The Story of Trey- Chapter 11 Options

[treydog]

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.

Frank Herbert, Dune, "Litany Against Fear", 1965

Chapter 11

As I stared into the slowly moving waters of the Odai, thinking about fathers and sons, and the price we pay to be part of a family, I was reminded of a promise I had made seemingly long ago. When I had gone to Hassour Zainsubani to learn all I could of the customs and culture of the Ashlanders, he had mentioned his son, Hannat. He had asked me, if I saw Hannat, to remind him to send word that he was still well and to remember that his father worried about him. And he had told me that, the last he knew, his son intended to map the cavern complex known as Mamaea, west of Red Mountain. If I could not bring myself to speak with my own “family,” at least I could bring reassurance and comfort to someone else’s And I owed much to Hassour- without his guidance I might have made serious, perhaps fatal, mistakes when I first approached the Urshilaku. Although it had nothing to do with the path of prophecy, this was a debt of honor. If, as I believed, I was going to my death at Red Mountain, I would not leave this task undone. In truth, I should have done so long ago, and it troubled me that I had allowed my self-absorption to make me forgetful. As I packed up my possessions and cast a last pebble into the river, I thought what a wonderful thing it must be to have a father who was concerned for you. And then I thought what a great burden it is to have children, who must be allowed to go out into the world and risk their lives.

Despite their name, the Mamaea caverns were not particularly close to the Foyada Mamaea, which ran past Fort Moonmoth near Balmora. Instead, the caverns were in a hilly area about halfway between Gnisis and Caldera. Almost as soon as I had entered the water-smoothed passages, I was attacked by one of the Sixth House cultists known as a “Dreamer.” If these caverns were being used as a base by the Dagoth-worshippers, I feared greatly for Hannat’s safety. That initial attack had warned me, though, so I was able to make use of my bow and my stealth to wage a single-handed war on the Sixth House minions within the outer caverns. In one side chamber, I came upon a sight which almost caused me to despair- a skeletal corpse, with knife marks on the bones that made it clear that the unfortunate had become a meal for the insane cultists. Still, there was no proof that this was Hannat, and so I forged ahead. Besides the Sixth House madmen, I found little of interest in the outer cavern complex. One unexplained mystery did present itself and I will note what I saw, though I still have no explanation. In one chamber there rose a great stone column, surrounded by a pool of water. This edifice seemed to be entirely natural, without tool marks or inscriptions of any kind. Although I levitated to the top, I could not discern any purpose that it might serve. My only thought was that it had been intended to become a great sculpture of some god or demon, such as those that were still scattered about the island. If that were the case, something had prevented the builders from even beginning their work. Regardless, the solution to such mysteries was not the goal I sought in these dim passages, so I attached a fresh bow-string and moved on.

There is little to say of the remaining hours that I spent in those dark tunnels. I slew the followers of the Sixth House wherever I found them, without mercy and without remorse. They attempted to do the same to me, and I accumulated a number of new scars to go with the old ones. My arrows were running low as I picked the lock on one of the seemingly endless slatted gates that divided the passages and spied a figure moving in the shadows. I had nocked an arrow and drawn the bow when I paused. Although the half-naked Dunmer looked much like the Dreamers, there was something about the way he held himself that stayed my hand. Too, he was not armed, not even with one of the clubs those crazed fanatics seemed to prefer. Easing the tension on the bow-string, I called out to him,

“Step forward into the light, dark elf, and give me a reason that I should not kill you.”

He complied and said in a weary voice,

“Death would be a relief to me after having been captive here for so long. And it would be an end to the terrible dreams I have been having since those madmen grabbed me and stole my gear. But do me one favor- after you kill me, seek my father at the Ald Skar Inn in Ald’ruhn and tell him that Hannat died well.”

With a relieved laugh, I lowered the bow and replied,

“I would rather tell my good friend Hassour that his son lives, if it is all the same to you.”

I then explained that I had come to Mamaea specifically for this purpose, and that I would be glad to take Hannat wherever he wished to go. For his part, the young Dunmer explained that he would be satisfied if I could simply escort him safely from the caves. He could offer me no reward, having been robbed of all he owned, but he promised me that his father would honor the debt. We were soon breathing the fresh air of the West Gash and Hannat thanked me again and reminded me to see Hassour. He shook my hand and said,

“Tell him that I am well, and I will come to him as soon as I can. I have no token you might show him, but tell him that I ‘blossom anew beneath tomorrow’s sun’—he will know who has sent you.”

