A Dunedweller's Account

Something I wrote a while back for Hammerfell as part of the Beyond Skyrim project that also kind of fits with the week's theme. Cheers.

A Dunedweller's Account

An encounter with nomads, and history's footprint on the Alik'r seen through the eyes of a Dunedweller and his ancestors, as transcribed and detailed by Roka Siana, assistant to Tanyin Aldwyr.

Foreword

It is ten years since these events on this, the day I publish this record of mine and Tanyin's encounter with this particular tribe of Dunedwellers. Sadly, Tanyin has passed, and so I honor her memory by publishing this, an annotated version of my original writing.

4th of Sun's Dusk, 4E 183

Tanyin sees the Dunedwellers and gets an eager look on her face. "Ah, come Roka, a tribe of nomads!"

We approach the caravan and the Dunedwellers look at us suspiciously.

The chief speaks. "What business have you here, city-dwellers?"

"Sir, I am a scholar who would like to learn about your peoples. Would you accommodate us?"

"Would I what?" The chief chatters with the men behind him briefly in Yoku, unsure of Tanyin's meaning.

"Er, tell us about your history. Roka here will record what you say."

The chief accomodates. "Very well. My kin and I are nearly to where we will set up our tents. Follow, and I will speak."

Tanyin scampers up next to the chief, fixing her eyes on his face. The chief looks ahead as he leads the train of carts. We begin walking with the Dunedwellers. Women and children peek at us from behind the cloth coverings on their carts.

"Start at the beginning, sir..?"

The chief begins, "I am Al-Khrozu, the chief of this tribe. My family has traversed these sands for... (he looks down at his fingers and counts from his thumb to the stump of his pinky,) many generations. For six of those, a history has been passed from my great-great-great-great-great grandfather to me. One day, it will pass to my son. My great-great-great-great-great grandfather saw the petty fighting of the milk-men with the city-dwellers; little happened in those days. I do remember that he was a hero of a raid on a tribe of the green pigs- you call them 'Orcs'- he held the skull of their chief until his passing. He also told my 4th-great grandfather (Chief Al-Khrozu rattled off each 'great' whenever he spoke of his ancestors) of the tales which his 4th-great grandfather told of when the pale-skins first came here. That was a time of strife, yes, time has been peaceful since then. My 3rd-great grandfather only told of what the two men before him told. My 2nd-great grandfather, he saw when the great city tribe of Sentinel took many lands into its folds. My 2nd-great grandfather, he saw when the demons from the east walked on these sands, and he protected our tribe from them, matching their own magics when they came to terrorize. He and my great-grandfather both remembered the shaking of the earth that a traveler told of as an explosion of a mountain with the fury of gods. And I have seen the great fighting between the pale-skins and city-dwellers with the yellow elves. We approach our destination. Eat with us, city-dwellers."

We ate a stew of desert roots and camel meat with the chief and his tribe, and the men who spoke Tamrielic told us some of their stories.

One young man told us his perspective on one of the battles between the independent Redguards in the desert and the Thalmor.

"I was at the great fight seven, eight years ago. I had become separated from the tribe, as I was young and foolish, and I came upon the two groups of warriors. The yellow elves met the city-dwellers on the field of war in this desert, sending forth terrible magics at the Ra Gada. I watched from a dune in the distance, and I still heard their cries. The city men still charged at the elves, and when the elf wizards had exhausted their magics, the Ra Gada swept through-" the man stopped his story to take a bite- "through the elves as a rushing wind, routing many of their warriors. Then the elven wizards released their magics again. And such went on until the sun grew low in the sky. By then, my father and brother found me and took me back to the tribe."

A woman spoke of the exodus of Imperial troops from the southern coast of Hammerfell through the Alik'r.

"A great many north-men came through this desert that year. Many were tired, thirsty, some were wounded- we have no love for the pale-skins, so we only watched from afar. Our Yoku-hi could have healed their men and won their fighting. The warriors were badly battered, and did not know how to walk on the sand. At this time, we were going in the same general direction as they, and so, they approached us once or twice before they saw that we did not want them. I thank Sakatal for our strong men. I would not want those heathens any nearer my little Kati than they got."

A large portion of the tribe's conversation was in what is presumably a form of Yoku, shaped and changed by centuries of Imperial intervention, and so much of what was said was unable to be written. After the meal, the chief approached us.

"You will go tomorrow, yes?"

"Yes, chief, we do not wish to be a burden."

"Is there anything else you need? It grows late."

"No, thank you."

"Then I am retiring with my wife to our tent. Good night to you."

The next morning we kept going on our journey through the Alik'r.