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]

Although I had resigned myself to the necessity of engaging in the slave trade, I was not happy about it. All the way to Tel Aruhn, I grumbled about the problem of living by the idea that the ends justified the means. Where did that sort of logic stop? Did it justify killing a child because of the adult he might grow up to become? Of all the things I had to give up to Azura, my stand against slavery was the hardest. Of course, what did a goddess care for a mortal’s delicate sensibilities? As far as she was concerned, we were all slaves in one way or another. It was in a decidedly dark frame of mind that I entered Tel Aruhn and made my way to Savile Imayn’s slave mart. The sight of the Khajiit and others locked in suspended open-work cages was almost enough to crumble my shaky resolve. Yet even as I thought to turn away, I could feel the malignant heat of Red Mountain like a furnace at the heart of Vvardenfell. So, with a grimace rather than as smile, I turned back to face the slave-trader. Savile Imayn was a richly dressed Dunmer woman who cast a calculating eye over my glass armor and Daedric sword and upped the intensity of her merchant’s smile significantly. I had the feeling that I had just been put on a scale and had my worth calculated to within a half-copper. Evidently the calculations were to Savile’s liking, as she asked me if I was interested in a simple household slave or “something special.” That last was accompanied by a finely arched eye-brow that promised a great deal without actually coming out and saying anything. Firmly suppressing an image of “something special” that involved suspending the slaver in one of her own cages over a fire, I explained that I had come at the advice of Sonummu Zabamat. Once the scheme was explained, a conspiratorial gleam came to Savile’s eyes as she told me that she had the perfect choice, a pretty Dunmer named Falura Llervu. As with most of my experiences involving the Zainab, nothing was simple or straightforward, though.

In order for the deception to work, Savile informed me, I would need to purchase some expensive clothing for the “high-born Telvanni.” And it just happened that Savile knew of a shop in Tel Mora that should be able to supply my needs. While I was gone, she would instruct Falura in the mannerisms of an aristocratic Telvanni heiress. So, a couple of short boat trips later and a few hundred drakes poorer, I again stood in front of the Tel Aruhn slave-trader. She cast a judicious eye over the clothing I had bought and pronounced herself satisfied. Still, she need more time to coach Falura on how to play the role. Struck by a sudden inspiration, Savile urged me to purchase a bottle of Telvanni Bug Musk from an apothecary. The fabled perfume’s magical qualities were such that it could make even an Orc appear attractive and personable. It was also frightfully expensive. Fortunately, Bildren Areleth, whose shop was in Tel Aruhn, carried a supply of the concoction. All this fetching and carrying of clothing and perfume was beginning to make me feel as though I was the one who was getting married. But at last the time came when Savile agreed that all was ready. All that was left now was for me to buy another human being.

True to her merchant’s nature, Savile launched into a speech that would have made a used guar trader proud. She listed Falura’s merits, her own efforts in coaching the girl, the risk she was taking in participating in the scheme, and on and on. It was a wonderful performance, but one that was lost on me. I knew I would pay whatever price she set. And I knew that all the gold in the world would never pay for the way I felt about being trapped into this situation. At last, seeing that I really wasn’t listening, Savile hesitantly named a price of 1200 septims. Her hesitation might have had something to do with the moody expression on my face, or perhaps with the way my hand kept involuntarily clenching my sword hilt. Of course, she had no idea that the reason for my moodiness had nothing to do with the price- it was the principle that burned in my conscience. The price seemed so little for a human being, especially for a Dunmer, who could be expected to live for several hundred years. But then I recalled that what I was buying was a life. Although I had never engaged in the practice of bounty-hunting, I knew that a death could be purchased for less than 50 drakes. How much better it was to save a life rather than to end one. As that thought came to me, I realized that I might be able to do even more. I had been saving my gold, because my needs were simple. I resolved that I would buy more lives, as soon as this business with the Zainab was done.

Shaking off my reverie, I paid Savile the 1200 drakes, and she went inside to fetch the key. She explained that she had already removed Falura’s slave bracers, and that I could release the Dunmer from the cage and give her the fine clothing. I approached the person who I had “bought” for the first time. I had no idea how to deal with this situation, so I fell back on my knowledge of dealing with skittish horses. Moving slowly, with my hands empty, I went to the cage where Falura Llervu stood with her eyes cast down and her hands clasped demurely in front of her. I spoke her name in a low, soothing voice. I needn’t have bothered to be so concerned, for she immediately raised her eyes and responded in the measured tone of one accustomed to moving in aristocratic circles,

“Yes, sera. Falura Llervu of Velothis Haven, daughter of Andrano Llervu, pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Then the mask of the “Telvanni lady” slipped a bit and the young woman behind it peeped out. With an urchin grin, she said,

“See? Savile Imayn has taught me well. I shall BE a high-born Telvanni lady, and no one will know the difference. Just like a lady.”

Growing a bit more subdued, she continued,

“I admit I am a little anxious about marrying an Ashlander, even an Ashland chief, but anything is better than being a slave, and I am very tough and smart, and determined to make the best of my chances.”

Then the serious look passed from her features and was replaced with that endearing grin,

“Now, Savile said you would have some presents for me…?”