I suppose I could have left it at that- gone to Ald’ruhn and given Hassour the good news. That had been my intent, after all. But I had not checked every part of this Sixth House outpost and I could not leave without doing so. A part of me has always rebelled at the idea of leaving a job unfinished, even if it is unpleasant. Too, it seemed to me that part of my destiny was to cleanse these foul warrens and drive the minions of Dagoth Ur out from every hole in which they lurked. So it was that I turned back into Mamaea to finish the job. The worst encounter I had was with the “keeper” of the shrine deep inside the cave. Not worst because she was a fierce warrior, but because she was there voluntarily. Unlike the Dreamers and the ash slaves, Zula was a “normal” Dunmer. She was there not because of the Dreams, but because she had made a conscious decision to join the cause of Dagoth Ur. I searched the area of the shrine and found several interesting items, including a Daedric helm inscribed “The Face of Inspiration.” I wasn’t sure what the demonic visage was intended to inspire, other than nightmares, but it was a valuable piece of armor, so I packed it away. There were also some filthy boots that I almost let go; some fortunate impulse made me wipe away the grime- underneath it, they were made of ebony. Finally, there was a dagger which fairly vibrated with magicka. Recalling the seductive song of the sword Fury, I examined the dagger with great care before picking it up. At last, I knew that I would have to take the chance of touching the blade if I were to “read” the magicka. As I closed my fingers around the hilt, the weapon seemed to almost leap into my hand. For a long moment I seemed to be seeing through the eyes of others, who moved through shadows and struck in alleyways and audience chambers, then slipped away. As my vision cleared, I knew what I held. This was the legendary blade of assassins, the Fang of Haynekhtnamet. As I had done with Fury, I wrapped the Fang carefully and put it away securely. A weapon like that was a drug, the more one used it, the more he would want to. I had no desire to lose my soul in that way.

I cast Recall, leaving nothing in Mamaea but the corpses of the Sixth House minions and the sighing of the wind. When I reached Ald’ruhn, I walked with a light step, knowing that I carried good news. I soon found Hassour at his accustomed table in the Ald Skar, where I told him of my encounter with his son. When I quoted the bit of verse, he jumped up from his chair and grasped both my arms. Then he spoke with quiet emotion,

“You have spoken with my son? Indeed? He blossoms 'anew beneath tomorrow's sun'? That is my son. And you have rescued him from a terrible fate, if that is his message. He owes you a debt of gratitude, and I am proud to pay that debt. Who can place a value on life? But please accept these five pieces of raw ebony, rare and valuable. And from me personally, accept this, my own personal blade, and this, the ring from my own finger. May these gifts bless you, as you have blessed my son.”

It was then that I understood far more about what it was to be a father. And I knew that, no matter what might become of me, Athyn Sarethi would never turn his back on me. A true father loved his children, always.

This post has been edited by treydog: Aug 29 2010, 10:32 PM

[treydog]

Once again resolved to see the madness of the Nerevarine Prophecies through to the end, I made my way back to the eastern side of the island and into the Grazelands. Although I did not find the country as pleasing as my native High Rock, it still had much to recommend it. Perhaps I was just pleased to see relatively healthy plants growing, instead of the usual stunted and ash-blighted examples that covered much of Vvardenfell. It was enough to make me forget that I was in an untamed land- a frontier. And forgetfulness can be fatal. As I crested a low rise and started down the slope, I noticed a humanoid figure in the distance. It did not appear to be a Dunmer, but I couldn’t discern more than that. Still, I was not concerned- the day was pleasant and the scent of growing things filled my nostrils. When the figure began running silently toward me, I felt a twinge of concern, but simply put it down to nerves. There was none of the usual shouting of, “You will die,” or “Fetcher,” that usually accompanied murderous attacks, so I still was not alarmed. Then when it was almost too late, I realized an important fact- Golden Saints don’t scream epithets- they just try to kill you. As I grappled with the question of what a Golden Saint was doing out here where there were no Daedric shrines, the creature provided an answer. What it was doing was trying to extract me from my armor by the simple expedient of slicing it, and me, into very small pieces with a wickedly sharp sword. By the time I got my wits back and began to defend myself and counterattack, I was bleeding profusely from numerous wounds. I had never seen speed or precision of that sort before, and I very nearly didn’t live to see anything else ever again. With no time to even take a healing potion, I began using my dai-katana’s superior length to keep the Daedric creature at bay, landing blows when I could, then backing away. That strategy succeeded and I was victorious. Since I was also watering the terrain with my blood, I quickly downed some healing potions and then bent to examine the body. The Daedric tower shield and ebony short sword seemed little enough payment for my wounds- but the fact that I had managed to soul-trap the creature was some comfort. After that encounter, I proceeded with greater caution and stopped acting as if I were strolling in a park.

