User blog:SkyrimsShillelagh/The Hero Made of Sand

This is a super short part of what will be a much larger piece, detailing Daiabn’s exploits, and more of the Empress’ and Diagna’s backstory. Basically consider this the introduction to what will be a short story.

A fire was unnecessary, but they lit one for purely habit’s sake.

Nerenzul Yaharn was bent over his hammer, working inscriptions and carvings into the ancient masterpiece

The dwarves, his people, had gone from the world. He did not know if he was the last of his race, but he was certainly the last of his tribe. The Rourken were gone.

This was why the inscriptions were important. The hammer he was working on was the most valuable relic of his tribe. Never had he crafted anything finer than Volendrung. It would survive the test of time. And if the memory of the Rourken were to survive, it too would need to be inscribed in the hammer.

He leaned back, sweating, setting his tools aside.

Skaldia was watching him work, her long, angular face glowing the firelight. Both she and her twin were vaguely masculine, with muscled arms and broad shoulders, but not at all ugly.

Cirdon was thin where they were muscular and short where they were tall. His features were pointed, attractive, in an androgynous way. The Bosmer looked out beyond the fire, where Daiabn sat at the cliff’s edge, peering over the side. The Redguard was immobile, and posed in a way that one could almost be convinced he was a statue. His eyes flickered over the dark landscape of Hammerfell, never settling on one spot for long. Beyond the desert was the blue of the ocean, only barely visible.

Baldia joined them at the fire, coming back from scouting their surroundings. The desert before them was empty, the valley below them as well.

“How long has he been at it?” Baldia asked, sitting down before the fire, next to her sister.

“No longer than usual.” Cirdon said, untying the string from his bow. He was perched up high on the rock, his legs drawn in. “What do you wonder he’s thinking about?”

“Leave it alone, Cirdon.” Nerenzul grumbled. He knew Daiabn could hear them.

“I’d think home.” Cirdon guessed, unperturbed. “Or maybe his father.”

“Leave it alone.” The dwarf said again.

“You two have known him longest.” Baldia said, warming her hands. “Has he always been like this?”

Nerenzul opened his mouth to her to shut her’s, but Cirdon spoke over him. “No, he hasn’t. He was… hopeful once, is the best way to put it. Had this undying faith in people. There was nothing Daiabn wouldn’t do to protect someone.”

“And then?”

“And then his faith died.”

Baldia nodded slowly. Nerenzul harrumphed, drawing Cirdon’s attention. “What?”

“His faith didn’t ‘die.’” Nerenzul dismissed. “Don’t be dramatic, elf. Daiabn’s never had need of faith. He’s living proof of faith, proof of gods. What’s a god need with faith?”

“Then what do you think?” Cirdon asked.

Nerenzul touched his hand to his breaded chin, frowning speculatively.

“I think he’s lonely.”

It was Cirdon’s turn to scoff. “You didn’t know Daiabn back when he was really alone, before he had us.”

Nerenzul shrugged his broad shoulders. “So?”

“He can’t get lonely. It’s not in him. Back then he only cared about one thing. The Yokudans had only just come to Tamriel, and he made it his duty to find a home for them. Its how we met, him coming to Valenwood in search of a home.”

“You’ve told me.” Nerenzul said.

“I haven’t heard it.” Skaldia spoke for the first tonight. She smiled sweetly at the Bosmer. “I’d like to hear it, Cirdon.”

Cirdon smiled back, nodded graciously. “Well alright then. The Ballad of Daiabn al Din and Cirdon Camoran, coming up.”

It was morning in Valenwood. The year was 1E 799.

The Camoran throne was interwoven into the highest point of Falinesti and it was on these highest branches that all Camorans lived. Falinesti was younger than, smaller than it is now after a hundred fifty years of growth, but not by much.

I was beginning mornings as I usually did, waking up in the city’s heights. A bath was drawn, breakfast was brought to me, I was dressed.

