Note/L10N/Myths_and_Legends_Weapon2/2.4.8/Books/BookMALIC?
題名 † 
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原文 † 
<BR>Myths and Legends:
<br>Volume 2
<br> by Draskal Ratden
<br><br>
-Foreword-
<br><br>
These collected volumes are the result of my travels throughout Tamriel, where I have spent my life listening to the many wonderful myths and legends that are abundant throughout our magnificent world. Though I am no adventurer, I truly do believe many of these stories are based on fact, though how much of them is true and how much the fantastical elaboration of imagination, I cannot say, for I am just another conduit through which they shall live.
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During my travels in the western realm of Cyrodil, I encountered quite a lot of interesting stories, the most fantastical of which tells of an ancient sword forged long ago in the first age. A dark sword with a life of its own, whose history is filled with pain, suffering, death, and, inevitably, loss.
<br><br>
- The Blade of Loss -
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O'rodusk N'urncer, a legendary Altmer blacksmith from Summerset Isle, was renowned far and wide for his amazing craftsmanship, and knights, heroes, kings, lords and many other people of importance from around Tamriel would risk life and limb simply to request a weapon from him.
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One day, as was his custom for all customers of great stature, O'rodusk embarked on a journey to Cyrodil, for he had forged a great and pure weapon at the request of a now unknown god. He had been told to deliver the blade personally to the King of Cyrodil, as he would be in need of it.
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During his brief stay at the castle, an army of Dark Knights lay siege to the great fortress. O'rodusk fought along side the Guardians of the Gate, but the enemy's numbers were too great and their warriors to furious, and the castle was soon overrun.
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But these evil knights had not come to capture the castle; they had come for the blade, which O'rodusk had wisely hidden for safekeeping until the ceremony where he would bestow it upon the King, which had been scheduled for that very night.<br><br>
Knowing the possible repercussions should these evil knights capture the blade, O'rodusk refused to divulge its secret location to them, preferring death to such a fate. But the knights were as wise as they were evil, and they knew O'rodusk, no matter how noble he was, could not stand idly by as they murdered the innocent women and children of the village. With this threat instigated before O'rodusk, he solemnly gave in and told them where the blade was.
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The leader of these Dark Knights then took the sword, and, with his new treasure procured, the entire army left the castle.
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It is unclear exactly what happened to O'rodusk N'urncer after this fateful encounter, but he was never seen again. Though I have managed to uncover a little more history on the legendary smith, I think that would be best left for another story focusing on his legacy rather than his bane.
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For the next several hundred years there are scattered reports throughout Valenwood and southwest Cyrodil of a Dark Knight, riding a black horse, and carrying with him a twisted blade of amazing craftsmanship, tainted from the shadows in his soul. Wherever this knight went, pain, death, and destruction were the only evidence left after his passing.
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Other than these dark rumors, there was nothing concrete told about the knight until the great battle of Erenthia. Erenthia, for those readers not familiar with Valenwood, is a city that lies directly south of Skingrad. The Erenthians wished to increase their land by capturing other territories, but the Ayleids defended their land vigilantly.
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During this great battle, the Dark Knight appeared on the battlefield, slaying any who opposed him. But one man did not fall. When the Dark Knight struck him with his tainted blade, the knight reeled back in pain, falling from his horse in perplexed shock. Desperately, the knight tried to remove the twisted sword from his grip, but could not. Slowly his armor began to rust, falling away and revealing the knight's true age, and, before the wide eyes of the surprised onlookers, his face became old and shriveled as his body decayed, crumbling to dust.
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The man who had inadvertently caused the Dark Knight's demise was the son of the Baron of Erenthia. He took the deadly sword as his own, careful not to touch its grip. For hundreds of years, the black blade remained a family heirloom, carefully locked away in a secret chamber to prevent any from sharing the fate of the Dark Knight.
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The sword remained unseen for many generations, until the Atyorurn family lost their power in Erenthia and were forced to immigrate to Cyrodil. The family found refuge in a small Ayleid castle east of Skingrad and slightly north of the Elsweyr border, and there they thrived for many generations more.
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Although no more direct mentions of this sword can be found, it is widely rumored that the Atyorurn Baron became a cold and bitter man, forever watching over his treasure. One day, his frigid body was found in his small home, withered away to nothingness.
