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骨头，第一部
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2022-08-08更新
最新编辑:Lu_23333
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更新日期：2022-08-08
最新编辑：Lu_23333
骨头，第一部
葛拉兹若有所思地望入手中的飞令，说：“依我看，所有伟大的想法都是偶发的。例如，我昨晚说的我表弟的故事。他要不是刚好从马背跌下来，永远都不会成为帝国最重要的炼金师”
这是在国王火腿的某个周三深夜，老主顾总是特别喜欢争辩哲学问题。
“我不同意”休麦拉坚定有礼地回答。“伟大的想法和发明，经常是长时间勤奋与辛苦工作才缓慢形成的。如果大家还记得我上个月说的那位小姑娘，那个我保证是真人真事的故事，她确实是跟北角城几乎每个男人都睡过之后，才认出她的唯一真爱”
“我说，你们这两个想法都不对”霍格德把他那杯葛福白兰地加得更满。“伟大的发明来自非凡的需要。难道你们忘了不久前我说过厄斯力·翁和骨模的故事吗？”
“你这理论最大的问题，就是你的例子全是虚构的”休马拉嗤之以鼻。
“我还真的对厄斯力·翁和骨模的故事没什么印象”葛拉兹皱起眉头。“你确定你说过？”
“嗯，它发生在许多、许多、许多年前，那时瓦登费尔还是一块美丽的绿地，那时丹莫还叫奇莫，而锻莫族跟诺德人依然和平相处，还没互相残杀”霍格德放松地坐着，开始为他的主题暖身。“那时太阳和许多月亮还同时挂在天上——”
“上主、神母和巫师！”休马拉发起牢骚。“如果我必须被迫再听一次你的荒谬故事，拜托你省下那些修饰，开门见山地说吧”
故事发生在瓦登费尔（霍格德以可佩的自制力没理会休马拉的打岔），一个你们没听过的王朝。厄斯力·翁是国王的朝臣之一，是个非常、非常不讨人喜欢的家伙。因为他对王室的拥戴，国王觉得有必要赏赐他城堡和土地，但又不想跟他成为邻居，所以赐给他的封地远离文明，就在即使是如今也还不是很文明的瓦登费尔。厄斯力·翁建造了高墙环绕的堡垒，带着他那些不快乐的奴隶住了下来，开始享受或许有些严酷但很平静的生活。
他的堡垒是否坚固，很快就面临了考验。一群诺德食人族早已久居山谷，他们通常是以自己人为食，但偶尔也会去劫掠他们称为“黑肉”的丹莫人来一饱口福。
休马拉激赏地大笑。“说得好！这些我都忘记了。现在真的很难得听到这些残暴的诺德食人族故事”
正如我所说，这显然是很久以前的事（霍格德继续，略微义愤填膺地瞪了他的某位听众一眼），现在很多事情都不一样了。吃人的诺德族开始攻击在田里工作的奴隶，他们逐渐地越来越大胆，最后甚至包围了堡垒。你不难想象他们看起来有多么可怕：一群眼神狂野的男女，露出用来撕肉、如匕首般的锋利牙齿，他们挥舞着巨大的木棒，身上除了受害者的皮别无他物。
厄斯力·翁本来以为只要不理他们，他们就会离开。
不幸的是，诺德人反而先在流入堡垒的溪中下毒。在事情被揭发前，所有家畜和大多数的奴隶已经迅速死亡。他们没有任何支援，就算是奉国王之命来探视这位讨厌诸侯的特使，也要几个月之后才会到。次近的水源在山的另一边，于是厄斯力·翁派出三个带着空壶的奴隶，要他们去取些水回来。
他们刚出堡垒没走多远，就被乱棒打死、生吞入腹了。他又派出第二批人，让他们带着木棍自卫，他们确实多走了几步，但还是以寡敌众，被打死然后吞下肚。显然，他们需要更有力的个人防备措施。厄斯力·翁因此去找他的护甲师，他是少数有特殊天分和职责的奴隶之一。
“取水的奴隶必须有盔甲”他说。“收集你能找到的所有钢和铁，那些绞炼、刀子、戒指、杯子，只要不能用于巩固城墙，就把它们熔掉，做出最坚固而且最好的盔甲，你的时间不多”
这个名叫葛奇仕的护甲师已经很习惯厄斯力·翁的要求，知道主人对品质、数量和速度的要求是绝对不容妥协的。他不眠不休地工作了三十个小时——请记住，他是在火炉及铁砧旁边赶工，而且没有水得以解渴——最后，他做好了六套综合金属的盔甲。
六名被选中的奴隶穿上盔甲，奉派去取水。起初，任务还算顺利。诺德人用木棒攻击穿着盔甲的奴隶，但他们挡开打击继续前进。然而奴隶们逐渐被密集的攻击弄得不知方向，最后一个个跌倒，盔甲被剥除，他们也被吃掉了。
“你做的盔甲太重了，奴隶跑不快”厄斯力·翁对葛奇仕说。“我要你收集所有被毒死家畜的尸体，剥掉它们的皮，给我最多最好的皮革盔甲，越快越好”
葛奇仕听令而行，虽然腐臭的尸体让这任务显得无比可怕。就我所知，处理皮革需要好些时间，但葛奇仕勤奋地工作，半天就做好十二套皮革盔甲。
十二名被选中的奴隶穿上盔甲，奉派去取水。起初，他们的进度明显比前一批探险队更好。虽有两人才出门就被打倒，但其他人比敌方技高一筹，躲过一些木棒的攻击。几个人顺利抵达水边，三个人装了水，其中一个几乎回到堡垒的大门。然而，他最后还是倒下，被吃掉了。诺德人的胃口实在惊人。
“我们快没有奴隶了”厄斯力·翁深思熟虑之后，对葛奇仕说：“我们需要的是比皮革坚固，但比金属轻巧的盔甲”
护甲师早就思考过这件事，也多方考量各种可用的现成材料。他想过石头或木材，但那会削弱堡垒的防卫。次多的素材是还有皮肤的死尸，成堆成块的肌肉、脂肪、血和骨头。他又毫不懈怠地苦干了六个小时，做出十八套骨模，这是前所未见的创举。厄斯力·翁起先对于成品的外观和气味充满怀疑，但他实在太渴了，若得再牺牲十八个奴隶也在所不惜。
葛奇仕用发抖的声音请求：“可否在派他们出去面对诺德人之前，先让他们穿着盔甲在院子里练习怎么行动？”
厄斯力·翁冷冷地答应了。奴隶穿着骨模在堡垒的院子活动了几个小时，逐渐习惯关节的灵活限度、僵硬的背板，以及盔甲压在肩膀和髋部的重量。他们也发现把脚步稍微外八较能保持平衡，学会怎么迅速转身而不跌倒，以及如何在快跑时煞住脚步。他们奉派走出堡垒时，已能灵活操作中等重量的盔甲。
十七个奴隶被杀死吃掉，但有一个成功带着水回来。
“这故事太荒谬了”休马拉说。“即使如此，我的论点依然成立。就算只是虚构人物，这位护甲师也跟所有伟大的发明家一样，是因为勤奋不懈的工作才创造出骨模”
“我认为偶发的成分也很大”葛拉兹皱着眉头。“不过这故事太可怕了，真希望你没说”
霍格德咧着嘴笑。“更恐怖的，你还没听到呢”
Bone, Part I
