The centre of the village was a large circular space built around the towering tree growing in the very middle of the all the huts and buildings. It was as tall as an oak, the branches twisting and spread out like the dozens of other species within the marshes and yet its leaves were somehow spined like a pine but as supple and bending like swamp grass. There was something distinctly wrong about the tree that I couldn’t quite put my finger on and with a glance around the group I knew that I wasn’t the only one who felt a similar way.
Standing before the tree were a small collection of individuals, two of which standing out of the rest of the village by their appearances. One stood half my height and if he had been human I would have assumed that he had been a young boy barely in his teens, while the other stood half my height due to the fact that it was hunchbacked and bent. The younger Argonian was dressed in a collection of leathers that had obviously been made for a being much larger than himself, and in a mildly comical way wore the bottom jaw taken from a crocodile or other great lizard of the marshes. On a full grown Argonian it would have sat under the jaw almost comfortably and have provided the appearance of an enormous under bite but on this middle aged hatchling it was obviously awkward and very ill fitting.
The other being was one that none of us wished to move closer to within seconds of laying eyes on it. While much, much older than the jawbone wearing youngster, this Argonian was filled with a strange maniacal energy as it twitched and writhed this way and that. So jerky and uncoordinated were its movements it almost appeared as though it was suffering a fit and unlike the rest of us or the villagers it turned and moved in very quick, very precise movements. It seemed entirely incapable of performing a slow, steady motion with any part of its body and the way that its head jerked and stared at us as we approached made us feel even more wary.
What was worse was unlike all of the others it almost appeared to be clothed. Great sheets of leather taken from all manner of creatures and beasts hung down over it like an ancient, crumbling cloak of hide, and somewhere in its mass it had inserted branches, horns and talons to prop its horrid garments in seemingly random places. In a stark contrast between it and our two Argonian guides, the bits of flesh that we could see under the leather was tainted and sporting vast swathes of fungus and moss growing over its scales as though it was a partially submerged stone. The thickness and the sheer quantity of the surface of its skin that had been covered showed that it had been carefully cultivated over years, if not longer to reach that current state.
Moving into a rough, curved line on the semi-paved path looping around the base of the ancient tree, we all came to a stop facing the two individuals and their assorted followers. The tribe was still exceedingly wary of us but it was more and more apparent that they were entirely lacking in males, and most females in their middling years.
To my surprise, the younger Argonian stepped forward and began to squeak and hiss at us, the seemingly enormous jawbone rattling in the movements while struggling to remain locked to his own jaw. He continued for a few minutes, before stopping and looking over us all as the silence dropped heavily over the village.
“Well?” I said simply, looking over to Weebam-Na in expectation after he replied and made the show of baring his throat to the young Argonian. He had explained in the first village that we had come across that a gesture was a sign of respect to those in positions in power and such an act from himself would show that he was to be trusted. After all, showing one’s throat and offering someone else the opportunity to rip it out was about as unsubtle as one could get to show that they weren’t there to cause problems.
“Wuleen-Tulm Kaysareeth welcomes us to his village. He has just formally introduced himself and Greejan-Ze. Greejan-Ze is the village’s Tree Minder; what you all would call a shaman.”
In front of us all the moss and leather covered shaman was shifting and moving about, stepping down onto the rocky path in such a way that seemed more insect that Argonian. His motions somehow hurt the eye and as he moved closer I could help but shrink back in his presence. The sheer overwhelming aura of his power was almost as potent as the rotten, musky stench that emanated from his being While used to mages and being in Viconia’s presence there was something very strange about the power that the mage commanded.
The young chieftain also moved closer, his tongue flicking out of his mouth with each step as he took his time to regard each and every one of us. Despite my unfamiliarity with Argonians in general it was difficult not to see the trepidation and uneasiness he was showing despite his best efforts not to. His position and the head of the village meant that he could do nothing else but show power and control and a lack of fear, which when facing beings such as Mazoga, Viconia and especially Falid was quite difficult to do. Falid was easily three times his size in height alone and weighed as much as five or six of the members of the tribe combined.
It was when he stopped in front of Viconia and me that his interest, and that of the tribe in turn seemed to stay. As the leaders of our expedition we stood in the centre, but it was our armour that seemed to have their attention rather than who we were. In the heat and moisture and while paddling our boats we all ensured that we were stripped down as much as possible but the dangers of the marshes ensured that we weren’t entirely unprotected. Each and every one of us wore our armoured under-layers, which for all bar Detane with his brigandine meant chainmail. Falid’s chainmail was as black as the rest of his armour, Alexi wore a thin shirt that would have been laughable if not for being made from Mithril and Mazoga’s was thick and durable and made from orichalcum. In contrast Viconia’s and mine were very noticeable, especially with the hundreds of individual daedroth scales that covered us from thigh to neck and our arms down to our wrists.
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Our shirts were of great interest and for several minutes the young chieftain looked over them, taking into the way that the different scales were overlapped in such a way to maximise protection. After some time, he had simply stopped, looking between the two of us and hissing in his native tongue.
“Wuleen-Tulm is asking what manner of creature your armour is made from.” Weebam-Na translated for us.
“Tell him that it was taken from a pair of creatures that we killed months ago. Is there a word for daedra or do they have understanding of Oblivion?”