Falinesti is a Walking City, it moves. I am was used to looking out from these high branches down at the canopy of Valenwood, and seeing something different than when I went to sleep.

What was unusual was the sudden violence with which the tree began to rock, as if an earthquake were striking it. Valenwood is not Hammerfell or High Rock. The roots of its trees run deep. The ground is solid.

So I knew it was no earthquake.

The Camorans aren’t dandies. We’re warriors, generals. I was into my armor and holding my bow in moments, and descending the tree as rapidly as I could. The city blew by me—it’s dangling homes and gravity-defying avenues. In some places, the paths between structures are little more than ladders, lain over a hundred foot drop.

Heights then, as they remain, are nothing to me. I was on the jungle floor in minutes.

I didn’t see anything right away and was almost convinced for a moment that it could actually be an earthquake. Clouds of soil and dirt were rising up from the roots of Falinesti. Each of those is as thick as a mountainside, but they were churning around in soil, steadily pulling their way free. Falinesti, when it ‘walks,’ does not step. It drags itself, steadily but surely. This wasn’t an earthquake, and the city wasn’t walking. I was completely stupefied, until I saw him.

He wasn’t immediately impressive to me. Tall, but not extremely so. Muscular, but not noteworthy in any sense. He wore a plain, long blue robe, the same one’s you’ve seen the Ansei in Taneth wear. Only he carried no weapons, wore no armor. The most ridiculous thing to me about his appearance was that he was barefoot. In Valenwood there’s a million different kinds of bug or reptile that can kill you with a touch. It was pure stupidity to go about with bare feet like that—one wrong step and death was immediate.

But the sense of bemusement I had for him disappeared quickly. Because, I quickly realized, he had his arms latched around one of Falinesti’s roots—and was pulling.

His arms strained, his naked feet dug into the earth, and slowly but surely the tree came out of the ground, a few feet every minute.

I had no initial reaction. I mean, how do you respond to someone tearing a whole city out of the ground with their bare hands?

When I finally wrapped my head around what was happening I managed to say something, although I’ll admit it wasn’t the best of first impressions.

“Hey! Stop!”

When he let go of the root the whole tree shifted, creaked noisily, the sound of bending wood filling the forest. There was a second or two I was terrified the whole thing would came do, as one of the tallest trees in the world shivered like a foot tall sapling, but then it took hold again, and was still.

He turned to me, slowly, unhurried. He had a wide forehead and cheekbones, receding into an angular jawline. His features were strong, and his gaze intense—what he was focused on at any given moment had his full attention. I got the sense he was someone who did smile much, and walked around constantly with his jaw clenched, perpetually stoic.

He didn’t say anything, although he did spend a second sizing me up, to see if I would be any trouble. And then went right back to pulling my city out of the ground.

I ran at him then. I pulled at the back of his robe to yank him off balance, away from the tree, but I might as well have tried that on the tree itself, for all the impact it made.

It did have the desired effect, though. He turned away from the tree again. And hit me.

Anyway, after that it’s black for a while. When I’m awake next I’m lying on my back underneath the midday sun. He’s sitting with his back against one Falinesti’s massive roots, eyes shut, but opens them the instant I shift.

The entire right side of my face was swollen up, so much so I couldn’t open my eye. I sat up to look at him.

He smiles at him, boyishly, like he’s about to deliver the punchline to a well-told joke.

“You’re not dead.”

I feel the tender flesh wrapping around my head, gritting my teeth at the spikes of pain it causes. “Wish I was. What’re you made out of?

He smirked at me and said nothing.

“How were you doing that?” I nodded at Falinesti’s roots. Dark soil was gathered around us, disturbed by his aborted attempt to pull the city out of the earth.

He shrugged modestly. “Would you believe I’m just really strong?”

I felt the bruises along the right side of my face again. “I’d believe it.”

He nodded and stood up, rubbing his hands together, and wrapped his arms around Falinesti’s root.

