The Story of Trey- Chapter 9 Options

[treydog]

Chapter 9

My resistance to the Nerevarine prophecies may seem incomprehensible to some, but they should try to remember my background. First, I had never been terribly religious. The gods were these vague figures of power to whom priests and crazy people talked. The best hope for someone like me was to avoid their notice- the gods, but also the priests and crazy people. Then, too, it always seemed to me that whenever someone started talking about what the "great god or goddess" wanted, it was just coincidentally something the speaker wanted, as well. So obviously I had my doubts about religion and prophecy in general. And then there was me. The circumstances of my conception and birth, I have already described- there was nothing auspicious or special about it. Throughout the years of my childhood, until the night I left High Rock, my worth was defined only by how much work my "guardians" could get out of me. Every drink I took, every scrap of food I ate, the very space in which I slept- all was given grudgingly and, like as not, with a blow and a curse. Therefore, to be told that I was "important to the Empire" and possibly the reincarnation of some long-dead Dunmer hero, struck me as a particularly weak joke. Heroes were born in manor houses and castles, trained in philosophy and the arts, raised as an integral part of society. The only philosophy I had ever known was "don't get caught." And my “place in society” was in a stable at the end of a shovel. So ever since Caius had revealed the contents the package I had delivered, I had done my best to ridicule, deny, and ignore the implications. Added to my incredulity that anyone could mistake me for a dead dark elf was my innate resistance to anything that the Empire wanted. Finally, I despised feeling as though I was being manipulated- whether by guilds, governments, or gods. What I desired most strongly was to be my own man, neither owned by nor owing anyone. At the moment, that goal seemed as attainable as one of the moons.

As for the prophecies, it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the events that seemed to swirl around me like the sparks from a fire. Too much had happened that could not be easily explained away. First, whatever I might wish, I could not really believe that the Emperor was simply delusional. His reasons might be incomprehensible to me, but he certainly believed in this strongly enough to devote considerable effort to it. Then there was the voice that had spoken to me in my fever-dream on the ship and again in Tel Fyr. And the dreams of the gold-masked figure who seemed to be trying to persuade me and yet filled me with dread. And what of Caius? Skooma addict he might be, but he wouldn't spend so much time on cobwebs and moonbeams, even if the Emperor told him to. Caius believed, and that was a very disturbing thought. He was perhaps the smartest man I had ever met. Not in the same way that Divayth Fyr or the other Telvanni wizards were smart, with their encyclopedic knowledge of magic and other arcana. Caius' intelligence was of a sort that I understood and respected even more- the intelligence of a man who had spent many years surviving on his wits, his courage, and his ability to separate fact from nonsense. When you live by your wits, almost every test is a final exam and the price of failure is death. That Caius was still alive was all the proof I needed of his intellect. But it still might be possible for me to reason with him, to find some way to convince him that everyone was mistaken. With that in mind, I read over the material I had gathered regarding the Nerevarine prophecies. As much as I was seeking greater understanding I was also seeking a flaw, a way out, an exception that would set me free.

What I found was that my notes on the prophecies were as murky as ever. It seemed to me that anyone could use the words to prove or disprove just about anything. And that was the problem with prophecy. My only option now was to go back to Caius and give him the happy news that I wasn't dead yet. No doubt he would have some new plan for me to go and stick my head in a dragon's mouth. Well, I had always wanted to see a dragon, anyway, so it wouldn't be a total loss. As I approached Caius' small house in Balmora, I believed that I was completely prepared for whatever insanely dangerous task he would set before me. I was sure that nothing he said could surprise me. Which goes to show just how little I knew. When I knocked and entered, I found the house in even greater disarray than usual. Chests and drawers had been flung open, and clothing was piled even more deeply on the floor and bed than before. In the midst of the chaos stood the spymaster, and, for the first time in my experience, he looked shaken. Attempting to lighten the mood, I asked him if a whirlwind had been through his place. With a shrug he explained that he had been packing and then looked closely at me. When he saw that there was no trace of disease to be found, he smiled a weary smile and said, "Trey, I'm very happy you've been cured. Unfortunately, I've had a bit of bad news. I've been recalled to the Imperial City. You'll be promoted to Operative and will head the Blades here in Vvardenfell until I return. I only waited to give you your final orders before I go."