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In his journals he kept an account of his tortured existence, one entry of which seems to suggest his fears of the sword: <br><IMG src=�Book/mythsandlegends/journal450x232.dds� width=450 height=232><br>It seems he was referring to the sword and what he knew would happen should he give in to its irresistible call. Eventually he must have submitted to its alluring hunger, a mistake he probably did not have time to regret.
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It can be inferred that the blade still lies there, hidden away in his home, for no more mentions of it exist in history. Likely the few who did know of it refused to touch it, for the blade's legacy is one of loss.
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Though the story of the Blade of Loss is a sad and evil one, it is said that there is another story concerning the legendary smith, O'rodusk N'urncer, which details the creation of a second blade, one that would have secured his legacy, had the blade not been forgotten to time. As a naturally curious person, after hearing of the great smith and his disappearance at the castle, I decided to research more, hoping I could find more history on his great life. And indeed I did, for a story revealed itself concerning another sword he had forged at the request of the gods, one that would be the opposite of what the Blade of Loss would become; a pure sword, a heavenly sword, a secret sword. Here is that myth.
<br><br>
- The Secret Sword -
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O'rodusk was known to be completely entranced and oblivious to all else as he worked upon his masterpieces, completely forsaking the outside world as he was drawn into the rhythmic pounding of his hammer and tongs, the soothing pulse of his bellows, and the accustomed heat of his forge. After the Gods had requested him to make a special blade, he spent the next week doing nothing else, stopping only to nourish his body, though his mind was still completely focused upon his creation, turning over every bend and fine detail of the blade.
<br><br>
When he was finally finished with the unparalleled blade, which was a beautiful and attractive blade, peerless in its perfection. O'rodusk sat down to rest, appreciating the feel of completion which accompanied his finished weapons. As the legendary smith rested from his exertion over the grueling forge that he had just completed, the unknown God returned to speak to him.
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"Great smith, you have done well, and the powerful blade you have created pleases me. But dark times lie ahead, and I again have need of your talents, for I fear the sword you have created has a terrible fate. You are to forge another blade, a sword that is as beautiful and pure as the one you have just created, and send it away, across the tireless sea to the land of Cyrodil. There is a boy that works for you; you are to have him take this new blade and place it in a secluded area, where none will know of it, where it can stay safe through the years. After he does this, take the blade you have already made and travel east, into Valenwood, and then north into Cyrodil." Whispered the great god, the deity's voice resonating with an unfathomable rumble of power.
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Before O'rodusk's very eyes, his anvil, still glowing from its recent activity, began to glow and shimmer, and with a flash, there appeared another blade sitting upon it, made of brilliantly white metal, the alabaster alloy shining with heat as if just removed from the forge. The blade looked like a slightly unfinished version of the sword he had just finished, and he thanked the God's wisdom in saving him the time it would take to create the basis. O'rodusk was not a particularly religious man, but he still did not question the God's motives, and thus immediately got up and resumed his familiar position at his anvil, at once fine tuning and completing this blade of divinity.
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For the rest of the night he toiled, not even stopping to indulge his hunger or fatigue. In the morning, when his apprentice arrived, he gave the finished blade, wrapped in silk yet still exuding light and warmth, to him and explained the God's instructions.
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"My apprentice, you have served me well and are on your way to becoming a master smith, and I am proud to think of you as my student. I have one last request of you now, before I think your service is complete," said O'rodusk, seating the boy, who gazed absently at the token in his hands.
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"You must take this package and travel across the Abecean Sea to the Cyrodillic city of Anvil. From there you shall follow the main roads, traveling only during the day and resting warily, until you reach the small town of Kvatch. From there, head north into the forest until you reach a secluded clearing where peace and tranquility are the only inhabitants. In this clearing's center sits a giant boulder in which you shall place the contents of this package. But I warn you, do not open the package before then and speak to nobody of your mission, for this is a task given to me by the Gods themselves, and only they can deem the proper recipient of this artifact." O'rodusk said this slowly and gravely, his pallid face showing the boy just how serious he was.