“What’re you doing?” I demanded, struggling to get onto my feet. Each movement sent waves of nausea through me and stabbing pains through my skull.

“Taking… this… damn… tree…” His teeth were grit with effort. “Grab over there… and… you can help.” He said in between breaths.

I was pretty shocked by his callousness. None of you have been to Faliensti, but it’s massive. There’s thousands of Bosmer living there. He’d be destroying my home, all those elves’ homes. Probably kill someone too.

Now, obviously, I couldn’t let that happen. I told him to stop again, but he’d started ignoring me again. I was forced I did the one thing I thought I could do. I had my bow, so I pulled out an arrow, and shot him.

“Bet that worked out well.” Nerenzul snorted.

“You shot Daiabn?” Baldia was shocked. “Are you stupid?”

“I didn’t know who he was then.” Cirdon said, annoyed. “Let me finish.”

It broke on his skin. Didn’t leave a mark, I don’t even think he really felt it.

It got his attention though, because he let go of that root and came at me. Never been as frightened as I was that moment.

He came walking towards me, as unhurried and languid as he ever was. I was fast shot, not as fast as I am now, but fast enough to hit him seven more times before he’d closed the distance, half of those in the head. Nothing.

He flicked my bow. It snapped in half and flew from my hands. I kneed him in the gut and ended up only hurting myself. As I fell down, he caught me by the front of my jacket, and lifted me off the ground with a single hand.

“I could kill you.” He said, very pointedly, looking up at me. I pried at his fingers to no avail.

“You could.” I agreed, struggling to get out words, trying to think of one thing I could say to save my skin. “But I’m only protecting my home.”

That gave him pause. He looked over his shoulder, up at Falinesti.

“How many people live here?”

“Thousands of Bosmer.” I told him. “They’ve done nothing to hurt you. Y’ffre, I don’t think they could do anything to hurt you if they wanted to.”

“I see.” There was a bitter, somber quality to how he said, as if vastly disappointed in what I had said and himself. He set me down on my feet, gently.

“I’m sorry.” He smiled tersely. “I didn’t know.”

I shrugged. There wasn’t much use in reprimanding him, I thought, given he could kill me with a slap.

“What were you going to do?” I asked. “After you tore an entire city out of the ground.”

“I heard about these walking cities in Valenwood. I thought… I thought that my people could use one as a home. We’re refugees from another land, forced to start over entirely. I thought it might ease the transition if we’ve got a city.”

“So you were going to… carry it? Back to your people?”

He nodded. It was as simple as that to him. His people needed a city? He figured he might as well go and find one, then carry it back to them. It was a thought, a solution, which no other person would have come up with, nor been able to pull off. Had I not been there to persuade him, I’m entirely confident Daiabn would have done as he intended, and carried Falinesti all the way on his back to Hammerfell

It was part of what made Daiabn amazing. I’m told his mother had the same drive. The huge to do something simply because it needed to be done. To fulfill a duty no one but him could fulfill. He would never back down from a challenge, never give up. Daiabn was distilled perseverance—it was in his blood.

“We spent a while talking, after that. I decided that joining Daiabn was a much better use of my time and left with him. He was open to the idea of company, and it’s been that way ever since.

“What’s your point?” Nerenzul grumbled.

“Daiabn was truly alone then.” Cirdon said. “And yet he was content. He had purpose.”

“And you’re saying he lost that.” Nerenzul folded his arms, leaning back.

“Faith and purpose are the same thing. They’re both a form of dedication. And ever since Orsinium… he’s been different. So to answer your question, Baldia, no he’s not always been like this.”

“Don’t know if I agree with you.” Nerenzul said. “And I have my own Daiabn story.”

“Oh?”

“Share.” Skaldia smiled. “Baldia and I want to hear.”

“Not the one of how we met. Not one you were there for either, Cirdon. Daiabn told it to me, long time ago. The Na-Totumba’s flight and landing in Hammerfell. The first time met his father. And the last time he saw his mother."