The Story of Trey- Chapter 13 Options

[treydog]

Chapter 13

As I made the slow trek to the Urshilaku camp, I thought about trust. Nothing in my youth had made me believe in the honor or the honesty of others. Mostly, they seemed to be interested in what they could get from you. And, with that philosophy, I had become a thief. But then, I was accepted by House Redoran and made a member of a family. Even though they expected me to perform services for them, they repaid me with loyalty and honor. And then, despite all my worries about their reactions to my role as the Nerevarine, they had continued to support me. The fact was, they trusted me- knew that I shared their code of honor. So much so that they had even sided with me against their Archmaster. And that meant that I should have trusted them to be honorable and fair, as well. Though I didn’t realize it, my musings on trust would be tested much sooner than I had anticipated.

The camp was as I had remembered it- a small cluster of tents in the Ashlands, huddled on the coast of the Sea of Ghosts. These were the people to whom I owed the most, the people whose lives had been made harsh and savage by the constant scheming of the Empire, Dagoth Ur, the Temple, even the Great Houses. If I were to see the path of prophecy to its bitter end, it would be for the Ashlanders that I did so. After greeting the Urshilaku working among the tents, I approached Nibani Maesa’s tent and asked permission to enter. The wise woman smiled to see me, overcoming her usual reserve just a bit. When she asked me, “What news, outlander,” I showed her the tokens of the Great Houses that proved that I had fulfilled the Fourth Prophecy. Then I told her of the attempt by the Temple to lure me to Vivec City, where they no doubt planned to imprison or do away with me. A strange look passed over her face at that, and then she said,

“I have thought long upon the Sixth Trial, Trey. I was blind, but Azura's star has guided me through my dreams. Vivec's high priest, Saryoni, has asked to see you when you are Hortator and Nerevarine. Go to him, and demand to speak with the false god Vivec. Vivec has tried to keep Kagrenac's Tools secret, but you will need these tools when you stand before Dagoth Ur. Get Kagrenac's Tools from Vivec. They are the keys to the riddle of the Sixth and Seventh Trials.”

Completely stunned, I could only stare at her in amazement. How could Nibani, of all people, send me to the very stronghold of our enemies? When I caught my breath, I asked her what Kagrenac’s Tools had to do with anything. She quoted a verse from the Lost Prophecy that I had brought from the Dissident Priests,

“ ‘Star-blessed hand wields thrice-cursed blade.' Gilvas Barelo has told you of Kagrenac's Tools, the enchanted devices the Tribunal use to steal power from Lorkhan's heart. One of these tools is the blade Keening. Your star-blessed hand must wield Keening. If Vivec has this blade, it is your fate to take this blade from him.”

So quickly was my new understanding of trust to be tested- one of my closest advisers counseled me to rely on the honor of one of my greatest opponents. Though my mind rebelled, my heart knew that she was right. If all Azura had wanted was my death, she would have no need to go to so much trouble. Nibani was my guide, appointed to help me find my destiny. I had no choice but to follow her guidance.
Knowing that the ultimate struggle against Dagoth Ur was growing near, I decided to scout the approaches to Red Mountain before I went to Vivec. And, in truth, I was delaying the meeting with Saryoni, for I feared imprisonment and torture above all things. Although I knew that I must go to Vivec, must suffer whatever consequences were to come, still I put it off, with the excuse that I needed to know more about Red Mountain. What I discovered was the presence of evil, but I don’t think it stemmed from Dagoth Ur, at least, not directly. Near the foyada Bani-Dad, I came upon a Velothi dome, which seemed a good place to shelter from the ash-storm which had plagued me almost from the moment I left the Urshilaku. The runes on the entrance marked the ancient dwelling as “Shishi,” a peculiar name that I wish I had never heard. As I emerged into the entry, I nearly stripped over the body of a Dunmer sprawled across the floor. A quick examination revealed her to be a Telvanni servitor, and that she had been cut down by swords. Worse yet, she was unarmed, and the wounds showed that she had been running away from her killer. As I ventured deeper into the dwelling, I found more Telvanni cut down in their tracks. Then in the lower part of the dome, I found the greatest horror of all.