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When the boy tried to question his master, O'rodusk would say no more, instead telling him to take his blessing and fulfill this task. After the boy left, O'rodusk rested peacefully for perhaps the last time in his life, and, when he awoke, he took the first blade and set out to complete the rest of his mission. The rest is legend.<br><br>
It is unclear how much of this story may actually be true and how much only speculation, but the basis for it, as well as the story of the Dark Knight and the Blade of Loss, lies in the history of O'rodusk N'urncer's own life. Should either of these blades be found, the implications of their existence are difficult to comprehend, for it would mean that there are two great weapons in this world created by the most skilled smith in history and commissioned by the gods; one pure and beautiful, and the other tainted and terrible, both stemming from the same source of divinity. Even I dare not speculate upon what their true purposes were.<br><br>
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- The Icy Grave of Volkoth -
<br><br>
In the chilly city of Bruma, where the air is thin and the snow eternal, I encountered perhaps one of the most bizarre stories, certainly signifying that the wispy air of the north is no indication by which to determine the uniqueness of their myths, or at least the depth of the imaginations which contrived them.
<br><br>
This particular story is very short, for, though it supposedly happened not too long ago, there are no primary sources who can speak to its validity, and I am not one to alter the myths I hear too dramatically. The legend tells of a Nordic Murderer, a beast of a man as wide around as a tree and as ferocious as a bear, and hairy enough to be mistaken for one. Always with him was a strange, little axe, which seemed to contrast his huge girth; an axe he called Volkoth, which he spoke to as if it were alive. He was rarely ever seen, but all stories that detail his strange, twisted life seem to mention how he never released that tiny weapon, as if his very life depended upon it.
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It can be speculated, and rightly so, that this man was insane, a deranged psychopath who killed innocent people in the name of his peculiar, little axe. Or perhaps this was just a facade, disguising his true nature which was all the more gruesome. Regardless of my speculations, he murdered many people, and no matter where he went, his actions always caught up with him, until one day he was chased to the northern border of Cyrodil by a group of vigilantes.
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The stories say the man died there, high in the perpetually snow-covered mountains, suspended upon the pinnacle of the icy earth, still clutching his axe. Many people attempted to find his body, searching for the infamous Volkoth that has killed so many, but, to the continuation of this myth, none have found his ice-ridden bones.
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Perhaps it is for the best that his corpse remain undisturbed and his unholy axe unclaimed, for, if I have learned one thing throughout my travels, it is that fate always seems to have a reason when looked back upon from the future.
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- The Madness and the Enchanted Mauler -
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The swampy city of Leyawin is home to many things, from exotic plants and animals, strange customs and items, to fantastical myths. One of these such stories details the tragic story of a woman who lived to the south of the city. It is said she was under the delusion that the gods were after her, and thus she did everything in her power to protect herself, eventually leading to taking her own life.
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Those readers familiar with the numerous classes of weapons will know of the rather unique Maulers, which are very basic, but deadly weapons. The story goes that this woman, searching for some weapon that could protect her from the gods, used all of her money to buy the most expensive and beautiful Mauler ever created. She then had the weapon enchanted with spells so powerful, it is rumored that she was the only person in the world who knew exactly what they did.
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Some claim the enchantment bestows upon its wielder the strength of a hundred men, others say that it makes its owner lightning fast, or completely invulnerable to magic. But whatever the variation, it is always noted that not only does this Mauler have an amazing amount of magic coursing through it, but that it is the only Mauler ever known to have been enchanted.
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Unfortunately for the paranoid woman, even this marvelous weapon could not keep death's embrace from claiming her soul, for every danger she saw around her was in her mind. Or, at least, that is what the stories say, as she met her demise by trying to swim south out to sea.
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Perhaps she was simply insane and extraordinarily paranoid... or perhaps the gods really were attempting to kill her, but I would imagine either way her body is still there at the bottom of the ocean, not far to the south of where her house once stood, accompanied only by the relentless sea and her Enchanted Mauler.
