The Interim, Part One, A Morrowind Fanfic by BBQ Platypus Options

[bbqplatypus]

Author's Note, Five Years Later:

So yeah. This is a story I wrote quite some time ago about an idea that had long percolated in my head - what happened to the Nerevarine that caused him to bugger off between Morrowind and Oblivion. Not an inherently bad idea for a story - in fact, I still think it could make a pretty good one. This is not that story. In fact, looking back on it now, it's hard for me to imagine any sensible reaction to it other than OHMYGOD THIS IS SO FRUCKING FUCKBAD. Of course, everyone who's ever tried writing started out by writing ten thousand pages of crap. This right here constitutes five of my ten thousand.

I'm not gonna delete it - I'll leave it up, mostly because this forum doesn't seem to allow me to delete topics. But if you've come here by browsing the forums or through some random Google search, please hit the back button immediately and save yourself some time. This story isn't worth yours.






An Account of the Events of the Interim of Grignr the Nerevarine, Between the Fulfillment of the Bloodmoon Prophecy and His Departure to Akavir

Being An Anonymous Account Discovered, Compiled, and Edited by Bereditte Jastal


Editor’s Note: The non-academic nature of this account (its authorship is uncertain, and it is clearly written in prose form, with considerably more detail than one would expect from a typical “journal” or even a memoir) makes it a tome of questionable historical accuracy. The Nerevarine as portrayed in this account – a Nordic male named Grignr Star-Mane, married to an Imperial Legionnaire named Imsin the Dreamer, is b- [a blurry food stain blots out the next few words]-sistent with the details of Hasphat Antabolis’s authoritative (though not universally accepted) account, The Life and Times of the Nerevarine, which [Another food stain, this one with the general texture and coloration of kwama cuttle]

It should be noted that Antabolis’s account of the “interim” period (detailed in Volume IV) is rather sketchy compared to the immaculately detailed chronology of the first three volumes. Many of the events related in this text are [The rest of the page has been torn out, presumably used as a napkin].


Chapter I

The air was warm, heavy, and perplexing, draped like a thick, wet blanket upon the shoulders of the harsh, rocky coastline west of Gnisis. The dark, bloated clouds in the sky grew fat as they slowly drew in the oppressive moisture, accumulating and converging as one. A storm was coming, and we were miles away from cover.

We were one of several detachments that I myself had sent to seek out and clear smugglers caves along the coast of Vvardenfell. This particular group was assigned to investigate the drainage basin of the River Samsi (wherein many underground streams flowed). I led at my own insistence. As Hortator and Knight of the Imperial Dragon, no one dared to argue with me.

“Tread carefully, men,” I called back to the twelve Redoran soldiers who trudged miserably behind me. “We’re a long walk from Gnisis, and we only have so many Intervention scrolls to go around. We don’t want to have to carry anybody back to the Temple.”

“Understood, muthsera,” grunted Tedril Doren, the acting second-in-command of the detachment. His voice carried a ragged and weary tone to it – for he, like the rest of the men, had been marching now for several hours - in full bonemold armor - with very little rest. Even I was starting to feel a bit tired – enchanted armor can only do so much.

“We’ll keep marching until nightfall,” I said, turning my head toward the lieutenant, “and then we’ll head on home.”

The soldiers behind me grumbled a bit, but I could tell they were fairly content with knowing that the march would at least end sometime. For now, though, we would continue to plow ahead.

After a couple minutes of marching, Doren hastened his gait to move abreast with me. “May I speak with you privately for a moment, sera?” he inquired in a low voice.

“Fire away,” I replied quietly.

“Are all these men really necessary? Could you not have conducted this raid by yourself, sera? It seems an awful lot of trouble for us to have to go through.”

“You can never be too careful, Doren. We might catch them in the middle of restocking. Not to mention the amount of contraband we already have to carry back.”

I could tell that inwardly, we both knew the pointlessness of this mission. Even if we were to kill or arrest every man and mer in every cave, hideout, and abandoned fortress in the entire province, there would always be others to replace them. The drug trade is a horrid, unkillable beast, and we were both well aware of it. But I knew better than he did – I knew how to stop it.

It was all a matter of bribing the right person: Orvas Dren. If I could convince Orvas Dren to tell me the names and locations of the major members and safehouses of the Camonna Tong (an organization that I controlled in theory, but not in practice), I could send the full fury of the Dunmer and Imperial military after them, setting the drug trade back months – maybe even years. It only required the right application of bribery, blackmail, or brute force.

But I dared not do such a thing. It would shatter the uneasy peace I had forged with my fellow Hlaalu councilmen (most of whom I didn’t trust as it was), and would put myself, my family, and many of the people I had sworn to protect in danger. And so here we were, scrounging and combing through the caves of Vvardenfell, fighting a war that could not be won.

We marched silently for a minute or two. We were sloshing through the water to skirt a small cliff face when a voice suddenly emerged from the rear of the ranks.

“Come look, sera!” one of the soldiers exclaimed. “I think I see an opening! It’s…submerged, but there’s a door there.”

The rest of us doubled back to see what he had found. Sure enough, there was a weather-beaten, half-rotted door nestled into a small indentation in the cliff face.