A person dressed in the bonemold armor of House Redoran, my House, stood with bared sword, surveying the carnage and searching the room. When I asked what passed, she turned with a snarl and attacked me. I blocked as best I could, while shouting,

“Cease this madness, Redoran! Do you not recognize one of your own House Fathers?”

My identification of myself as a ranking member of the House only seemed to redouble her fury, and it became clear that I was going to have to do more than block. Since her actions had shown her to be an outlaw, her execution was no more than simple justice. Even so, it went hard for me to be the purveyor of that justice. I heard a voice calling from above, asking,

“Anise? What are you playing at down there? Did you find another Telvanni?”

So there were others involved in this murderous rampage- perhaps they would be more reasonable about explaining their actions. When I reached the top of the stairs, that proved to be a vain hope, as two more Redoran guards set upon me. An icy rage overwhelmed me and I showed those rogues no more pity than they had shown the unarmed Telvanni retainers they had butchered. On the body of the leader, I found a partial explanation, a report that had been written in great haste. The document read,

CODE

As instructed, a party of five entered the Velothi tower of Shishi. Five Telvanni sorcerers fell and the tower is now ours, but we have suffered heavy losses. We will hold Shishi as long as we can and await your orders.



Brerama Selas

So, in addition to the crimes of murder and attacking a senior member of his House, this Selas added the venal sin of lying. Only three Redorans had been present, all hale and hearty. And the “five Telvanni sorcerers”? No more than simple unarmed servants, slaughtered when they were trying to escape. Unfortunately, the report was not addressed to anyone, but I vowed that I would find out who had ordered this atrocity. Whether the Telvanni had a legitimate claim to Shishi, I neither knew nor cared. Whatever the case, there was no excuse for this mindless brutality.

Sometimes, trust has to be paid for in blood. Although it horrified me that someone in my House could do such a thing, I was satisfied that I had been the instrument of justice. For good or ill, House Redoran would take care of its own.

[treydog]

My map indicated that the main Dwemer facility, the place where Dagoth Ur was to be found, was to the northwest of Odrosal, in the very crater of Red Mountain. A potion of levitation allowed me to negotiate the vertical slope, even though I was less than happy to have to go closer to the blood-red sky. As I crested the ridge, I beheld the most extensive Dwemer ruin I had ever seen. Somewhere within that collection of towers and halls was Dagoth Ur. And the Heart of Lorkhan. This was the place where it had begun, where Kagrenac had forged the tools that caused the disappearance of the Dwemer, where Dagoth Ur and the Tribunes had used those same tools to make themselves immortal. It was here that Nerevar had been murdered, but I felt no compulsion for revenge. Whatever the prophecies and portents said, I was not the reincarnation of that long-dead Chimer general. I was simply a man, a man who had been manipulated and used beyond all endurance, until I found myself with no other choice but to go on. The heat that radiated from the crater was equal to the incandescent rage that fueled me. Perhaps this was my destiny, but I saw too many indications of Azura’s meddling to believe in such a fairy tale. But that didn’t matter. None of the “whys” or “hows” mattered anymore. All that mattered was that I was here, now, bearing Kagrenac’s Tools and my sword. My promise had been given to Sul-Matuul, to Nibani, to Athyn, to all the people of Morrowind. So I embraced the heat of the molten rock that reflected the fury that burned at my core, and I floated over the fiery pit to the doorway that would take me on my final journey to victory or death.

But once I reached the door itself, I was momentarily puzzled- the two great, curved sheets of metal that formed the entry were closed, and there seemed to be no lever or other mechanism to cause them to part. Then I remembered the first Dwemer ruin I had ever entered, seemingly a lifetime ago- Arknghthand, near Balmora. There, access had been gained by turning a crank on a vertical post near the entry; perhaps the same method was used here. A brief search allowed me to locate the crank and the leaves of the door opened with a hiss of steam and a rumble of metal on metal. As I made my way into the first hallway, a voice sounded inside my head. It was impossibly deep and powerful, filled with promise and command. It was the voice of Dagoth Ur.

“Come, Nerevar. Friend or traitor, come. Come and look upon the Heart. And Akulakhan. And bring Wraithguard. I have need of it.”