訳文 †
【訳文記述エリア】
<BR>Myths and Legends:
<br>Volume 2
<br> by Draskal Ratden
<br><br>
-Foreword-
<br><br>
母なる世界は数多の素晴しき神話や伝説に満ちている。私はこれまで生涯をかけてTamriel中を巡り、それらを聞き集めて来た。ここに連なる一連の書物は、いわばその集大成である。私は冒険家ではないが、これらの物語が事実に基づいたものであると信じている。私は物語に命を吹き込む為のパイプ役でしかない。どこまでが真実でどこまでが空想の産物かなど、語るのもおこがましい事だろう。
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Cyrodiil西部の旅ではずいぶんとたくさん興味深い物語を聞く事が出来たが、中でも一番素晴らしかったのは、はるか第一期の昔に作られた一振りの剣にまつわるものである。その闇の剣は命を吹き込まれており、常に苦痛、苦難、死、そして不可避の喪失と共にあった。
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- The Blade of Loss -
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O'rodusk N'urncerはSummerset Isle出身の伝説的な鍛冶職人であった。彼の神業は広く知れわたっており、Tamriel中の騎士、英雄、王族、諸侯、その他多くの上流社会の人々が、命と五体の危険を冒してまでも彼の作った武器を求めたものだ。
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その日、いつも高貴な客を相手にする際の常として、とある神（今となっては名前も分からないが）の求めに従い強力な聖剣を作り上げたO'roduskは、Cyrodilへと旅立った。神の啓示によるとCyrodilの王がそれを必要としていた為、直々に手渡しに行く事になったのである。
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そして、事件は彼が城に到着してからすぐに起きた。城は大要塞であったが、Dark Knightの軍勢によって取り囲まれたのである。O'roduskは門番と協力して一緒に戦ったが敵はあまりに多くかつ凶暴であったので、またたく間に城は制圧されてしまった。
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しかし、この邪悪な騎士たちの目的は城の占領ではなく、O'roduskの剣であった。そして剣は、その日の夜に予定されていた王への献上の儀式に備え、O'roduskの手によって安全な場所に隠されていた。
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彼らのような邪悪な騎士が剣を手にしたらどれほど酷い事になるか、O'roduskは知っていた。剣の保管場所の秘密を漏らすくらいならば、死を選ぶつもりであったのだ。しかし騎士達は残忍さと同時に狡猾さも持ち合わせていた。O'ruduskがどれほど高潔な人物であろうとも、目の前で罪も無い村の女子供たちが殺されるのを見て、行動を変えないわけが無いと考えた。騎士達がそのようにO'ruduskを脅迫したので彼は無念のうちに屈し、剣の隠し場所を教えざるを得なかった。
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そうしてDark Knightの首領は剣を獲得し、宝に満足して城から手勢を退かせたのである。
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この惨劇の後O'rudusk N'urncerの身に何が起こったのかは定かではないが、二度と彼の姿を目にする者はいなかった。私はこの伝説の鍛冶職人の生涯について調べ、何とかしていくらか知識を得る事が出来た。しかし彼の遺産について知りたいのであれば、その後の彼の消息を調べるより、以下に述べるもう一つの物語から当たってみるのが最良の手段であると私は考える。
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城での一件の後の数百年間を調べてみると、ValenwoodとCyrodil南西部においてDark Knightに関する報告が散見される。黒馬にまたがる騎士の手にした剣はねじれた形をしており、見事な職人芸が窺い知れる業物であったが、彼の邪悪な魂によって穢されていた。騎士が通った後には苦痛と死と破壊だけが残されたという。
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この騎士に関して不気味な噂がたびたび囁かれてはいたが、はっきりした記録が残されるのはErenthiaの戦い以後の事である。Valenwoodに馴染みのない読者のために説明すると、ErenthiaというのはSkingradの真南に位置する都市の事である。その頃Erenthians（Erenthia人）は領土拡大を目論んで他国に侵攻をかけていたが、Ayleid達は用心深く防衛線を引いていた。
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そして大規模な戦いの最中、Dark Knightが現れたのである。彼は抵抗する者を皆殺しにした。しかし一人だけ屈服しない者がいた。Dark Knightは彼を穢れた剣で攻撃したが、逆に後ろによろめかせられ、動揺して落馬させられた。騎士は必死になって剣を手放そうともがいたが、剣は決して離れる事が無かった。徐々にDark Knightの鎧も錆び始めて脱げ落ち、騎士の真の年齢が露わになった。愕然として目を見開いた傍観者の目の前で、騎士の顔は見る見るうちに年を取り萎んでゆき、肉体も朽ちて粉々の塵になってしまった。
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何の巡り合わせか、Dark Knightに死をもたらしたのはErenthia男爵の息子であった。彼は恐ろしい剣を自分の所有物としたが、柄を握らないよう注意した。そして、その後何百年もの間この黒い剣は彼の一族の家宝として受け継がれた。誰かがDark Knightと同じような運命に陥る事の無いよう、秘密の蔵に厳重に保管されたのである。
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そして剣は何世代にも渡って受け継がれたが、Atyorurn家がErenthiaでの勢力を失いCyrodilに移住する時まで誰の目にも触れる事はなかった。彼ら一族はSkingrad西のElsweyr国境から少し北にある小さなAyleidの城に逃げ込み、以後長きにわたり、そこで地盤を築いたのだ。
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剣に関する直接の記述はこれ以上どの資料にも載っていないが、広く噂されている所によると、その後のAtyorurn男爵は冷徹な人物に様変わりし、ずっと家宝を眺めて過ごしていたとの事だ。そしてある日、人が彼の小さな家を訪れると、その身体は冷たくなっており、やがて萎れて無に還っていったらしい。
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彼の手記を読むと、苦悶に満ちた人生が垣間見える。その中の一つの記事から、彼の剣に対する恐れが読み取れる。<br><IMG src=Book/mythsandlegends/journal450x232.dds width=450 height=232><br>記事の中で彼は剣について言及しており、自分がやがて剣の声に抵抗出来なくなり、いつか屈してしまうであろう事が書かれている。そして最終的に彼は飢えた剣の誘惑に服従せざるを得なかった。剣に触れた事を後悔する時間さえなかったかのようである。
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歴史上の言及が無いとはいえ、この剣は今でも彼の家に隠されていると思われる。事情を知る一部の者も剣に手を触れる事はなく、その意味ではこの剣自体、loss（喪失）された遺産の一つであると言えよう。
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<br><br>
