Title: The Light and The Dark
Author: Irek Unterge
IsNaughty: False
Price: 580
IsUnique: False
WhenVarSet: 
Content:


[/font=2]

[/center]The Light

[/center]And

[/center]The Dark



[/font=4]



[/center] "Yes, children, it is no accident that this land of Tamriel
has been called 'The Arena'." The old man altered his
position on the large rock that bore his weight, and
straightened his long gray robe.  Rheumy eyes lost their focus
as they gazed out over the sun-warmed valley in the
mountains of High Rock. For a moment he saw a vision of
ancient horrors instead of the fresh greenery of spring. A
chill washed over his aged bones.

 "Is this a suitable topic for the young and innocent?" he
asked himself.  The young must be taught, but must they
learn of such things now, when they should be playing in the
sunlight?  This is a tale for the dreary winter, with the wind
howling outside a walled town and the doors and windows
closed and bolted against the blast and cold and -- other
things.

 He glanced with affection at his two grandchildren:  the
little towheaded boy with a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes
even on those rare occasions when sitting quietly, and his
older sister.  A serene lass, the old man thought.  Her hair
like a dark flame and her slightly pointed ears were the only
obvious signs of elven blood.  So like her grandmother, the
old man thought.  The past is past, and I'shira had brought
him so much peace and happiness after a lifetime of battle.
He forced his thoughts back to the present.

 "Sorry, children. I was remembering things. Old people do
that, you know."

 "Are you going to tell us the story of Jagar Tharn and the
Emperor and the Eternal Champion?"  His grandson asked. 
"That's my favorite!"

 "Not exactly, son.  They were a part of it, in a way.  As
are I'ric and Moraelyn and Edward and Reymon and many
others. Even the gods play a part.  This is a far older
story, and even the priests won't tell it my way.  They have
their own interpretations, and their fears as well. I'm too
old and have seen too much to have any fear left, except
that our people will forget. And forgetting is dangerous. 
So I, and a few others, carry this tale and try to spread it
among the younger generations.  You aren't really old
enough to understand it all, but I can feel that my end is
not far off.  I must ask you to remember anyway. In a few
years, perhaps, if I still live, we can discuss it again. 
If not, well, you must seek out others who know, and compare
notes."

 "You talk as if you are going to die, Granther," his
granddaughter spoke up.  "That can't happen. You will live
forever!"

 Chuckling, "I'm afraid not, dear. But I have a little while
left, enough for the story".

 The children settled back against the bole of a large oak,
knowing that the old man could not be hurried.  Leaning
forward, he began:

 "Long, long ago, before there were any people at all; even
before the gods, Tamriel was chosen as a battleground by
two -- things. It is difficult to find words that fit them
well. I call them the Light and the Dark. Others use different
names.  Good and Evil, Bird and Serpent, Order and Chaos. 
None of these names really apply. It suffices that they are
opposites, and totally antithetical.  Neither is really
good or evil, as we know the words. They are immortal since
they do not really live, but they do exist.  Even the gods
and their daedric enemies are pale reflections of the eternal
conflict between them. It's as though their struggle creates
energies that distort their surroundings, and those energies
are so powerful that life can appear, like an eddy in a
stream."

 "Do demons and trolls come from the Dark, Grandpa?"

 "Not exactly, son.  The undead evils we know, and the demons
that live on Oblivion tend to align with the Dark. Their
natures are more akin to it.  Humans and the other peoples of
Tamriel, even the misunderstood Dark Elves, are more
aligned with the Light. Our evils are not always of the Dark,
but some are, and these are the truly dangerous ones. Jagar
Tharn was almost wholly aligned with the Dark, and that is
really why he was so monstrous.  It was not because he was a
black mage, as some would have it."

 "Did his magic come from the Dark, Granther?"  The girl's
interest was piqued by mention of magic.  Her heritage is
beginning to show itself, thought the old man.

 "No, magic power comes directly from the energies swirling
about both entities.  These energies are impersonal and all
mixed up.  Black magic is more a matter of intent than
effect.  The Mages' Guild holds that a fireball, say,
directed against a creature intent on causing harm, is not
black magic; but the same spell directed at one seeking peace
is.  In this, they are right. Destruction of a fire daedra
strengthens the Light and weakens the Dark just a little.  In
the same manner, destruction of a unicorn strengthens the
Dark."

 "What about the gods?  Do they come from the Light?"  The
boy's eyes were animated, but tinged with apprehension. He
adored stories of the gods and goddesses of Tamriel's
pantheon, and the heroes who served them.

 The old man chuckled.  "The gods have an unusual origin, if
some of the oldest tales are true.  The oldest inhabitants of
this world -- no one seems to be sure what race they were -- had a
system of myths that they believed in for a thousand years.
The people of et'Ada believed for so long and so well,
that their beliefs may, just may, have drawn upon the
energies surrounding Tamriel to bring the gods themselves
into being. If that is so, the conflict between the Light and
the Dark provided the energy, and the et'Adans the structure,
that created the gods of Tamriel.  No one really knows since
it was so long ago and so little survives from that time. It
no longer matters; the gods have their own existence now, and
mostly align with the Light, except for a few who are, shall
we say, a little ambiguous."

 "Why do we have to remember, Granther?  What is the danger
you spoke of?  If the Light and Dark are so big and powerful,
can we influence them?  Should we try? What should we fight
for?"

 "I see that your critical faculties are developing,
Solara. That is good. The answer is simple, but quite large
enough for mere mortals like us. The Light and Dark are
evenly matched, and perhaps will never resolve their
conflict.  Mortals and the beings of the Aetherius sometimes
can perceive traces of them. Therein lies the danger; to most
of us the Light is more congenial, even inspiring, and moves
us to behavior that we would call good. To creatures like
us, the Dark is  --  horrible. Those who have visions of it are
often driven mad, and the ones who are not would be better
dead. The Dark is to us a monstrous emptiness, an emptiness
that sucks the soul toward it -- to be twisted, maimed, and
ultimately destroyed.  What we can see of it seems utterly
evil. Perhaps somewhere else this would not be so, but in our
world, it is."

 The old man paused to gather his thoughts, gazing once more
at the fresh new life of spring.

 "What we must do is never to forget that the Dark is always
there, beckoning to the weak-souled among us.  Should it gain
ascendancy over Tamriel, through agents perverted by its
awful attraction, terrible things could happen. All that
we hold beautiful or desirable, even love itself, would be
swept away. Peace and hope would be no more. For Tamriel,
that would be the worst possible disaster. What I saw during
Jagar's reign nearly killed me, almost destroyed my mind. 
When he was destroyed, I thought the worst was over, but it
was not.  The forces of the Dark are on the march again, and
new heroes must rise to join the Eternal Champion in the fight
against them."

 The old man and the two children sat in silence for several
minutes.  Finally, the children assisted their grandfather
to his feet, and they walked slowly away. Toward home, and
hearth, and lunch.



 