So the would-be god who had spent the last several years trying to kill me was suddenly conciliatory, now that I had showed up on his doorstep. I trusted that friendliness no more than I would the smile of an alit, but his need for Wraithguard was certainly sincere. He had controlled the other Tools since the Tribunes had been careless enough to lose them, but Wraithguard was necessary for him to complete his mad scheme to animate the metal god he called Akulakhan. So Dagoth Ur pretended to “welcome” me and bade me hasten to his side like a good little servant? I would come to him, bearing Wraithguard, but I had a surprise for him, as well, something sharp and pointed.

Apparently the ash zombie lurking in the stairwell hadn’t gotten the message that I was an honored guest, for it attacked me as I rounded the corner. The mindless creature’s club was no match for my ebony sword, but the attack was a reminder that I needed to be stealthy. Therefore, I opened the door at the foot of the stairs with great caution, which had no effect on the voice that again echoed in my head.

“Come to the Heart Chamber. I wait for you there, where we last met, countless ages ago.”

Disregarding the compulsion of Dagoth Ur’s voice, I made a careful search of the room, finding only the body of a dead adventurer. His light staff had guided him to nothing more than a lonely death in a dark and horrible place. He must have been incredibly brave, or foolish, or desperate to have come here- perhaps all three. The citadel Dagoth Ur was no place for the sane or the living. My sanity or lack of it was open to question- my life I would do my best to keep. Several ascended sleepers, including one whose amulet named him Dagoth Vaner, tried their best to assist me into the next world, but I stubbornly resisted their attempts and pressed on. Almost as though he was following my progress, Dagoth Ur spoke again,

“Come to me through fire and war. I welcome you.”

An ash ghoul named Dagoth Ienas welcomed me in a more physical fashion; I fear my response to his attempt to embrace me was rather rude. Still, when I left him, he made no complaint, so perhaps he was satisfied. And as I stalked through those haunted corridors, that smooth, taunting voice continued its promises:

“Welcome, Moon-and-Star. I have prepared a place for you.”

“Come. Bring Wraithguard to the Heart Chamber. Together let us free the cursed false gods.”

He certainly knew how to tempt me, knew that I held no love for the Tribunal. But it did not necessarily follow that I must therefore love and trust him, either. I had seen his handiwork, the ash ghouls and ascended sleepers that had once been human. How I longed to find the owner of that voice and silence it forever. So I pressed onward, fighting the ascended sleepers that swarmed thick as flies around a corpse, making my way deeper into the dark recesses of the citadel.

Because I did not know where to find the Heart Chamber, I had to search every room and hall, open every door. Even when I found another of those ladder and trapdoor arrangements, with markings that named it the Inner Tower, I had to find out what lay on the other side. This time my fear of the trapdoors was justified; Dagoth Irvyn was waiting for me. Fortunately, like most of the ascended sleepers, he preferred to begin with a magical attack instead of a physical one. Although the magical fire that washed over me hurt, it was not fatal. Better still, the pause as he prepared his next blast of magicka gave me an opportunity to leap and roll into the room. As soon as I had stopped, I jumped up and drew my sword. Dagoth Iryvn conjured a cloud of green mist around me, a poisonous vapor that set my nerves on fire. Pausing only long enough to swallow an antidote, I closed with the monster. As he began another spell, I punched him off balance with my shield, and followed with several sword-thrusts to the body. Though he was mortally wounded, he managed to buffet me with his flipper-like hands and also to lash me with his tentacles. Although I normally preferred to strike at a distance, I reveled in this close-quarters fight. Here I had a tangible target for my anger and resentment. Even more, I felt no remorse at exterminating one of Dagoth Ur’s minions, one who had no doubt willingly given himself over to corprus. In the end, the satisfaction of collecting another Sixth House amulet was the most I got from the fight- the chamber was otherwise empty, save for the corpse of a buoyant armiger. On the back of his shield was etched the name, Voruse Bethrimo, and beside the body was an elaborately engraved staff, which glowed with magicka. I deciphered the script and determined that this was the fabled Crozier of St. Llothis, a Temple artifact of great antiquity. Perhaps Voruse had trusted that the power of the staff and his own courage would lead him to victory over Dagoth Ur. Unfortunately, courage was not enough, and he had paid the price for the Tribunal’s deceit. How many others had Vivec sent to their deaths with the false belief that they could stop the Sixth House? Nevertheless, I vowed that, if I lived, I would report where Voruse had fallen, and that he had died with honor. It was the least I could do for a brave man who had carried on the fight against impossible odds.

