gul had the problem all young dumplings faced early in their years, except his hanged onto him like a moist, humid afternoon.
Uncle Gul pushed Kenil still and mentioned his ingenuity with words too low to be heard by anyone other than Kenil. But the tense or rather the smirk behind it could be deduced further away, yet.
"A' hem!" A guttural sound emanated from Arcata's throat. Uncle Gul stiffened with sarcasm as if caught stealing candy, or some other naughty task. "Well, you're no use! Why don't you go back to the yard and see if you can fix what the storm did?"
Yes, sir! Most gracious, sir. Gul seemed to say. His uncle immediately made way for the door, with mock military alertness, something he had seen in parades on the streets of Ebonhart. When he got there, he looked back at Kenil with an outrageous stance. It was similar and mimicking the chicken posture, with the elbow stuck out on either side, and the hands bent back meeting at the inner chest. Except in the position his uncle showed, they seemed to be holding a baby, with each hand holding an inward head. There was a ridiculous grin as he glanced at Kenil and the girl appraisingly.
Before long, he had backed out of the room and was on his way to fix the storm's damage, beaming an elegant fool's smile.
Granther was plain tired of him. The same way a person evades someone when he's just sick and tired and a little frustrated with his abundance of jokes. Granther, on the other hand, was a low-browed father. Not that Granther was stupid or anything, but he just kept to himself too much too long. Perhaps, Kenil thought or would like to believe, one day his mother or someone else (he doubted anything else would know about Granther though) would tell him a tale of an age when Granther was not the person he was today, sort of like one of those "Listen son, it's about high time you learned about your family" stories. But that day probably, if it existed, would probably take too long to come. Kenil would just have to keep waiting. Arcata did like telling stories, as shown with his predilection with those audacious legends of Vivec he was so fond of earlier in his youth.
His mother, Arcata, was Kenil supposed, as close to a mother as he could tell. Nothing unwonted about her as far he could tell, although he did have a lack of examples to base his judgment on. One time, Kenil could remember, Arcata had mentioned about her tales prior to her deadlock marriage with Granther. That had been during a bad time, a time when Kenil wished over and over would not happen again. He remembered the words, the curses, the fights over Uncle Gul, or whatnot, it didn't matter what it was about, but the fights themselves were bad.
Kenil remembered about those myths about a land where only race existed, where there was no magic (were there any magic in this world? If so, Kenil hadn't seen any. Although he did hear of it aplenty.) and everybody was reduced to simple drudgery. Every world has its same tendencies to do the same thing, and this world probably wouldn't be much different, Kenil thought.
And as for that world he had referred to, one had to wonder how boring would it be for those people to live on without magic? To live a life without magic, it was unthinkable. As for this world, Kenil knew it was founded on magic. If all those stories of Vivec have done one things, it's that they've told him about the gods, both Aedra and Daedra, and how they happen to create for themselves followers. Did they not put magic within these livings beings, in hope that one day, these beings might grow to become something greater, and along with that, their magic might increase parallel? And how each being, no matter how small in weight and size, has the capacity to use magic. So is the truth, or so Kenil has been told. Each and every being uses a certain amount of magic to sustain them in life. Each uses it to heal when skin is torn. Each breathes magic in their lungs. Each can harness it. All that one needed was willpower. Magic gave hope, and perhaps that was what the people in that No-magic world didn't have for them, no hope. But then, how could one toil in the fields without hope? How could one exist and labor themselves from day in to day out without something to hope for? Perhaps they had something to hope for that was not magical. Just blind faith then, thought Kenil.
Kenil's life was full of hope, because as long as there exists magical elements, there would exist a thing to live for in Kenil, something to desire. The life of a farmer was not completely cruel, one worked from day to night on one plain of field to produce results each year. One breathed an air that had fluttered through his sweat, and through the work of his sweat, and sometimes one worked while the sun began to emerge or set, knowing fully that this would happen for the rest of his life. Nay, it wasn't cruel, simply over-tasking, tepid, boring. This much he knew already. Which was why he desired to become a wizard someday, perhaps something even as lowly as a priest, as long as it was a priest-errant full of adventure. Who knows? Maybe he might become so important that he finally gets to meet great old Vivec himself, in that palace Arcata keeps frequenting in his dreams.
Uncle Gul seemed to enjoy life. Oh yes, Uncle Gul, the family jester. Suddenly Kenil woke from his daydreaming existence, to hear Uncle Gul mention something while laughing.
"Yup. We've got a good-looking, Telvanni princess, wouldn't you say, Kenil?" He punched Kenil in a nice funny way. It showed all the signs of a friendly companionship; it had always suggested they were pals.
You didn't really have to say anything in reply to Uncle Gul. It wasn't because he was not a person of great importance, because he was. He was the greatest uncle. The only uncle. But instead because of the odd way his demeanor suggested nothing to be taken seriously. And so, nothing was and they did their best to decipher which was important and which was for a laugh. Kenil had been helping his mother find the old bed covers, the same the family had stored within the cabinets somewhere within his uncle's room before he had lapsed into a daydream. But, let's face it; his uncle's room had been a mess since the day he came here on Granther's farm.
"Why don't you two stop staring and start helping?" Begged Arcata as she raveled through the old clothes to find one extra bed linen the family kept.
Fortunately, although it was embarrassing, Kenil managed to find a spare set of alit linen. Suddenly, he remembered that his uncle had kept one spare of bed covers with him, it had come from those days when his uncle had been a dumpling, his father had been at an equal size, and his grandparent, may the gods protect them, had still been alive and well. And Arcata? She was doodling around somewhere at some Canton in Vivec. In those years, uncle Gul had the problem all young dumplings faced early in their years, except his hanged onto him like a moist, humid afternoon.
Uncle Gul pushed Kenil still and mentioned his ingenuity with words too low to be heard by anyone other than Kenil. But the tense or rather the smirk behind it could be deduced further away, yet.
"A' hem!" A guttural sound emanated from Arcata's throat. Uncle Gul stiffened with sarcasm as if caught stealing candy, or some other naughty task. "Well, you're no use! Why don't you go back to the yard and see if you can fix what the storm did?"
Yes, sir! Most gracious, sir. Gul seemed to say. His uncle immediately made way for the door, with mock military alertness, something he had seen in parades on the streets of Ebonhart. When he got there, he looked back at Kenil with an outrageous stance. It was similar and mimicking the chicken posture, with the elbow stuck out on either side, and the hands bent back meeting at the inner chest. Except in the position his uncle showed, they seemed to be holding a baby, with each hand holding an inward head. There was a ridiculous grin as he glanced at Kenil and the girl appraisingly.
Before long, he had backed out of the room and was on his way to fix the storm's damage, beaming an elegant fool's smile.