A History of Theodane Moorham (Centaur Stories 1)
Meta: this week's theme (minor races) is a part of TES Lore that has always fired my imagination. Arbitrarily picking centaurs, I've decided to make one post each day from now until Sunday exploring their culture and history in ways that hopefully illuminate, yet raise more questions than they answer.
>page 46
>of course was why my parents would want such an education for me, what with the times being what they were. Being a wise son I would not have doubted their judgement for a moment.
>Sadly, my journey to Camlorn would have to wait. In what was likely the most tragic event of my childhood, my eldest sister came down with Rexus. My parents called on every doctor (both witch and certified) in the out-reach to no avail.
>It's... strange to think back on those days. A trustworthy, rational mind such as mine knows that my sister and I were close, yet if you placed her in a crowd in front of me I doubt I could pick out her face. Only her long flowing hair remains clear, a wild blonde tempest that shook as she vowed she would not go down without a fight.
>It was less than two weeks before she could no longer stand. By three she had lost the strength to swallow. The house was quiet. No servants. No guards save the doorman. Just three crying people and a dying child in a remote and empty mansion surrounded by the dark night. >That's when were heard the noises.
>Snapping branches. Hooves on damp earth. Many hooves on damp earth. I was terrified, and I feel no shame in admitting that. Nonetheless a bellow from the doorman, a mountain orc mercenary, brought me to the open window.
>The lantern hanging by our door cast out a feeble light. The doorman cut shadows through it with his poleaxe, granting the lawn, walls, and nearby forest a frantic flickering energy. Being held at bay was a creature I had only heard of in stories. From the waist up she appeared to be a stocky woman. Shockingly
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> page 47
>pale, with a face so motionless it seemed like stone.
>Below the waist she was a horse. I do not know how to put it any other way; breeds have never been my strong point. I do remember her coat was a brown so dark it bordered on black, with a white underbelly.
>She paced back and forth, just out of range. Behind her large shadows flitted in and out of the light. They appeared monstrous to me. Our guard was frantically decided whether or not to charge when my mother appeared in the door and placed a hand on his bewildered shoulder. Behind her came father with my sister in his arms.
>For the first time the creature showed some emotion and looked down at my sibling with approval in her eyes. Lifting up her dying body, my father placed her in the arms of the centaur.
>A second beast walked out of the shadows, brown upper and chestnut lower. To him my mother passed a bottle of the rarest, most expensive wine from our cellars.
>With tears in their eyes, my parents nodded to the creatures, who ever so slightly, returned the gesture before pulling around hard and galloping off into the forest. The crashing of a dozen or more large bodies through the branches echoed through the air for what felt like forever. My parents stood there long after. The orc and I were as equals in our confusion.
>I never saw my sister again. Nor did my parents ever talk about that night.
>I wish I could illuminate more on this subject, but that spring brought my academic journey to Camlorn, and I was never made privy to the inner-peculiarities of the out-reach.
>Besides, there are no shortage of "Hag-hocks" littering the bookstores of Wayrest to sate one's appetite for that sort of thing. You, my reader, are of an economic mind, and wish to know more of the career of the finest broker that Daggerfall has ever seen.
>My journey to Camlorn that autumn was uneventful. Nay the real challenge began