Back in the Inner Facility, I found steps leading downward, and Dagoth Ur spoke yet again:

“Welcome, Nerevar. Together we shall speak for the Law and the Land, and drive the mongrel dogs of the Empire from Morrowind.”

That attempt at persuasion fell even flatter than the others. After all, what was I but a “mongrel dog of the Empire,” with my Breton mother and Cyrodiilic father? Dagoth Ur was going to be quite surprised when finally we met face-to-face. Entering the Lower Facility, I was confronted by an ash ghoul, who struck with fire and claws. As I struggled with him, I thought I glimpsed a figure in a distant corridor, someone who did not attempt to join the fight, but simply watched. But when Dagoth Muthes fell before my blade, whoever or whatever I had seen was gone, so I moved forward. I could sense that I was getting closer; it almost seemed that I could feel the pulsing of the Heart beneath my feet. In my eagerness to end this madness, I was not as cautious as I should have been, and walked right into an ambush by Dagoth Gilvoth, one of the remaining ash vampires. He had been the lurking presence I had glimpsed earlier; patient as a spider he had waited in the shadows for me to blunder into his reach. Fortunately, he preferred to hurl magical attacks at me rather than to close to striking distance. As blast after blast of eldritch lightning and fire burst around me, I conjured a longbow and proceeded to trade him arrows for spells. So powerful was the summoned bow that the impacts of the arrows staggered him, causing many of his spells to dissipate harmlessly. At last, an arrow guided more by fortune than by design transfixed his neck, and he fell to the floor and did not rise again. Besides a Sixth House amulet, he carried something called the “Blood Ring,” which I surmised was his link to the Heart. As I picked up the ring, Dagoth Ur’s mocking voice shivered the air,

“Is this how you honor the Sixth House and the tribe unmourned? Come to me openly, and not by stealth.”

As to that, I could not think of a better way to “honor” the traitorous, corrupt, and utterly foul Sixth House than to collect their amulets and their heads. And I didn’t think that the trail of dead creatures I had left in my wake could be construed as “stealthy.” In an obscure way, that made me feel better, for it meant that Dagoth Ur was not really watching me. No doubt he sensed that I was inside the citadel and coming closer, but his sense was imprecise. He was simply throwing out these taunts to try to goad me into a mistake. As I promised myself that I would be careful, I came upon yet another dead adventurer. Judging by his netch leather armor and tools, he must have been a thief. He was also carrying one the cursed ash statues that had been used against House Redoran. I wondered if he had taken it from within the citadel or if its vile influence had drawn him here with promises of treasure beyond imagining. He must have been a master thief to have penetrated so far into the citadel, but it had been all for nothing- just a lonely end in a terrible place. Perhaps that was all an “adventure” really was- the desire for wealth or acclaim, interspersed with moments of terror and punctuated by death.

One wall of the final chamber had been breached by some means I could not imagine and a wooden door was hung crookedly in the opening. My instincts screamed a warning that I was close and Kagrenac’s Tools redoubled their whispering. With a convulsive effort, I pushed open the door. And there in a cavern deep under Red Mountain, a place of smoke and flame, I finally beheld my enemy. He was the gold-masked figure from the dreams that had troubled me when I first set foot on this path. Despite the mask, I could see how his long communion with the Heart had changed him. Him skin was the ashen color of the Dunmer, yet it seemed somehow dull. His hands had become deformed, turned into claws like those of his ash vampire kin. Overall, there was something almost reptilian about the tall figure before me- as if a lizard had grown to monstrous size and learned to walk on its hind legs. When he saw me, the great demon threw back his masked head and laughed, saying:

“Welcome, Moon-and-Star, to this place where destiny is made.”