优先遵循ANK汉化
使斧人
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2022-11-14更新
最新编辑:Lu_23333
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更新日期：2022-11-14
最新编辑：Lu_23333
使斧人
使斧人
密纳斯·托力客是跟我谈过话的魔拉格堂成员中，最让我困惑的一位。他安静而内敛，从不喝酒也从不上妓院，甚至不曾咒骂，而他最着名的就是让人消失的能力。一旦被兄弟会当成目标，而托力客恰好是执行者，那些人就立刻不再是目标。我曾问他选用什么武器，他的答案同样让我大吃一惊。
“我只爱用斧头”他以惯常的平静声音回答。
这个沉默阴郁的男人挥舞本质上如此血腥暴力的武器攻击人的画面，让我无比惊骇，我不禁继续发问。这样的访问其实相当危险，因为刺客一般而言并不爱说自己的故事。托力客不介意这些问题，但因为他的害羞与寡言，我也花了不少时间才问出故事全貌。
托力客很小的时候就成了孤儿，被送去瓦登费尔北方和种植撒翠私的叔叔同住。叔叔答应带领侄子认识他的事业，并在他长大后让他成为合伙人。然而，叔叔却把男孩当成了自家的仆人。
因为叔叔对任何事情该如何进行自有一套不容更动的作法，男孩的生活疲累难熬。他先要求男孩每天必须把从阁楼到地窖、整栋屋子的地板彻底擦洗一遍，如果地板的干净程度达不到叔叔的标准（通常都达不到），托力客就会挨打，而且必须重擦一次。
男孩的第二份工作是敲钟，通知在大农场工作的工人返回屋里。每天最少要敲四次，一餐一次，但要是叔叔有事情要宣布或有新指示下达（次数非常频繁），就必须敲十几次或更多。那是一座挂在塔楼里的巨大铁钟，男孩很快就发现自己必须跳起来、用尽全身的力气才有办法拉动炼条，敲出即使在田里也能听到的响亮钟声。如果他太累，炼条拉得不够远，他的叔叔就立刻现身，一直打他，直到他敲出清楚又响亮的钟声。
托力客的第三份工作是清除叔叔宽敞图书馆所有书架的灰尘。因为书架又深又旧，他必须使用又长又重的除尘杆。为了去除书架深处的灰尘，他必须把除尘杆举到肩膀上挥出去。叔叔如果发现书架有任何灰尘，或者他认为男孩工作不够卖力，严厉的惩罚立刻降临。
几年之后，密纳斯·托力客已经长大，但他的工作职务还是一样。叔叔保证只要托力客完美做好他的仆役工作，就要教他经营事业。因为除了自己的职务，托力客对其他工作全无涉猎，他完全不知道叔叔的债务问题严重，而农场营运也是一片惨澹。
托力客十八岁的时候，叔叔叫他到地窖去。他以为是那里的地板没擦干净，非常害怕即将面临的责打。没想到，他却见到叔叔正在收拾，把东西放进板条箱里。
“我要离开晨风省”叔叔解释。“农场生意惨澹，我想碰碰运气，去天际经营篷车队。我知道卖假的锻莫工艺品给诺德人和赛瑞迪尔人，颇有赚头。我希望能带你一起去，可是我要去的地方没有地板好擦、没有大钟要敲，也没有灰尘要掸”
“可是，叔叔”托力客说。“我不识字，对你所说要教我的事业一无所知。我一个人要怎么活？”
“我相信你一定能找到一些家务方面的杂活”叔叔耸耸肩。“我对你仁至义尽了”
托力客从未挺身面对叔叔，他也不觉得生气，只是有股冷漠揪住他的心。他叔叔打包起来的家当里，有把据说出自锻莫人之手的沉重旧铁斧。他拿起斧头，惊讶地发现它的重量跟他的除尘杆相差无几。事实上，把这斧头扛在肩上、再用力一挥，感觉非常自在，跟他以前做过无数次的除尘动作一模一样。就在这一刻，他将斧头砍入叔叔的右手臂。
老人又痛又怒地尖叫，可是不知为何，托力客再也不怕了。他把斧头换到另一边的肩膀，再度挥击。斧头划过老人的胸膛，令他跌倒在地。
托力客迟疑了一下，然后把斧头高举过头。他觉得这个姿势也很熟悉，跟拉链条敲钟很像。一次又一次，他挥动斧头，仿佛从田地召唤工人回来。只不过这次没有钟声，而是一种湿润的重击声，而且没有任何工人从田里赶过来。毕竟他的叔叔已在几小时之前，要他们全部离开了。
一段时间之后，他叔叔就被擦抹得干干净净，全部冲进地窖的排水道。清理对托力客而言也是轻而易举的小事。刷洗血迹甚至比清除地窖地板上常见的脏污和撒翠私粉快速得多。
因为人人皆知托力客的叔叔打算离开晨风省，因此他的失踪并未启人疑窦。那栋房子和所有东西全都卖给了讨债人，但托力客留下那把斧头。看来他叔叔毕竟还是教了他一些经营事业的技能。
The Axe Man
The Axe Man
Of all the members of the Morag Tong I've spoken with, none disturbed me as much as Minas Torik. A quiet and reserved man who never drank, never visited a brothel or even uttered a curse, he was famous for his ability to make people disappear. Once a person was targeted by the Brotherhood and Torik was sent to them, they would simply cease to be. I asked him once what his weapon of choice was, and was equally startled by his answer.
