The Saga of Joan of Arkay, A Morrowind Main Quest Story Options

[Renee]

Each event is preceded by prophecy, but without the event, there is no hero.

In the waning years before the end of the third era of Tamriel, a prisoner was born on an uncertain day, from uncertain parents. To most, she was ignorant of the role she was to play in that country's coming history.

"They have taken you from the Cyrodiil prison, first by carriage, then by boat. To east and to Morrowind. Fear not, for you shall be watched. You shall be chosen... "

16th of Last Seed, 3rd Era, Year 427



..."Wake up!"....

The lady from Cyrodiil squinted her eyes. Someone was peering at her through the gloom.

"Wake up!" said the voice. The voice of a Dunmer, for sure. "Why are you here?" asked the voice. "Are you with us?"

The smell of rotted wood permeated the air. The lady felt a gentle rocking as she got up off the floor. She wrinkled her face. Was she on a boat?

"That's right, stand up," said the voice. And now that she was standing, the lady could see she had been spoken to by a Dunmer. "You were dreaming," he said in a gravelly voice. "What's your name?"

"Joan. Of Cyrodiil," said she.

"Well, not even last night's storms could wake you," he replied. "I heard them say landfall was made last night." He was standing before her without a shirt on, Joan could see. "We've reached Morrowind, I'm sure and certain they will let us go."

"Who ... shall let us go?" Joan was bleary.

"Quiet. Here comes the guard."

An Imperial soldier was approaching from somewhere up deck. Joan could hear his footsteps clonking along. He made his way down a set of stairs on the far side of the boat, and toward the Dunmer and Joan.

"This is where you get off," said the Imperial with a regal sort of voice. "Now. Come with me."

Joan hesitated, trying to remember what happened. Why she was .... here ... on this boat. And not on the boat with the others. The others from Cyrodiil.

"You'd better do what they say," warned the Dunmer with no shirt.

"Hoy there," Joan called to the guard. "Have I been placed into some manner of custody?"

"You'd better do what they say," warned the Dunmer with no shirt, for the second time.

So Joan did. She followed the Imperial through the ship's dim lower hull. Noticed hammocks, crates, and barrels. She then walked cautiously up the ship's ladder, giving one last look back to the far alcove, where she'd awoken a few moments ago. Finally, she moved through the ship's mid-deck hold, which was brighter and a tad more pleasant than its lower section. Candles, and places to eat.

"Get yourself up on deck and lets keep this as civil as possible," the Imperial growled.

"Yessir," Joan answered. "Ehm. Perhaps this is a case of mistaken identity," she spoke to the Imperial, but didn't dare look at him. She said a quick prayer to superior powers before climbing upon the ship's upper deck.

mid-afternoon
Unsure what had happened, Joan was expecting she was about to walk from the ship's inside straight into some sort witch hunt. She'd walk on deck, and be surrounded by accusers, or some such. Because that's the way she felt, at the moment. Things were not right. She was in some sort of trouble, perhaps. Had to be mistaken identity, though. Had to be.

But this was not the case. Her fears would be allayed.

"This is where they want you," said a man, a Redguard, who was standing ondeck. "Head down to the dock and into the census office."

At this point, Joan noticed three things at once.

1). She was not under any sort of arrest. This was obvious, since she was not bound.

2). She was not about to be accused of anything.

3). She had made it to Vvardenfell.

Joan had boarded the wrong boat, for sure. But she had also successfully made it to her destination, somehow. The weather was balmy. She could see gigantic mushroom trees standing way off in the distance. Finally, the silt strider standing off to the side of whatever town she was in made this area no mistake. Only one place on Tamriel could support those types of flora.

"But what has happened to the others? Where are the rest of my priory?" she asked.

"Let's go," said the Redguard impatiently, ignoring her concerns. "Move it along."

She began to move off the boat. Onto a small bridge, which led to a dock, which led to a Tudor-styled building. So this was Vvardenfell, but the town she was in had Imperial influence. A second guard greeted her as she neared him. Unlike the others so far, he seemed pleasant, maybe even pleased to see Joan.

"You finally arrived but our records don't show from where," he said.

"Cyrodiil. Cheydinhal, as a fact of matter. I am Joan from Cheydinhal."

"Great," the guard said in his pleasant voice. "I'm sure you'll fit right in. Now follow me up to the office."

Joan did so, slowly. If the others did not make it, did this mean her quest within Vvardenfell would not be granted?

"Head on in," said the guard, and so Joan of Cheydinhal did so. It was not as though she really had any choice in the matter.

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Joan of Arkay Chargen Sheet

Joan in Seyda Neen

This post has been edited by Renee: Oct 6 2021, 12:46 AM

[Renee]

Um, I don't have any pictures for y'all in this update. Youll just have to bear with it.

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20 Last Seed (Day 5) early morning


"You n'wah!"