Though the story of the Blade of Loss is a sad and evil one, it is said that there is another story concerning the legendary smith, O'rodusk N'urncer, which details the creation of a second blade, one that would have secured his legacy, had the blade not been forgotten to time. As a naturally curious person, after hearing of the great smith and his disappearance at the castle, I decided to research more, hoping I could find more history on his great life. And indeed I did, for a story revealed itself concerning another sword he had forged at the request of the gods, one that would be the opposite of what the Blade of Loss would become; a pure sword, a heavenly sword, a secret sword. Here is that myth.
<br><br>
- The Secret Sword -
<br><br>
O'rodusk was known to be completely entranced and oblivious to all else as he worked upon his masterpieces, completely forsaking the outside world as he was drawn into the rhythmic pounding of his hammer and tongs, the soothing pulse of his bellows, and the accustomed heat of his forge. After the Gods had requested him to make a special blade, he spent the next week doing nothing else, stopping only to nourish his body, though his mind was still completely focused upon his creation, turning over every bend and fine detail of the blade.
<br><br>
When he was finally finished with the unparalleled blade, which was a beautiful and attractive blade, peerless in its perfection. O'rodusk sat down to rest, appreciating the feel of completion which accompanied his finished weapons. As the legendary smith rested from his exertion over the grueling forge that he had just completed, the unknown God returned to speak to him.
<br><br>
"Great smith, you have done well, and the powerful blade you have created pleases me. But dark times lie ahead, and I again have need of your talents, for I fear the sword you have created has a terrible fate. You are to forge another blade, a sword that is as beautiful and pure as the one you have just created, and send it away, across the tireless sea to the land of Cyrodil. There is a boy that works for you; you are to have him take this new blade and place it in a secluded area, where none will know of it, where it can stay safe through the years. After he does this, take the blade you have already made and travel east, into Valenwood, and then north into Cyrodil." Whispered the great god, the deity's voice resonating with an unfathomable rumble of power.
<br><br>
Before O'rodusk's very eyes, his anvil, still glowing from its recent activity, began to glow and shimmer, and with a flash, there appeared another blade sitting upon it, made of brilliantly white metal, the alabaster alloy shining with heat as if just removed from the forge. The blade looked like a slightly unfinished version of the sword he had just finished, and he thanked the God's wisdom in saving him the time it would take to create the basis. O'rodusk was not a particularly religious man, but he still did not question the God's motives, and thus immediately got up and resumed his familiar position at his anvil, at once fine tuning and completing this blade of divinity.
<br><br>
For the rest of the night he toiled, not even stopping to indulge his hunger or fatigue. In the morning, when his apprentice arrived, he gave the finished blade, wrapped in silk yet still exuding light and warmth, to him and explained the God's instructions.
<br><br>
"My apprentice, you have served me well and are on your way to becoming a master smith, and I am proud to think of you as my student. I have one last request of you now, before I think your service is complete," said O'rodusk, seating the boy, who gazed absently at the token in his hands.