"I only likes to use axes," he said in his typical, quiet voice.
The image of this silent, dour fellow attacking anyone with a weapon as inherently bloody and violent as an axe so frightened and intrigued me that I questioned him about it further. This is an inherently dangerous activity, for assassins are not typically keen to give out their stories. Torik did not mind the questions, though it took some time to get the full story out of him, as naturally shy and reserved as he was.
It seemed that Torik had been orphaned as a very young age and sent to live with his uncle, a saltrice plantation owner in Sheogorad in northern Vvardenfell. The man promised to show his nephew the business and eventually make him a partner when he was old enough. In the meantime, the boy was put to work as his uncle's house servant.
It was a grueling life as the old man was very particular about how things should be done. The boy was first required to give all the floors in the house a thorough scouring, from the attic to the cellar. Whenever the floor was not cleaned to the uncle's satisfaction, which was frequent, Torik was thrashed and forced to begin again.
The boy's second duty was to ring the bell that would bring the laborers into the house. This was done at least four times a day, once for each meal, but if his uncle had any news or additional instructions for the laborers - which he frequently did - the bell might need to be sounded a dozen times or more. It was a huge iron bell in the tower and the boy quickly discovered that he had to throw his entire body into the motion of pulling the chain in order to have it sound loud enough to bring everyone in from the field. If he was tired and did not pull the backbreaking chain hard enough, his uncle was soon at his side to beat him until he rang the bell loud and clear.
Torik's third task was dusting all the shelves in his uncle's vast library. As deep and old as the shelves were, he was required to work with a long, heavy duster on a rod. The only way that he could reach to the back of the shelves was to hold the duster at his shoulder and then swing it out in a sweeping motion. Again, if the uncle saw any dust left over or felt that the boy was not working as hard as he ought to, the punishment was swift and severe.
After several years, Minas Torik grew into a young man, but his job responsibilities were not increased. His uncle promised to teach him the business, once Torik had demonstrated his mastery of his servile assignments. Divorced from any knowledge of any work other than his own, Torik never knew how badly in debt his uncle was and how poorly the farm's yield was.
In his eighteenth year, Torik was called into the cellar by his uncle. He thought that he had not done a good enough job scouring the floor down there, and was frightened of the beating to come. What he found, however, was his uncle packing his goods into crates.
"I'm leaving Morrowind," he explained. "The business has gone sour, so I thought I'd try my luck running a caravan in Skyrim. I understand there's good money to be made, trading fake Dwemer artifacts to the Nords and Cyrodiils. I wish I could take you with me, my lad, but there won't be much need for scouring, bell pulling, and dusting where I'm going."
"But uncle," said Torik. "I can't read, I knows nothing of the business you promised to teach me. What wills I dos on my own?"
"I'm certain you can find a job in some domestic capacity," shrugged the uncle. "I've done my best with you."
Torik had never stood up to his uncle before, and felt no anger only a sort of coldness that gripped his heart. Among his uncle's possessions being packed away was an old heavy iron axe, allegedly of Dwemer manufacture. He picked it up in his hands and was surprised to find that it was not much heavier than his dusting rod. In fact, it felt very comfortable as he pulled it over his shoulder and swung it out as he had done so many times before. In this instance, however, he swung it into his uncle's right arm.
The old man screamed with pain and rage, but for some reason, Torik didn't feel frightened anymore. He propped the axe against his other shoulder, and swung it out again. It cut a swath across the old man's chest and he fell to the floor.
Torik hesitated before lifting the axe above his head. It was another natural position for him, like he was ringing a bell. Over and over again, he swung down as if he was calling the laborers in from the field. Except that this time, there was no sound except for a wet thump, and no laborers came in from the field. Of course, his uncle had sent them away hours before.
After a time, there was nothing left of his uncle that couldn't be washed down the cellar drain. The process of cleaning up came easily to Torik as well. Blood scrubbed up much quicker than the usual grime and saltrice flour that littered the cellar floor.
It was well known that Torik's uncle was planning to leave Morrowind, so his disappearance provoked no suspicion. The house and all the belongings were sold to the debt collectors, but Torik took the axe. It seemed that his uncle had given him some worthwhile business skills after all.
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