My usual ready wit failed me- Caius gone? Recalled to the Imperial City? And what was this about me being the head of the Blades in Vvardenfell? So many questions clamored for answers at once that none of them could get out. I just stood silently and looked at the man who had seen me through so much. My mind could not encompass the idea that he wouldn't be there to give me directions, even if they usually were accompanied by a verbal kick in the rear. As I gaped like a fish out of water, he continued to sort through his possessions and to talk as if I was capable of understanding,

"...you'll have some expenses. Here's some gold. And you can use the house until I return. And I won't be needing these blacks or the ring in the Imperial City."

He punctuated this commentary by handing me 750 drakes, a set of enchanted clothing, and an enchanted ring. Somehow, his actions struck me as being those of a man making the final disposition of his estate. Whatever he might say, Caius did not believe that he was coming back.

Trying to get to the truth without just blurting it out, I asked about the recall order. The spymaster confirmed the rumors that the Emperor was dying and that the succession was in a mess. Various factions were struggling for power and he was too important a resource to be left out of reach. He tried to shrug it off as "internal politics... a result of my sugar problem," but even he knew it didn't ring true. Finally, he admitted that he had considered ignoring the order, but couldn't because "they" had members of his family in the capital. For me, to whom a family had until recently been just a distant dream, that was the hardest blow of all. To use a man's family as a lever- that showed me once again that my hatred of the Empire was not misplaced, at all. Caius remained thoroughly professional though, and asked me if I was ready to receive my orders. When I nodded, he told me to continue to pursue the prophecies. The next step would be to enlist the aid of Mehra Milo in Vivec and find the lost prophecies. Once I had those, I needed to go back to the Urshilaku wise woman and follow her guidance. His final advice was that I should "forget the Imperial City," and concentrate on the local issues of the Great House wars and Dagoth Ur. He clasped my hand, looked hard into my eyes, and was gone.

[treydog]

Even though she had protested that she "wasn't a spy," Mehra seemed to know a great deal about the dissident priests. And the way she talked about Azura made me wonder if the supposed Temple scholar wasn't actually a worshipper of the Daedra goddess. Still, I wasn't likely to find answers to any of those questions inside a prison cell, and since I didn't think my heart could stand the excitement of another trip through the Ministry of Truth, I opted to use Divine Intervention to get away. Once I was in Ebonheart, it was a simple matter to make my way to the docks and Blatta. Things seemed to be moving rapidly, and I had the uneasy feeling that I was being manipulated. Still, all of this was necessary to carry out Caius' final orders, and I was determined to do so. It seemed ironic to me that the most effective lever others could use against me was my sense of loyalty. A year ago, I would have assumed that my greed or pride would have been the most likely sources of trouble. If nothing else, it was nice that my greatest weakness could be viewed as a virtue instead of a vice. As I mulled these thoughts over, I reached Blatta Hateria and her ship.

The captain was something of a surprise- I had expected a Dunmer and instead found an Imperial woman unlike any I had encountered before. She was roughly dressed and explained that she was a pauper who made her way as best she could. Currently, she was in the business of providing transportation via boat to various coastal destinations. Somehow, I had always thought that all Imperials were wealthy, arrogant aristocrats. The idea that an Imperial might actually work for a living was not something I had expected. On further reflection, I realized that was simply a rather silly prejudice on my part, based on the very small number of wealthy merchants and travelers who had stopped at the inn where I worked. When I approached her, Blatta asked me if I was interested in going fishing, the agreed-upon code phrase. I said, yes and that I was ready to leave immediately. If I had been paying closer attention, I would have realized that the location of Holamayn, in the Azura's Coast region, was the far side of the island of Vvardenfell and that I was in for a long voyage. Of course, it wasn't as if I had anything better to do, but once you've seen one wave, you've seen them all.