<br><br>
"You must take this package and travel across the Abecean Sea to the Cyrodillic city of Anvil. From there you shall follow the main roads, traveling only during the day and resting warily, until you reach the small town of Kvatch. From there, head north into the forest until you reach a secluded clearing where peace and tranquility are the only inhabitants. In this clearing's center sits a giant boulder in which you shall place the contents of this package. But I warn you, do not open the package before then and speak to nobody of your mission, for this is a task given to me by the Gods themselves, and only they can deem the proper recipient of this artifact." O'rodusk said this slowly and gravely, his pallid face showing the boy just how serious he was.
<br><br>
When the boy tried to question his master, O'rodusk would say no more, instead telling him to take his blessing and fulfill this task. After the boy left, O'rodusk rested peacefully for perhaps the last time in his life, and, when he awoke, he took the first blade and set out to complete the rest of his mission. The rest is legend.<br><br>
It is unclear how much of this story may actually be true and how much only speculation, but the basis for it, as well as the story of the Dark Knight and the Blade of Loss, lies in the history of O'rodusk N'urncer's own life. Should either of these blades be found, the implications of their existence are difficult to comprehend, for it would mean that there are two great weapons in this world created by the most skilled smith in history and commissioned by the gods; one pure and beautiful, and the other tainted and terrible, both stemming from the same source of divinity. Even I dare not speculate upon what their true purposes were.<br><br>
<br><br>
--------------------------
<br><br>
<br><br>
- The Icy Grave of Volkoth -
<br><br>
In the chilly city of Bruma, where the air is thin and the snow eternal, I encountered perhaps one of the most bizarre stories, certainly signifying that the wispy air of the north is no indication by which to determine the uniqueness of their myths, or at least the depth of the imaginations which contrived them.
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This particular story is very short, for, though it supposedly happened not too long ago, there are no primary sources who can speak to its validity, and I am not one to alter the myths I hear too dramatically. The legend tells of a Nordic Murderer, a beast of a man as wide around as a tree and as ferocious as a bear, and hairy enough to be mistaken for one. Always with him was a strange, little axe, which seemed to contrast his huge girth; an axe he called Volkoth, which he spoke to as if it were alive. He was rarely ever seen, but all stories that detail his strange, twisted life seem to mention how he never released that tiny weapon, as if his very life depended upon it.
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It can be speculated, and rightly so, that this man was insane, a deranged psychopath who killed innocent people in the name of his peculiar, little axe. Or perhaps this was just a facade, disguising his true nature which was all the more gruesome. Regardless of my speculations, he murdered many people, and no matter where he went, his actions always caught up with him, until one day he was chased to the northern border of Cyrodil by a group of vigilantes.
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The stories say the man died there, high in the perpetually snow-covered mountains, suspended upon the pinnacle of the icy earth, still clutching his axe. Many people attempted to find his body, searching for the infamous Volkoth that has killed so many, but, to the continuation of this myth, none have found his ice-ridden bones.
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Perhaps it is for the best that his corpse remain undisturbed and his unholy axe unclaimed, for, if I have learned one thing throughout my travels, it is that fate always seems to have a reason when looked back upon from the future.
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- The Madness and the Enchanted Mauler -
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The swampy city of Leyawin is home to many things, from exotic plants and animals, strange customs and items, to fantastical myths. One of these such stories details the tragic story of a woman who lived to the south of the city. It is said she was under the delusion that the gods were after her, and thus she did everything in her power to protect herself, eventually leading to taking her own life.
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Those readers familiar with the numerous classes of weapons will know of the rather unique Maulers, which are very basic, but deadly weapons. The story goes that this woman, searching for some weapon that could protect her from the gods, used all of her money to buy the most expensive and beautiful Mauler ever created. She then had the weapon enchanted with spells so powerful, it is rumored that she was the only person in the world who knew exactly what they did.
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Some claim the enchantment bestows upon its wielder the strength of a hundred men, others say that it makes its owner lightning fast, or completely invulnerable to magic. But whatever the variation, it is always noted that not only does this Mauler have an amazing amount of magic coursing through it, but that it is the only Mauler ever known to have been enchanted.
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Unfortunately for the paranoid woman, even this marvelous weapon could not keep death's embrace from claiming her soul, for every danger she saw around her was in her mind. Or, at least, that is what the stories say, as she met her demise by trying to swim south out to sea.
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Perhaps she was simply insane and extraordinarily paranoid... or perhaps the gods really were attempting to kill her, but I would imagine either way her body is still there at the bottom of the ocean, not far to the south of where her house once stood, accompanied only by the relentless sea and her Enchanted Mauler.