“Yes, that’s a cave, alright,” I said. “And from the looks of it, there are or have been people in it. Doren, have one of your boys dive down and check it out.”

“Yes, sera.” He turned to a subordinate. “Arinith, I hope you can swim.”

“I can, sera,” the soldier answered. He dove into the frigid water, nudged the door open, and ducked under the low ceiling into the cave.

We waited what felt like an eternity for him to return. We waited for two minutes…three minutes…four minutes. Finally, after about half an hour, Doren spoke. “I do not know what is taking Arinith so long, but I think we should assume the worst.”

“I agree,” I said grimly. “Which is why I’m going in. I want you and everyone here who can swim to follow me.”

“We’ll be right behind you.”

I dove in and entered the cave.

This post has been edited by bbqplatypus: Mar 28 2013, 06:01 AM

[bbqplatypus]

I surfaced as silently and carefully as I could, as my men emerged quietly behind me. I found myself in a shallow pool of dank, warmish water that smelled vaguely of sewage – likely the refuse of the inhabitants of this very cave. I struggled to peer over the edge of the water, but a foul, brackish mist burned my eyes and clouded my vision. I squinted and tilted my head upward.

We were in a stiflingly narrow, low-ceilinged passage – practically a crawlspace. Beams of flickering torchlight shone from the end of the tunnel, which opened into a large chamber. I could not see very far beyond the threshold, however – a wooden staircase, leading to an unseen area directly above us, obscured my vision.

I squinted harder, straining my neck and my eyes to see through the openings, but I could see no farther. As I waded closer to the end of the passageway, however, visibility began to improve. The water carried a faint tinge of red - a trail of crimson drifting lazily along the surface. My eyes followed the hazy trail to its point of origin. There, near the center of the chamber, lay Arinith's body, broken and unmistakably dead.

Damn. One dead already and the battle hadn't even begun.

Whoever had killed Arinith was inside that chamber – there could be no doubt. What’s more, he (or she) knew we were coming, and had probably already alerted his friends. This was no time for rash, foolish aggressiveness – it was imperative that we be as cautious as possible. I focused my keen and sharpened senses upon the area around me. A kind of deep, innate magic reverberated within me and throughout the cave. I felt aware - one with everything that lived and moved around me, while remaining aware of myself in relation to it all. I felt at least three other living creatures within the chamber. I could sense that at least one of them carried an item imbued with a powerful enchantment.

I signaled the archers to move abreast of me and aim up toward the platform behind us (in case there was a marksman perched there) while the rest followed behind us. We approached the opening, weapons drawn and at the ready.

No sooner had I emerged from the tunnel than I was spotted. I saw him at the same time he saw me – a short, scrawny Bosmer in tattered chainmail, practically dragging a massive steel claymore alongside him. The sword looked bigger than he was.

“Intruder!” he shrieked, as he rushed at me with his sword raised awkwardly above his head. He let out a shrill war cry as he charged head-on into certain death.

I prepared myself to deflect his wild blow. Could this pitiful specimen of a mer REALLY have killed a battle-hardened veteran of House Redoran? I couldn’t believe he could survive more than five seconds, unless he somehow managed to sneak up from –

“Behind you, sera!” Doren shouted. I turned my head and saw an Imperial standing on a platform above me, his longbow primed and ready to fire. But that wasn’t what concerned me. For there was another enemy approaching from the top of the staircase: a tall, muscular dark elf clad in a full suit of ebony armor and wielding an enchanted longsword. A scar ran down the length of his face through his right eye. This was a mer who had seen many battles. He wore a look of grim determination as he took off down the staircase with his sword raised.

In a single motion, I raised my shield, pivoting to face the two threats to my rear, and swung my blade to parry the wild blow of the charging Bosmer. The ill-delivered strike was deflected with a loud CLANG! Meanwhile, the Imperial’s arrow missed, striking the Bosmer instead (who let out a piercing, agonized shriek). Unfortunately, my shield failed to connect with the Dunmer’s glimmering ebony blade. The blow swept across the top of my helmet, knocking it backward. Bolts of magical lightning singed the hair on my neck and burned my scalp.

I pinned the wounded Bosmer’s oversized claymore to the ground with my left boot and plunged the scythe-like tip of Trueflame into the wood elf’s heart, killing him instantly. Then I pirouetted to face my other attacker, extending my sword just in time to deflect a potential death blow.

As I continued to defend myself, the archers moved into position to take out the Imperial. They made quick work of him turning him into a human pincushion. There was only one enemy left now. Still, that wouldn’t be the case for long – I heard footsteps coming from another passage behind me. The other smugglers must have heard us. My men moved forward to counter the threat as the Dunmer and I continued to do battle.

We dueled back and forth across the staircase, each of us holding one important advantage over the other – I was the better swordsman, while he held the high ground. Neither of us, however, seemed able to gain the upper hand – until a well-timed thrust to the upper body threw him off balance, causing him to stumble. I pounced at him, taking a step forward as I prepared to deliver the killing blow…only to slip on the wet, oily staircase beneath my feet. I fell backward, down the staircase and into the shallow water below, landing directly on my now unprotected head.

The world around me went dark as my mind began to drift…

This post has been edited by bbqplatypus: Aug 10 2008, 07:11 AM