At Holamayan, I met a monk named Vevrana Aryon, who told me how to find the entrance to the underground monastery and also repeated the explanation that the way was only open at dawn and dusk. She told me that Mehra was already inside and could be found in the library with someone called Master Barelo. Finally, she noted that she could arrange to transport me back to Ebonheart whenever I was ready. Following her directions, I soon reached the sealed entrance to Holamayan, which appeared to be a massive spherical boulder. A glance at the sun told me that it was near mid-day, so I had a long wait in front of me. Unable to sit still, I spent some time wandering over the mountainous island, which was largely devoid of anything of interest. As I considered that, I realized that it made sense to keep the exterior as nondescript as possible- after all, it wouldn't do to make one's secret hideout the sort of place that attracted casual visitors. The exploration didn't take long, and the only excitement was an opportunity to practice my marksmanship on a few cliff-racers. Normally, I have a "live-and-let-live" attitude toward wildlife, but cliff-racers are an exception. I would cheerfully exterminate every one of the flying pests if I had the time. In fact, as far as I was concerned, the real savior of Vvardenfell would be the person who invented an effective cliff-racer repellent. Soon enough, I found myself once again outside the sealed entry. My wandering had served to tire me out a bit, so I was able to sit down and meditate.

Although I had failed to bring any of my alchemy apparatus, I occupied my mind by thinking through the steps of creating potions. That mental exercise had the same calming effect as if I were actually engaged in making potions, and the time passed quickly. At last, as the sun dipped below the horizon, there was a grinding noise and the great hemisphere of stone, which turned out to be hollow, rolled back into the mountainside. It might have been my imagination, but it seemed that I felt something shift inside of me at the same moment and that a feminine voice whispered, "Welcome."

The simple wooden door opened onto a vast chamber carved out of the interior of the mountain. This entry room seemed to contain shrines to every one of the Dunmer "saints," including Saint Nerevar. Stairways led downward from the east and west sides of the room. As befit my optimistic nature, I chose the east side to begin my explorations. The stairs took me into the library, where Mehra Milo was waiting, as promised. She again thanked me for rescuing her and revealed that she had, in fact, been working for the dissident priests for some time. Now that her role had been revealed, she planned to remain in Holamayan, acting as the librarian for the secret order. She then introduced me to Master Gilvas Barelo, the head of the dissident priests. The Dunmer monk provided me with a great deal of information regarding the differences which had divided the Temple and caused the persecution and exile of the dissidents. As this information is now widely known, I will refrain from repeating it here. A great outpouring of scholarly dispute has been unleashed in the years since the events I record here, and I have no desire to add my observations on Temple politics.

In any event, my concerns were more immediate and more personal- I wanted to know how and why I had become caught up in this and what I must do to extricate myself, if possible. In response to a question regarding Nerevar, Master Barelo gave me three different accounts of that almost mythic figure- The Real Nerevar, Nerevar Moon-and-Star, and Saint Nerevar. He noted that each book provided a different view of Nerevar and that the cumulative result would be more enlightening than any single account. Spoken like a true scholar- there was no such thing as a simple answer, and everything was open to interpretation and debate. Still, I was pleased to add those rare volumes to my collection.

At last, I came to the true purpose of my visit, the so-called lost prophecies. Master Barelo told me that the order had searched through the Apographa or "hidden writings," and discovered two passages in particular that seemed to be of significance. One was actually called "The Lost Prophecy," and the other was entitled "The Seven Curses." Because their style and language resembled those of the known Ashlander prophecies "The Stranger" and "The Seven Trials," it seemed likely that these might be the lost prophecies which Nibani Maesa sought. In addition, because of my possible role in the struggle against Dagoth Ur, the priests had prepared a document called "Kagrenac's Tools," which Barelo claimed showed that the origin of the Tribunal's power was corrupt- was, in fact, the same source as the power of Dagoth Ur.

Kagrenac was the name mentioned by Yagrum, the last Dwemer, who dwelt in Tel Fyr. He was supposed to have been the greatest of the Dwemer magecrafters, and I wondered what his art had to do with Dagoth Ur or with me. Finally, Master Barelo insisted that the rise of the Sixth House showed that a great battle against Dagoth Ur was coming and that the divisions within the Temple and amongst the Dunmer could only be repaired by the leadership of the Incarnate. His final words chilled me to the bone, "If you are the Nerevarine, you must lead us against Dagoth Ur."