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]

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Suck suck suck suck suck. Ass ass ass ass ass.



I entered slowly, carefully surveying my surroundings as I crossed the threshold. Turning my head slowly and deliberately, I scanned the entirety of the entry room for guards and traps – from the pale stone floor to the lofty ceilings, to the unassuming corners, behind the ornate wood furniture and the brightly colored tapestries. Strangely, no weapons of any kind - living, mechanical, or magical - were there to welcome me. Most people would find this to be an encouraging development. Not me. I smelled an ambush.

So I inched my way across the foyer and ascended the staircase to Dren’s chambers with even greater caution than usual. Yet I still encountered no resistance on my way up the staircase, from Dren’s thugs or otherwise. And the door that led to Orvas’s chambers – where he himself was no doubt waiting for me – appeared to be unlocked! I checked the mechanism three times for traps before I opened it. I practically tip-toed my way through.

And then, out of the corner of my eye, I could see it – a glint of black. A razor-sharp ebony blade making a beeline for my throat. Time seemed to slow down. An eternity seemed to pass before…

CLANG!

In a split second, I had somehow managed to duck and bring my shield just high enough to re-direct the blow toward my shoulder, where my Daedric pauldron was able to absorb the damage. Had this battle taken place but a year before, I would have been a dead man. Fortunately, blocking was practically a reflexive action for me now. Even so, I was lucky to have survived.

I turned to face my assailant. It was Orvas Dren himself, clad in a full suit of orcish armor. “Prepare to die, meddler!” he snarled, brandishing his longsword with an elegant flourish.

I took advantage of his posturing, however, knocking the now-unbalanced weapon out of his hand with a single blow and sending it flying across the room. I then shifted weight and kicked him to the floor.

I planted my foot on his torso and sneered at him. “If you were planning on killing me, serjo, you should have just done it and dispensed with the showboating.” I leaned in closer, preparing to start my interrogation, when I noticed something. He wasn’t glaring or grimacing at me – he was smiling…and staring over my shoulder…

I did an about face, expecting to see the whole of Dren’s guards come to face me. Instead, I saw a single guard wearing ebony armor and hefting a Daedric shield.

Almost in spite of myself, I laughed. “What? There’s only ONE of you?”

Leaning forward, I charged (or rather, walked briskly – I was indoors, after all). As formidable as my opponent was, I was really more annoyed (yet at the same time, excited) than I was frightened. I don’t know why this was – perhaps it was the famed Nordic thirst for battle awakening within me. Or maybe I was simply tired of having to deal with thugs like him. Whatever the reason, I attacked with more energy, more aggression, and less restraint than usual.

The guard seemed quite taken aback by this. I imagine this was because he was not used to fighting someone who wasn’t intimidated by him – he was well-armed and incredibly muscular. But as strong as he was, I had fought many stronger enemies, and after a disappointingly short period of time, the battle was over.

As the guard’s head rolled out the door and down the staircase, I again turned to face Dren. As I suspected, he was crawling quietly toward his weapon. I walked over calmly and stepped on the blade just as he was about to reach for it.

I looked down at the drug lord and smirked. “I wouldn’t touch that if I were you. You could hurt someone.”

The Dunmer glared at me, his eyes seething with boundless hatred. “Well, what are you waiting for? Get on with it, s’wit! Kill me!”

“Kill you? Why in blazes would I want to do that? I have a business proposition for you, Sera Dren.”

“Whatever it is, my answer is no.”

“Really? That’s a shame. I was really hoping you’d say yes. If only there were some way I could force you to cooperate…for instance, if I were somehow able to implicate you in some sort of crime. Conspiracy to commit murder, perhaps? Throw in a bit of treason…maybe a dash of attempted fratricide? Why, I’d be able to get you to do anything. Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

Dren’s eyes widened with fear. “Y-you can’t…you have no proof…!”

“I can and I do. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. One of my associates took the liberty of rummaging through your personal correspondence, and found a most interesting letter. I have a duplicate right here, if you’d like to read it. But then again, I suppose you already know what it says. You wrote it, after all.”

“Fine! Tell my brother all about it! I don’t care! I’m prepared to go into hiding! I’m even ready to face the executioner! But I will NOT cooperate with you, you Imperial dog!”

“As it happens, I’ve already TOLD your brother. And yes, it’s true that I am authorized to use lethal force against you if absolutely necessary. But we don’t plan on killing you, Orvas. After all, that’s exactly what you want, isn’t it? No, we’ll just put you to sleep…” I pulled a sedative-laced dart from my pack, “...and we’ll take you away, leaving you at the mercy of the Duke’s guards. You’ll experience pain as you’ve never experienced it before. They’ll do things to you that you can’t even imagine.” I drummed my fingers and paused for effect. “Or maybe they won’t. Maybe they’ll just strap a pair of bracers on you and send you to work in the mines, alongside the beast-folk and outlanders you hate so much. Perhaps they’ll do both. Whatever suits the Duke’s fancy.”

"N-no...this can't be happening..." The Dunmer’s face quivered with panic for a moment before exploding with rage. “You...you BASTARD! You lying, scheming son of a snake! I KNEW I shouldn’t have trusted you! I should have KNOWN you were lying when you promised to drive the Empire from Morrowind!”

I grinned. “Why, whatever are you talking about? I made no such promise, serjo.”

“Yes you did! It was the only reason I agreed to name you Hortator!”

“Oh, you’re referring to that little incident. Well, you should really learn to listen more carefully, serjo. What I said was that I would rid the land of Imperial corruption and oppression once and for all. Completely different from Imperial control itself.

“But I wouldn’t expect you to know the difference, Sera Dren. To you, control goes hand in hand with corruption and oppression. You derive your very power through fear, crime, exploitation, and death. Face it, Dren – you don’t hate the Empire because of your pride in Dunmer tradition. You hate them because they’re cutting in on your action!”

“LIES!” he screamed. “And besides, I can never talk! People will suspect…they will come after me!”

“Well, then, leave the island. As a matter of fact, I recommend you skip the province entirely. I have a few shares of an ebony mine up in Raven Rock that I’m willing to sell you. Solthsteim is really quite nice at this time of year. A bit chilly, of course, but quite lovely nonetheless. How does 500 drakes sound?”

Dren stood there, fuming silently. Then, after about a minute, he finally spoke. “Fine. Hand me a quill and let’s get this over with.”

I have killed gods. I have survived Hircine’s Hunt. I have saved all of Morrowind twice. But of all my accomplishments, none felt as satisfying as sitting in that room, watching Orvas Dren sign document after document, compiling list after list, destroying his entire criminal empire with a few strokes of his pen. And then, after it all was over, to have HIM hand me a sack of gold…I could not help but grin like a Scamp.

This post has been edited by bbqplatypus: Mar 7 2014, 07:03 AM