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Fishing tales of Crimsor Oar.
I am Crimson Oar a nord warrior who fights like a nord should in heavy armour and with a big sword and like any nord I had thought that my calling was to fight then drink then fight again. I had fought against every men, mer and beast in Tamriel and yet I had not found joy. I had fought against the nightmare creatures of daedric realms, against cursed spirits and mechanical monstrosities of the dwemer and yet I had still not found the joy in fighting as the other nords had described it.
Then I found fishing.
I had fished of course before, for food when there was no meat to be found or mead to be drunk. But until that moment standing in the shadow of the Wyrd tree I had never fished just to fish. It had taken me the whole night to fight through the swamps of Shadowfen as I made my way there, knee deep, sometimes waist deep in the muck assailed from all sides by the denizens of that swamp be it the smallest gnat or the alligators who were twice my weight in armour. I had fought through it, fought through the snake-women and then i found myself in the argonian hatching pools.
After washing myself in the nearby stream I was readying to fight my way back through the swamp when I heard the soft splash. Turning my head I looked where the sound had come from and noticed a fish lurking just beneath the surface. At that moment I decided that it was not a bad place to setup a little campfire and cook myself a sating dinner before braving my way back.
That was not to be.
Standing beneath the Wyrd tree, it's red flowers glowing and humming softly I had noticed that I had fished my fifth trodh already and yet I had the strongest desire to continue fishing. The simple action of fishing became something more, something so simple and yet so joyous. A feeling I had never felt before but had heard described by the other nords.
That is when I understood, i might be a nord warrior but I was also a fisher-men. Not the kind that fishes to eat but the kind that fishes to fish.
And so from that day on I decided that I would travel Tamriel and beyond seeking the best spots, the rarest fish. I would seek them and I would defeat them. After all wasn't I a nord warrior too?
Then I found fishing.
I had fished of course before, for food when there was no meat to be found or mead to be drunk. But until that moment standing in the shadow of the Wyrd tree I had never fished just to fish. It had taken me the whole night to fight through the swamps of Shadowfen as I made my way there, knee deep, sometimes waist deep in the muck assailed from all sides by the denizens of that swamp be it the smallest gnat or the alligators who were twice my weight in armour. I had fought through it, fought through the snake-women and then i found myself in the argonian hatching pools.
After washing myself in the nearby stream I was readying to fight my way back through the swamp when I heard the soft splash. Turning my head I looked where the sound had come from and noticed a fish lurking just beneath the surface. At that moment I decided that it was not a bad place to setup a little campfire and cook myself a sating dinner before braving my way back.
That was not to be.
Standing beneath the Wyrd tree, it's red flowers glowing and humming softly I had noticed that I had fished my fifth trodh already and yet I had the strongest desire to continue fishing. The simple action of fishing became something more, something so simple and yet so joyous. A feeling I had never felt before but had heard described by the other nords.
That is when I understood, i might be a nord warrior but I was also a fisher-men. Not the kind that fishes to eat but the kind that fishes to fish.
And so from that day on I decided that I would travel Tamriel and beyond seeking the best spots, the rarest fish. I would seek them and I would defeat them. After all wasn't I a nord warrior too?
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I had been visiting Bleackrock Isle when I heard from the local fishermen that there was a good spot nearby.
And it indeed was a good spot. It seemed to have taken in everything there was about this island and put it in one spot. Strong cold wind blowing from the sea, the leaden waves lapping sedately against the frozen shoreline broken only with an occasional rock outcropping. I found a rock that was reasonably high so that the waves would not get to me and set out my gear for fishing. By now I had learned that you have to use different lures for different waters.
Taking the worm I carefully put him on the hook and with a well-practiced swing of my arm I cast it out. I have to say that swinging a fishing rod is not unlike swinging a weapon, if everything goes according to plan someone ends up dead.
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