Chittering in amusement, Weebam-Na laughed lightly and nodded. “They do indeed.”
When he translated my words, there was a noticeable ripple of surprise through the assembled mass and the young Argonian in front of us struggled to remain stoic and entirely impassive and almost succeeded. He turned briefly and laid eyes on the hunched figure hanging back between him and the tree, speaking briefly and giving a nod.
“They don’t trust us, and so he just instructed the shaman to consult with the Hist and their ancestors about our purpose here.”
“Stupid misbegotten peasants.” As always, the odd times that Detane spoke his voice was filled with loathing and bile. “The heretical beings should kowtow to their betters rather than questioning them.”
“This isn’t the time or place Detane.” Alexi warned. “Let them have their little superstitions and rituals. Maybe they’ll let us stay the night.”
Viconia, standing by my side muttered under her breath for a few moments before looking about the village. “Ka Shar zhah kaliath. Drag me out of here if you must but I will not be spending another night in one of those damn canoes.”
I as watching the shaman with interest as he scrambled back towards the tree, moving over to where a curious arrangement of hanging clay bowls were suspended from the branches to collect the thick sap where it dripped from the bark. There was a handful of similar arrangements scattered about in the branches, some so high up that only an experienced climber could reach them. Most it appeared had collected a significant quantity of sap that had the texture of honey and yet flowed as sluggishly as tar. It was one of these bowls that he acquired as carefully as he could with his erratic movements before turning and moving back towards us all.
Whatever ritual I was expecting, it certainly wasn’t the shaman dipping his head over the bowl of sap and taking an enormous lick of the strange material. The effects were also unexpected and he twitched so hard that I was surprised that he didn’t break bones, his eyes writhing about in his skull until they were looking completely different directions and shuddering like he was suffering a stroke.
Rapidly hissing and chittering in their native tongue, the words if they could be called as such began pouring from him in an obvious rush that struggled to escape him quickly enough. Weebam-Na, Bejeen and the other Argonians were all standing as though entranced and we all were left looking between them and the shuddering, spasming shaman.
“He says that eight have come seeking wisdom and nine will return.” Weebam-Na translated for us helpfully, waiting a few seconds between sentences to listen and hear what the shaman was saying. “Death, doom and destruction walk in their paths but only to those who seek to hinder or to stop them. We are great warriors, hunters and slayers of the mightiest of beasts. Our paths may be dark, but we somehow provide our own lights and lights for others.”
There was considerable consternation amongst the villagers and there was a surge of what could only be described as excitement at the shaman’s words, even as he collapsed at the end of whatever visions that had consumed his mind.
Forcibly spitting on the ground, Detane looked about the village and sneered with even more force than his customary nature. “Parasite riddled, brain addled animals.”
“They know about the shield.”
“Looks like it.” Replied Alexi and I felt a measure of surprise as I thought I had been whispering my words too quietly for the others to hear.
“Pagan superstitions and heretical rituals, that’s all that was.”
I turned and gave Detane an expression of annoyance even as I rolled my eyes. “He specifically said that we have ‘come seeking wisdom.’ The shield is the artefact of Julianos. You know? The God of Wisdom.”
The villagers were shifting closer to us as the shaman picked himself up from where he had fallen and had started a serious appearing conversation with the young chieftain and Weebam-Na hissed in agreement to my words. “Kaius is correct. He spoke of wisdom not as a thought or knowledge but as a physical thing. I believe this is the place we seek.”
“How certain are you?” Viconia asked.
“Very. We are in the right area by your maps and directions and there won’t be many other villages nearby.”
Bejeen also nodded “I agree. There won’t be any other places such as this. It will give us time to rest even if we aren’t right.”
Turning back to us, the young Argonian and his oversized decorative jawbone looked between us all and nodded, hissing and clicking to Weebam-Na and waiting with an air of expectation as our guide translated.
“We have been granted permission to stay as long as we need, and Wuleen-Tulm has also granted us use of the communal hut for a place to stay. He makes apologies for being unable to provide much in the way of supplies but they will assist us where they can.”
“Excellent.” I gave a light bow to the chief, patting my fist against my chest in a legionary salute that seemed to startle him slightly before he realised it was a sign of respect. “Bam, find out where this hut is. We’ll secure the boats and shift everything into it for the night. While we are getting settled I want you and Bejeen to ask about and find out what the village knows about the Shield. Also try to find out exactly what is going on here too because I have a bad feeling about this.”
“You aren’t the only one.” Viconia muttered, looking about the village again and trying not to visibly shy away from the locals as they shifted forward now that their chief had allowed us to stay. Most, now that they were closer were obviously thin and malnourished and several, especially some of the older villagers had ribs clearly defined in their chests.
There were a number of them, well over a hundred living within the several dozen huts in communal groups. There was a strange order to the place that seemed at odds with the way how one out of every three of the locals were emaciated to the point of death, and despite their resilient hides there were some that were struggling with clusters of parasites and other marshland creatures. In the process of returning to our boats and beginning the process of unloading them, I even saw one group of hatchlings being cared for by a slightly older Argonian who was using the glowing tip of a burnt stick to sear away the wriggling things that had clustered in an armpit. It was a sight that we had not seen at the other villages we had passed through, and it was obvious that this place was much poorer than any that I had ever seen before.