Shortly after that nearly fatal encounter, I found the semi-permanent camp of the Zainab. It was located in a pleasant hollow, shaded by a number of trees that looked almost normal to my Breton eyes. The first person I spoke to, an Ashlander named Zaba, seemed to know about me already. She greeted me and asked if I was the outlander who claimed to be the Nerevarine. When I agreed, she told me that I should speak with the ashkhan, Kaushad. She boasted that he was the “mightiest champion and greatest ashkhan of all the tribes.” Zaba also noted that Kaushad was curious about the news of the world and would be glad to speak with me, particularly if I could provide interesting information. As long as I was courteous, I did not need to go through the elaborate rituals normally required to set up a meeting with an ashkhan. Wishing to gauge how I might be received, I asked Zaba what she had heard of me. She explained that there were rumors circulating among the tribes and asked me to tell my side of the story. When I explained how I had come to believe that I fulfilled the prophecies and showed her the Moon-and-Star ring, she listened politely, but I don’t think she was convinced. It wasn’t that she disbelieved, either, just that she was skeptical. I could respect that- I had taken a fair amount of convincing, myself. Although Zaba had indicated that I could go directly to the ashkhan, I recalled the lessons of Hassour Zainsubani and Nibani Maesa. So it was that I first sought the tent of the Zainab wise woman.

Sonummu Zabamat was one of the oldest Dunmer I had ever met outside a Telvanni tower. After exchanging ritual greetings, she asked if I had come to barter or to seek her counsel. When I explained my purpose, the wise woman repeated Zaba’s advice, that I should speak to the ashkhan. Carefully, I asked Sonummu if she had any advice about how I might approach Kaushad, at which she described him as a great man, proud of his accomplishments and his position. She added that he was also clever enough to pay attention to the advice of his wise woman. Since there seemed to be no other course, I made my way to the ashkhan’s tent and requested permission to enter. A voice that sounded courteous and yet commanding bade me enter and be welcome. The Zainab ashkhan’s face was lined with the passage of years, and a clever pair of eyes watched me closely as I approached. Although he was old, even as the elves reckon such things, Kaushad was still a powerful figure, clearly able to use strength when wisdom would not avail. When I introduced myself, he smiled slightly and said,

“So. You are Trey. The outlander who claims to fulfill the Nerevarine prophecies. You are welcome to out hospitality. But you must tell me, how can an outlander be the Nerevarine?”

When I asked him what he knew of the prophecies, Kaushad explained that his wise woman had told him the words and provided an interpretation of them. He demonstrated considerable knowledge of the prophecies and then snorted,

“Standard prophet-talk. Voices and verses. Very interesting. But…true? Who can tell? And where do you fit into this?”

When I told him bluntly that I believed myself to be the Nerevarine, the ashkhan remained doubtful.

“We heard the rumors. But how could an outlander be the Nerevarine? You must admit…that just sounds silly. You seem pleasant enough, and strong and healthy for an outlander. But excuse me if I am not disposed to take your demands seriously.”

And he would say no more on the subject. Now I needed to move carefully. I knew that I should offer the ashkhan a gift, but must be wary lest I insult him. With a proud Ashlander such as Kaushad, offering a bribe would probably be offensive. That would just prove that I was an “ignorant outlander,” and confirm his doubts. As I thought over my options, I decided that I would try the wise woman again. If anyone would know how to improve Kaushad’s attitude it would be Sonummu. Whether she would share that information was a different issue.