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The Missing Children: Imagining the Sustainable Forsworn Community
Ever notice how there are no kids at the redoubts? Or the Forsworn Camps? But there seems to be an endless supply of Forsworn raiding parties, most of whom appear to be at least young adults if not older. Even taking into account that the game suggests how things are instead of making concrete statements, there’s no sign of widespread industry of any kind, including agriculture, to support the people living at the redoubts and camps, and raiding can only provide so much. So how are the people living at the redoubts and camps actually supported? Where are all these people coming from?
OOC: Headcanon #81
Like with any history involving conquest and language, the history of the Bretons and their language is that of eradication and replacement. The original Gaelic language of the Bretons, Brezhoneg, was ultimately stamped out by the high court once the adaptation of La Veille Langue or the Old Tongue. It stopped being taught in schools for the court and it was relegated to a “kitchen language” spoken only by lower classes and at one point even forbidden from being spoken in public. The Highlanders were treated as an “other” by certain social circles in High Rock because of the prominence of The Voice in those regions. The Reach was even more marginalized for their highland culture. Unfortunately for the Bretons, Brezhoneg was a dying language by the time the Imperials came into power.
The subsequent spread and proliferation of Imperial Standard caused yet another movement of burying the old and replacing it with the new. Those who spoke The Old Tongue were thought of us non-progressive and old fashioned. It became the new to speak the Standard and, once again, it is what was mostly taught in schools. This practice that went on for generations has caused both The Old Tongue, and The Voice to be spoken only by a fringe population of Bretons.
Recently, there has been a cultural resurgence and revival movement for both with more highland Bretons learning to speak The Voice and little schools popping up for those who can afford it. The same is being done for The Old Tongue by way of required lessons in Breton schools as well as many mages of High Rock writing their spells in either language instead of Imperial Standard.
((yes!))
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[Sigrun and Mara]
Sigrun leaned back against the wall, following the retreating guard with an amused glance. “Well, he certainly must have been quite the snowback. Needless to say, I’ve been unfazed by better.” She shrugged. “I suppose you get used to it, dealing with thugs and lowlives on a daily basis.”At Mara’s next question, she laughed dryly. “My low voice? Mara, we don’t do that in the Northern regions.” She raised an eyebrow, slightly amused. “We speak Cyrodiilic up there. We’re not so elitist like the southern redoubts. Man and mer of all kinds join up in our ranks and we’ve no room for a language that segregates the people from the Reach.
“Having history with Madanach, it may already be aware to you that Druadach’s no exception.”
“Madanach’s redoubt has to accommodate, and respect everyone’s customs. Otherwise he wouldn’t be able to get the Matriarchs to support him. If you’ve spent time fighting for the cause, then you should know that not all the tribes are the same,” said Mara, as she favoured Sigrun with an arch look, before explaining. “Lost Valley is led by a pair of Matriarchs named Seonag and Ceana. They consider it their sacred duty to ensure that the Low Voice does not die out as a language, and enforce a ban on Cyrodiilic and Nordic in their territory. They think they speak the Old Tongue there, but it’s really a portmanteau born of combining the Low Voice with with a few words of it, and an outrageous accent.”
Mara sighed. “I’m not saying this because I’m judging you or your views, but if you walked into that place and made your little statement about how Cyrodiilic is the language of the people, you wouldn’t be walking out. A lot of the southern-born survivors from the school made their way there, they don’t take kindly to being told that they should just relax about their language rights.”
(via nherei)
Definitely not Divine: glides-over-ice: Glides tensed, a surge of adrenaline running through...
Glides approached from behind, bow at the ready. Upon spotting the guard, she was about to attack, when a thought struck her.“Do you think this one might have information?” the argonian hissed. She eyed the man in front of her, hoping the shock would last for a few more valuable moments.
Mara wasn’t about to find out. She threw the pliers at him. He dodged them, and they hit the door with a clang, but the break in his concentration gave her enough time to draw an arrow and fire it into his head.
“They’re still fighting outside,” She said as she walked forward to retrieve her arrow. Waste not, want not. “And you don’t get reliable information that way, anyways. After a certain point a person will admit to anything to get the pain to stop.”
The argonian scratched her brow ridge. “I suppose you’re right,” she supplied with a sigh. So much for that idea, but at least another guard was out of the way. She relaxed the hold on her weapon until her arrow’s head pointed to the floor. She looked to Mara.
“So, let’s move on?”
“Yes.”