"It seems to me," said Garaz, thoughtfully looking into the depths of his flin. "That all great ideas come from pure happenstance. Take for instance, the story I told you last night about my cousin. If he hadn't fallen off that horse, he never would have become one of the Empire's foremost alchemists."
It was late one Middas night at the King's Ham, and the regulars were always especially inclined toward philosophy.
"I disagree," replied Xiomara, firmly but politely. "Great ideas and inventions are most often formed slowly over time by diligence and hard work. If you'll recall my tale from last month, the young lady -- who I assure you is based on a real person -- only recognized her one true love after she had slept with practically everyone in Northpoint."
"I put it to you that neither is the case," said Hallgerd, pouring a topper on his mug of greef. "The greatest inventions are created by extraordinary need. Must I remind you of the story I told some time ago about Arslic Oan and the invention of bonemold?"
"The problem with your theory is that your example is entirely fictional," sniffed Xiomara.
"I don't believe I remember the story of Arslic Oan and the invention of bonemold," frowned Garaz. "Are you sure you told us?"
"Well, this happened many, many, many years ago, when Vvardenfell was a beauteous green land, when Dunmer were Chimer and Dwemer and Nord lived together in relative peace when they weren't trying to kill one another," Hallgerd relaxed in his chair, warming to his theme. "When the sun and moons all hung in the sky together--"
"Lord, Mother, and Wizard!" grumbled Xiomara. "If I'm going to be forced to hear your ridiculous story again, pray don't embellish and make it any longer than it has to be."
This all happened in Vvardenfell quite some time ago (said Hallgerd, ignoring Xiomara's interruption with admirable restraint) during an era of a king you would never have heard of. Arslic Oan was one of this king's nobles and very, very disagreeable fellow. Because of his allegiance to the crown, the king had felt the need to grant him a castle and land, but he didn't necessarily want him as a neighbor so the land he granted was far from civilization. Right in an area of Vvardenfell that is, even today, not quite civilized to this day. Arslic Oan built a walled stronghold and settled down with his unhappy slaves to enjoy a quiet if somewhat grim life.
It was not long before his stronghold's integrity was tested. A tribe of cannibalistic Nords had been living in the valley for some time, mostly dining on one another, but occasionally foraging what they liked to call dark meat, the Dunmer.
