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]

NOTE: Big update here. I've chosen to split it into two parts for easier reading.


-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


I walked, past the throne and over the bloody pile of corpses that were chaotically strewn across the floor, over to a section of stone that had pushed away from the wall. There I stood, for a split second that felt like an eternity, wondering if I ought to proceed. Of the thirty-six men I had brought with me to the throne room, thirteen were now dead. How many more would it be?

In the past, I would have looked to Doren, or even to Imsin for advice. But there was no one now. Any strength I had ever derived from them was gone. And this made me angrier than ever. I was motivated now only by anguish and rage.

I signaled for half my remaining men to follow me as I ducked beneath the entrance. It was a tight corridor, wide enough to accommodate only one man at a time, leading to a dimly torchlit staircase. Oddly, the passageway was bereft of even a single guard to slow us down. We must have caught the King so far off guard that he didn’t have any additional guards to spare from his escorts. We moved single-file, as quickly as possible. We could not let the King escape.

A short jaunt down the narrow staircase revealed…a dead end, except for a wooden hatch on the floor. It seemed the King was headed for the sewers – just as I suspected. Fortunately, I had prepared a surprise for him.

About forty-five seconds of work was enough to take care of the lock, and descend through the hatch. One by one we crawled through, and into yet another passage below. This one was even narrower than the last – so much so that I did not walk down it so much as I shuffled sideways. The collective breath of my men and I heated up the narrow space. I could hear footsteps interrupted by the clanging of swords from outside the hallway. This passageway was literally located inside the walls!

The shufflespace quickly gave way to yet another staircase; this one far longer than the previous one. The steps here were angled, clear-cut, uniform – unworn by the eroding influence of time. They were clearly much younger than the rest of the castle. Helseth must have ordered this escape route himself. In near-darkness, we descended. Well-cut stone gave way to smooth, worn rock. The air began to take on that familiar dank, stale feeling. We were entering the sewers.

A magical illusory stone wall was all that stood between us and the sewers. I quickly discovered its secret and passed straight through it.

And there, standing not fifteen feet in front of me, was King Helseth, crouching in terror before a host of fabricants, who stood in line in front of him, lined side by side, blocking his path. The entire host of bodyguards he had brought with him had been killed, presumably in an effort to break though their ranks.

“Ah…Your Majesty,” I said, mock-bowing to the wretched monarch. “A pleasure to see you.”

“Likewise,” the King replied sarcastically.

I turned back to my men. “Leave us,” I ordered. “Go back to the chamber.”

The men stared at each other for a moment, and then, slowly and reluctantly, turned back to ascend the staircase. Now it was just him and me.

“Well, why don’t we do a bit of catching up? Discuss your motivations…your ambitions…the incredibly short amount of time left in your life. Or better yet…let’s talk about my family, shall we? You know it’s been such a very long time since we’ve spoken…Your Majesty.”

“Not nearly long enough…Lord Nerevar,” he snarled.

“Really? Pity. You’d think we’d be on such good terms, given all the things I’ve done for you. The errands I’ve run, rivals and dissenters I’ve helped you put down…and I asked for nothing in return. Oh, wait. That’s not entirely true. I DID ask you to LEAVE ME ALONE!”

As I said this, I unsheathed my sword. “And you’d THINK that a sensible person such as yourself would realize the importance of KEEPING that promise! What I want to know is…WHY DIDN’T YOU!? WHY did my wife have to die? WHY must you toy with people’s lives? And most importantly, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY DAUGHTER!?”

Helseth glared at me, his eyes conveying an icy fury. “I do not know where your daughter is, nor do I care. I have nothing to say to you, s'wit. I will not answer the inquiries of one who betrays his country. You threaten my throne. You sow discord among the people of Morrowind. You would bring civil war to the doorstep of every citizen loyal to your usurpation.”

“If I sought your throne, Helseth, I would have brought seven thousand men, not three hundred,” I growled. “I seek vengeance – no, more than that. I seek justice upon a king who treats his subjects as expendable assets. And if I have to bring about your death to get it, then I gladly welcome it.”

The king’s nostrils flared – his blood now seemed to be literally boiling, his face twisted in a mixture of anger and thinly masked fear. “Back down, you rash, imprudent fool! For the sake of your worthless life, if nothing else! You are committing treason! Your thoughts, your actions, and your very breath defile the law!”

“To HELL with the law!”

I brought the full fury of Trueflame down upon him. But he was prepared with a sword of his own. Our blades clashed together and the battle began as the thoughtless fabricants looked on.

The King was a better swordsman than I expected. Not as good as I was, but he knew how to use his longsword. More importantly, he did not tire. I knew this would be the case – as long as he wore his signet ring, he was all but unbeatable. I would have to find a way to remove that ring.

Unfortunately, I could not seem to get a good attack in on his wrist. His hand just could not keep still. His wrist seemed to always be at an appropriate angle, bent inward or thrust outward in such a way that it could not be reached. It seemed I would never get a good shot at it…unless I tried something desperate.

This post has been edited by bbqplatypus: Dec 6 2008, 05:57 AM