Joan of Cheydinhal has better luck as she invades Addamasartus for the second time. She had run from the magic-using, snooty elf a couple days ago, but now she is back, and ready to take him down.

At some point over the past couple days, Joan realized that all she has to do to defeat this magic-using snooty mage is wait.

Now, back in the cave, the snoot throws a spell at her. Some sort of drain spell, probably, or maybe a weakness spell. Joan sidesteps, allowing his magic to crash harmlessly into one of the cave's rocky walls. The snoot throws another spell. Joan sidesteps again.

In Cyrodiil, over the past couple years, many advanced users of magic had been learning how to recreate their own magicka, often in real-time. This had taken a lot of research and a lot of patience. But the Mages Guild seemed to be mastering this, and rumor had it a few outlaw wizards back in her home province were doing so, as well. Only those born under the Atronach were permanently cursed from regenerating their own mana. Joan had not gotten this far in her own magical training, unfortunately. She, like the bloomin' elf before her, could not regenerate her own mana. But this did not seem to matter in Morrowind.

Learning advancements seemed to traveled slow. Many magicians in the land of the Dunmer had not yet learned the skill of magic regeneration, it seemed. They did not seem to know about the magical triumphs going on in Cyrodiil. They were still doing things the old way, relying on rest, relying on potions.

Because of this, Joan realizes all she has to do is wait until the magic-throwing rogue bandit before her uses up all his mana, and then is forced to attack more directly. Within a half-minute or so, this is exactly what he does.

Joan casts her shield spell as the snoot approaches. She then begins slashing and stabbing the man with her iron shortsword.

"Aiigh!!!!"

STAB STAB...*BANG*.... *clink*... parry... The snoot may have had some good spells in his book; in fact, he almost ended her life a couple days ago. But she's the better fighter. Especially now that she had equipped her person with more proper armor pieces. After a couple more days of nuisance creatures and ingredient-gathering, Joan now possesses a cuirass of chitin, as well as pauldrons and gauntlets. The elf cannot cause much damage because of this. So it doesn't take long before the cave-dwelling snoot falls before her, and is downed forever.

One of many small victories to come, indeed.

Joan cautions further into the cave's initial chamber, and arrives to a couple passages. One branches left, and another branches right. She chooses to go left, where there are a flight of wooden stairs, leading upward into darkness. At the top of the stairs Joan finds a penned-off enclosure full of Khajiit. The area is locked, but Joan uses the key she had found two days before to open it.

"Khajiit has no worrrds for you," one of enclosure's inhabitants says.

Joan speaks to the cat, and finds that the rumors were true. There are prisoners being kept here in Addamasartus! Three of them.

"Master was right to disavow us," one of them says. "We are foolish."

Joan identifies herself, then frees them all from their restraints. As she does so, she thinks she feels the grace and glory of the Nine, shining upon her.

She retuns to the intersection she'd found before, and walks down some stairs. Joan turns left, and encounters one final cave-dwelling bandit. This one does not use magic; instead she throws a couple of darts Joan's way. Joan dodges the first, but gets hit by the second, causing her to falter a bit. But she also remembers her military training, and realizes she has two options: rush her opponent directly, or backtrack into a previous room, attempting to corner the dart-throwing bandit. Joan chooses to backtrack.

Joan rushes back to the cave's entry chamber, and closes a door. Meanwhile, the dart-thrower moves fast, and is right there behind her, clamoring to open the door so she can continue to throw her little weapons. Joan does not budge. As the door stands half-open, the Cyrodiilian begins thrusting and slashing with her blade!

"You n'wah!!!" taunts dart-lady.

Half the lady's health is gone as Joan makes her offense. Eventually the door slips open, and the dart-thrower falls back a bit, readying another dart. Joan uses the moment to cast a healing spell, returning her to almost full health.

"Thine past, 'tis full of besmirchments!" Joan calls. "Prepare to remander thine un-divinely ways!"

The dart-thrower seems to have run out of darts. She decides to come at Joan with a small knife. But the fight doesn't last too much longer. "You will suffer ... ooo!"

Joan says a quick prayer as loots the woman's body, only to find a couple of lockpicks. Tools of the dark, and unholy! thinks she. She does not take these, even though there's the possibility she can sell them for gold. Right about now, Joan of Cheydinhal needs some gold. All she has on her person at the moment is 15 pieces. But she refuses to tarnish her persona with these "tools of darkness".

She does find some items deeper into the cave though which are not unholy, and therefore saleable. Magical scrolls and gems. Food and drink and potions. But she also moon sugar! And skooma! ... "Foul brews and integrants, to be consumed by the miscreants of this world!" Joan does not take these.

After an hour or so of rummaging, Joan of Cheydinhal returns to Seyda Neen. Not only has she cleared the village of its local menacing scum, she increases her count of gold, from a meager 15 to a hefty 387. She uses 80 of this to upgrade her cuirass from chitin to ringmail.

Now, she feels she is perhaps more ready, to head to Balmora.