Xiomara laughed with appreciation. "Marvelous! I don't remember that from before. It's funny how you don't hear much about the Nords' rampant cannibalism nowadays."
This was obviously, as I've said, quite some time ago (said Hallgerd, glaring at part of his audience with civil malevolence) and things were in many ways quite different. These cannibalistic Nords began attacking Arslic Oan's slaves in the fields, and then slowly grew bolder, until they held the very stronghold itself under siege. They were quite a fearsome sight you can imagine: a horde of wild-eyed men and women with dagger-like teeth filed to tear flesh, wielding massive clubs, cloaked only in the skins of their victims.
Arslic Oan assumed that if he ignored them, they'd go away.
Unfortunately, the first thing that the Nords did was to poison the stream that carried water into the walled stronghold. All the livestock and most of the slaves died very quickly before this was discovered. There was no hope of rescue, at least for several months when the king's emissaries would come reluctantly to visit the disagreeable vassal. The next closest source of water was on the other side of the hill, so Arslic Oan sent three of his slaves with empty jugs to bring some back.
They were beaten with clubs and eaten before they were a few feet outside the stronghold gates. The next group he sent through he gave sticks to defend themselves. They made it a few feet farther, but were also overwhelmed, beaten, and devoured. It was obvious that better personal defensive was required. Arslic Oan went to talk to his armorer, one of his few slaves with specific talents and duties.
"The slaves need armor if they're going to make it to the river and back," he said. "Collect every scrap of steel and iron you can find, every hinge, knife, ring, cup, everything that isn't needed to keep the walls sturdy, smelt it, and give me the most and the best armor you can, very, very quickly."
The armorer, whose name was Gorkith, was used to Arslic Oan's demands, and knew that there could be no compromise on the quality and quantity of the armor, or the speed at which he worked. He labored for thirty hours without a break - and, recall, without any water to slake his thirst as he struggled with the kiln and anvil - until finally, he had six suits of mixed-metal armor.
Six slaves were chosen, clad in the armor, and sent with jars to collect river water. At first, the mission progressed well. The Nord attacked the armored slaves with their clubs, but they continued their march forward, warding off the blows. Gradually, however, the slaves seemed to be walking uncertainly, dazed by the endless barrage. Eventually, one by one, they fell, the armor was peeled from their bodies, and they were eaten.
"The slaves couldn't move quickly enough in that heavy armor you made," said Arslic Oan to Gorkith. "I need you to collect all the cadavers of the poisoned livestock, strip their skin, and give me the most and the best leather armor you can, very, very quickly."
Gorklith did as he was told, though it was a particularly repulsive task given the rancid state of the livestock. Normally it takes quite a time to treat and cure leather, so I understand, but Gorklith worked at it tirelessly, and in a half a day he had twelve suits of leather armor.
Twelve slaves were chosen, clad in the armor, and sent with jars to collect river water. They progressed, at first, much better than the earlier expedition. Two fell almost immediately, but the others had some luck out-maneuvering their assailants while deflecting an occasional blow of the club. Several got to the river, three were able to fill up their jars, and one fellow very nearly made it back to the stronghold gates. Alas, he fell and was eaten. The Nords possessed a remarkably healthy appetite.
"What we need before I completely run out of slaves," said Arslic Oan thoughtfully to Gorkith. "Is an armor sturdier than leather but lighter than metal."
The armorer had already considered that and taken stock of the materials available. He had thought about doing something with stone or wood, but there were practical problems with demolishing more of the stronghold. The next most prevalent stuff present in the stronghold was skinned dead bodies, hunks of muscle, fat, blood, and bone. For six hours, he toiled relentlessly until he produced eighteen suits of bonemold, the first ones ever created. Arslic Oan was somewhat dubious at the sight (and smell) but he was very thirsty, and willing to sacrifice another eighteen slaves if necessary.
"Might I suggest," Gorklith queried tremulously, "Having the slaves practice moving about in the armor, here in the courtyard, before sending them to face the Nords?"
Arslic Oan coolly allowed it, and for a few hours, the slaves wandered about the stronghold courtyard in their suits of bonemold. They grew used to the give of the joints, the rigidity of the backplate, the weight pushed onto their shoulders and hips. They discovered how to plant their feet slightly askew to keep their balance steady; how to quickly turn, pivoting without falling down; how to break into a run and stop quickly. By the time they were sent out of the castle gates, they were easily very nearly almost amateurs in the use of their medium weight armor.
Seventeen of them were killed and eaten, but one made it back with a jar of water.
"It's perfect nonsense," said Xiomara. "But my point is still valid even so. Like all great inventors, even in fiction, the armorer worked diligently to create the bonemold."
"I think there was a good deal of happenstance as well," frowned Garaz. "But it is an appalling story. I wish you hadn't told me."
"If you think that's appalling," grinned Hallgerd. "You should hear what happened next."
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