A Nibenese Folk Tale

A small horde of grubby-faced children gathered around old Claudius as his hands raised and eyes widened. "Yes, come and hear the tale! A true tale that will surely chill your blood and curdle your humors!" he promised in his wavering, shrill tone. The old man leaned forward in his creaking, mildewed chair and lowered his voice to a harsh whisper, "Learn the lore of the cursed Mothman!"

A mustachioed tavern-goer scoffed as he left the taphouse and walked out onto the porch where old Claudius held court. "You ain't tellin the youngins lies 'gain, are you Claudius? Last week, they was all afraid to go fishin because you said the river was full of cannibal lizardmen," he grumbled through his cider-damp facial hair. "But it's true!" Claudius shot back with sincerity. His winkled, stubbly face twitched with fear as he explained, "Exiles from Argonian society slither through the Blackwood into our beloved Niben river... lurking just under the surface, waiting for the unwary fisherman to wade into the water!"

The man made a sound like an impatient horse and puffed out his whiskers, "Pfff! Just some oversized slaughterfish, I reckon. Now, what in Oblivion did ya say it was this time? A moth man?" Old Claudius nodded grimly, the sunlight glancing off his bald dome. "The cursed Mothman," he pronounced curtly. "A Moth Priest gone bad, driven to insanity and murder by forbidden knowledge!" Claudius nearly shouted, waving his hands about menacingly while the children gasped.

Claudius' skeptical foil winced and shook his head. "Stendarr's mercy, that's darn near blasphemy, you old coot," he admonished him before turning his head, spitting superstitiously and walking off briskly. One of the kids tugged on Claudius' frayed pant leg as he craned his neck upwards to ask, "Is it true, mister? An evil Moth Priest?" Another boy, maybe a year older, punched his arm and frowned, "A'course it's true! Old Claudius knows all kinds of stuff! He's older than an old elf." The questioning boy frowned and rubbed his arm, but turned back to Claudius with a quizzical look. "But how could a Moth Priest hurt anybody? I heard they was all frail and blind," he asked.

Cladius leaned back in his chair and nodded sagely. "Yes, young Lurio, they are," he said with consideration as he scratched his chin, "That's what reading books all day gets you. But they don't get you with a knife, or even with a spell. They don't have to see you neither, because they get you... with the moths," he hissed with conspiratorial drama.

The children cast each other confused glanced and muttered quietly amongst themselves before one little girl with a missing tooth spoke up, "I seen plenty o' moths, but never one that could kill nobody."

Claudius wagged his finger like a metronome as he corrected her, "Not with a moth, but a great cloud of them, silently smothering their victim." A look of terrible understanding fell upon the girls' face. "Aw, now you see the danger!" Claudius snapped with satisfaction. "This here valley is the homeland of the wild moths, where the priest's special holy moths originally come from. But our moths arn't like the Ancestor Moths. They're savage! Natural born killers! Of course, one moth can't do much 'cept bang into a lantern, hoping to knock it over and start a house fire," continued breathlessly, spittle accumulating on his chin, "But with leadership, direction, from a renegade Moth Priest who lost his good sense and natural human kindness from too much unholy book-learnin'? Well, then they're capable of anything." He concluded, crossing his arms and nodding sagely.