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]

It was fortunate that the Nerano Tomb was some distance away from the Zainab camp and its smirking ashkhan. I am not sure what might have happened if I had gone blundering into a vampire’s lair thinking dire thoughts about Kaushad. But the reality was that the long walk gave me a chance to calm down and to think, both of which were rather remarkable feats for me. Although he didn’t know it, Kaushad’s sneering reference to the fact that I did not need to fear disease was actually correct. Of course, as the encounter with the Golden Saint had proved, there were ways to die besides disease- and dead was dead. There was little I could do to prepare myself for this encounter besides making sure that I was rested and that my equipment was in good shape- I just didn’t know that much about the creatures called “vampires.” What little I had heard that seemed credible amounted to this: the vampire retained many of the characteristics it had possessed before becoming undead- so a warrior remained a warrior, a mage a mage, and so forth. All sources agreed that the creatures were stronger and more agile than normal and could exert mental influence over those of weaker will. Whether or not they could actually shape-shift was open to question. Although I understood that some books on vampires were available, I had never bothered to read them. After all, I had no intention of going into tombs and seeking out the vile undead. And that illustrated the deeper issue- what none of that scholarship could account for was the fact that undead scared me. I could face Daedric summonings or growling Orcs and remain calm, at least as calm as anyone could when faced with a creature that wished to kill them. But my fear of the undead had been with me for as long as I could remember. Many was the cold night when I lay in the stable, hearing the wind moaning in the trees and the creaking of the branches, with nothing between me and the night but the thin walls. The graveyard was not that far away, and I fancied that not all who were interred there slept peacefully. There were whispered rumors that my “master” had assisted with the demise of the former owner of the inn so that he could inherit; it would be unsurprising if the murdered man’s spirit should come around at night. The people in the inn were secure behind locks and wards, but I was practically outdoors. If it was true that the undead could sense the blood of the living, then I would be an easy target. At least so ran my thoughts as I was growing up in High Rock. And now I was supposed to be the hunter, to seek out a vampire in his den. Sometimes, I missed the stable and the straw.

The Nerano Tomb was in a picturesque location, between two large trees, and set into a hillside, as was usual. The entry chamber was fairly standard, a narrow, torch-lit set of steps leading down into the ground. I dried my palms and moved quietly down to the door at the foot of the stairs. When I opened the door, I surprised a Greater Bonewalker standing over what was left of the corpse of a Breton man. The Bonewalker was no match for my sword, and I was able to examine the remains of my countryman. Except for a belt embroidered with the name “Danders,” there was nothing to be learned, other than the fact that the Bonewalker had killed the poor fellow. The chamber contained nothing more, so I made my way to the next door. I paused to listen, and fancied that I heard a dry click and rattle, as of bones. When I flung the door open, that proved to be correct, as two animated skeletons rushed at me. Although blunt weapons are usually preferred against skeletal opponents, the weight and destructive capability of the Daedric sword proved quite effective. Bones exploded in all directions as I hammered aside their swords and shields. This room appeared to have been a bandit hideout, with crates and sacks spread around. More to the point, there were two dead bodies, bearing the marks of swords and some telltale punctures in their necks. Although the crates appeared to have been emptied before my arrival, I did find an interesting book, called “The Ransom of Zarek,” which purported to be a Dwemer tale. Even more interesting was a note on the table, which seemed to explain what I had found.

The note was addressed to someone named “Moris,” and warned him to leave, as some other members of the gang had been attacked by an apparent necromancer named Goris. This necromancer had sent a group of undead and wiped out all but one of this other band of smugglers at a place known as Dralas. In conclusion, the writer stated that he was sending a key to “the rendezvous point.” When I looked at the bodies, it seemed apparent that the note had arrived too late. One was an Imperial, most likely the leader, based on his age and clothing. The other was a Nord woman, probably the “Ursine” who had carried the warning. It was a stark reminder of the perils of turning outlaw- every hand would be against you, and your only defense was your own strength and cunning. And there would always be someone stronger, smarter, more ruthless waiting for a chance to take your place… and your life. And now, there was another door, one that somehow felt cold to the touch. And an odor emanated from under that door, too- a smell of freshly turned earth and things best left buried. Because of the Dunmer practice of burning their dead, that odor was out of place in this tomb. I knew I was close to the one I sought- Calvario the vampire. The door was trapped, of course, a little “present” for anyone foolish enough to disturb the vampire’s rest. That proved no obstacle to one with my particular talents, and I eased the door open. The first thing I saw was the spectral shape of an ancestor ghost, either summoned by Calvario or else drawn to all the activity in the tomb. The second was what at first appeared to be an Imperial, standing on the raised altar at the far end of the room. The unnaturally pale skin, the hypnotic eyes, and the elongated canines quickly dispelled the notion that this creature was human, however. With an ululating cry of elation, Calvario seemed to fly across the room. His speed contributed to his downfall, as his momentum carried him onto the point of my sword. Thwarted in his efforts to reach me, he nevertheless swore that he would drink my blood. I withdrew the sword and recovered to a guard position, then watched in horror as the wound seemed to close before my eyes. Calvario bared his fangs and began chanting a spell. I responded with a downward slash across his chest, which I then turned into a horizontal cut across the abdomen. His spell fizzled and I smiled in turn,

“I am a Breton, Imperial leech. Your spells will not affect me. It is time for you to complete your journey to Oblivion.”

Two more cuts of the Daedric blade, and the vampire collapsed at my feet. With him fell the last vestige of my fear of the undead. They could be beaten, if one was resolute. To make sure, I hauled his corpse, as well as those of the unfortunate smugglers, out into the sunlight and beheaded them. The body of Calvario dissipated, leaving nothing but a pile of dust. Fleetingly, I wondered if that would be a problem- after all, what proof had I to show Kaushad? As I cleaned and sheathed my sword, I decided that I had other arguments at my disposal if the ashkhan proved difficult.