The door the guard had come through was still ajar Mara peered through it quickly before taking cover by the wall. Avulstein had lost most of his men. There were twelve Thalmor still standing, and they were furious. She looked back at Glides. “The stairs leading up onto the wall are just to the side of the door. I’m going to go first, and create a distraction. Get up on that wall and take out the mage up there, her range is deadly.”
She waited for Glides to signal her understanding and then slipped through the door. She ran across the courtyard and let out the sort of yipping ululation normally used by Alik’r nomads to call their dogs.
Source: mara-firescream
Definitely not Divine: glides-over-ice: Glides tensed, a surge of adrenaline running through...
Glides approached from behind, bow at the ready. Upon spotting the guard, she was about to attack, when a thought struck her.“Do you think this one might have information?” the argonian hissed. She eyed the man in front of her, hoping the shock would last for a few more valuable moments.
Mara wasn’t about to find out. She threw the pliers at him. He dodged them, and they hit the door with a clang, but the break in his concentration gave her enough time to draw an arrow and fire it into his head.
“They’re still fighting outside,” She said as she walked forward to retrieve her arrow. Waste not, want not. “And you don’t get reliable information that way, anyways. After a certain point a person will admit to anything to get the pain to stop.”
Source: mara-firescream
[Sigrun and Mara]
Sigrun chuckled a bit at Mara’s rather uncouth name for Le Roi. “I take it you’re not fond of him?” she asked,grinning slightly. “And well, then maybe you might know who I’m talking about…”She trailed off when she heard footsteps, but they eventually faded. “I believe we had a brief chat about this once.” She crossed her arms uneasily. “I’m just looking out to see if there’s any more sane, reasonable people from the Claren family in Skyrim other than myself.”
Mara opened her mouth to reply and promptly snapped it shut when the guard started moving again. He stopped about five feet away from them and gave both women a pointed look over. He stared at Mara and made the traditional Nord gesture for “I’m watching you.” She responded by standing arms akimbo, and shot him a glare worthy of a Hagraven. It had the desired effect, he stepped back in shock, and then quickly left the market.
She rolled her eyes and chuckled. “Madanach and I have a history.” Her brow creased as she thought about Sigrun’s statement, and remembered their previous conversation. “Memory serves correct, Annie Claren would’ve gone east from the mine, with the rest of the Reachmen fleeing the Stormcloaks. They would’ve taken the high roads. That means Karthspire, Serpent’s Bluff or Lost Valley are possible places she may have stayed, but she could have moved on. It was twenty years ago. I don’t think she’s at Hag Rock, I was there a few days ago and didn’t see anyone who looked like her. Serpent’s Bluff is a seasonal camp, and lacks the resources to support a large raiding group. So… Lost Valley and Karthspire are probably your best bets to track down someone who knows exactly what happened to her. Lost Valley is very traditional. How’s your Low Voice?”
(via nherei)
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[Sigrun and Mara]
“An old associate of yours?” asked Sigrun. “I wasn’t there, but with the way rumor spreads like wildfire here, I might as well have been standing in the square.” She drummed her fingers, before finally finding it decent to mutter a slight “I’m sorry.”She glanced around a bit. “Did you know what she was up to? I heard the murderer shouted something about the…” she gestured towards the gates. “The people out there?”
Sigrun took a slight step backwards when Mara stretched. She took this time to glance around, hopefully discouraging anyone who would think of eavesdropping. After a moment or so of searching the faces around them, she turned back to Mara.
“I was told by someone that I would be meeting here with a person who’s rather knowledgeable about the families in the Reach,” she began. “Mostly because I want to trace the tracks of someone in particular. My colleagues told me that person would be in Markarth.”
Mara shook her head at Sigrun’s reference to the Forsworn. She kept her voice low, thankful the haggling of the market drowned out most other sounds. “We weren’t any where near to being close. She ran afoul of the Silver-Bloods. I tried to warn her. She didn’t listen.”
Mara shifted her weight and hooked her thumbs into the pockets on her pants. A guard had just rounded the corner. He was walking towards them but was called over by a shopkeeper. He remained out of earshot. Mara watched him out of the corner of her eye. She wanted to know when he moved again.
Sigrun’s story was concerning. Mara didn’t know who else the other woman could be speaking of, but if that kind of word was getting around it meant that someone who knew her habits had recognized her. Hopefully it had been some Forsworn at Hag Rock, and not a Nord from the city. Her face was a careful mask of neutrality. “Other than the old bastard in his hole, I probably know the most about the families here. But I know the south better than the north.”
(via nherei)
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