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]

Before venturing any further, I had a long talk with myself. Although there was a bit less name-calling than was usual during one of those talks, it was still a rather stern lecture. First, I needed to remember my own rule about not doing things out of anger or for revenge. Even though I was feeling persecuted and ill-used, my survival was up to me. I had managed so far by relying on my wits and my stealth- not my ability to hack and slash my way to a solution. Although my sword-work was far better than it had been when I arrived on Vvardenfell, it was not my greatest asset. And just because I was now immune to disease did not mean that I was immortal. Magicka, or steel, or even a falling boulder could still render me quite dead.

Crashing around Kogoruhn like a spoiled child had been foolish, and it was only good fortune and quick reflexes that had saved me from the punishment I deserved. Ilunibi had frightened me- with good reason. But Kogoruhn was worse. The former location had been an outlying base, a staging area, with relatively weak Sixth House minions. Kogoruhn was much closer to Red Mountain and was also a far older base of House Dagoth strength. I had no way of knowing how much more deadly this foul lair might be- it was enough to know that it was deadly and to act accordingly. Normally, that would mean running away as fast as my slender legs would carry me. Unfortunately, that option was not available- I had given my word to Sul-Matuul that I would bring back the three items he had requested. And that, I realized, was the point- I was here to collect those items, not to scour this place from top to bottom and rid it of all Dagoth Ur's creatures. Besides, as soon as I left, more of the obscene beasts would move in. Still, I needed to treat this just like any other thieving job- get in, get the stuff, get out. Don't kill anyone you don't have to, run from fights if possible, and stay stealthy. Suddenly, I felt much better. I knew that this place would kill me if it could; I could feel the hatred oozing out of the very stones. My job was to keep that from happening.

Two doors remained unexplored- The Hall of Phisto and The Temple of Fey. Neither one sounded terribly appealing, but it had been a long time since anyone had bothered to ask me how I felt about anything. The various "Dagoths" I had encountered so far seemed to think of themselves as priests of Dagoth Ur, so the "Temple" seemed like the sort of place they might hang out. Therefore, I would avoid it. The doorway to the Hall of Phisto opened onto a narrow, stone-walled corridor with wooden supports. Keeping in mind that I wanted to be stealthy, I summoned a bound longbow and crept south. Soon enough, I came upon a set of steps leading down to a doorway. For the moment, I ignored them- I wanted to search this entire floor before venturing deeper. As I rounded a corner, my stealth paid off. An ash zombie was shuffling along with its back to me. Quick as a thought, I nocked and loosed two arrows, and the creature was dead before it ever knew anyone was about.

That was how I needed to operate- from the shadows, from a distance, never even letting them know I was there. Further along the corridor, I could see an opening into some sort of chamber on the right. Again, I summoned the bow and cat-footed to the opening. Inside was a Sixth House shrine, attended by one of the lesser "Dagoths." Several arrows later, he was a Dagoth pincushion, and I was unhurt. The usual amulet showed that this one had been known as "Dagoth Delnus." There was nothing else in the room, so I moved on.

And thus it continued for what seemed like hours- slipping in and out of the shadows, striking swiftly, and gliding away. At some point in the process, one of the creatures gave up the corprus weepings I sought, and I was one step closer to my goal. Although this method was safer, it was hard on my nerves. Add to that the foul atmosphere of that dark place, and I am surprised my blonde hair didn't turn white. All too quickly, I realized that the last piece, the Shadow Shield, was going to be deep inside the stronghold. And I had to find it or all the rest would have been wasted effort.

With faltering steps, I made my way to the door inscribed "The Hall of Maki." Within that foul hole, I found the ending of a sad story. Off to one side were three locked doors, and behind each door was a dead adventurer. They were an odd assortment- an Altmer, a Khajiit, and an Imperial. How they had been held or how they had died, I could not tell. Each one seemed to be fully equipped and showed no marks of violence. However, each room contained a wood and rope construct that exuded evil. The devices seemed almost to have been made to capture the souls of the adventurers as they breathed their last. But the greatest mystery of all was the Imperial. The first thing I noticed was that he was outfitted with a shield and cuirass of volcanic glass- a material that was almost mythical in its rarity. The scarcity of such armor was the result of several factors- first, there were few deposits that had not been exhausted. Second, the material was notoriously hard to work and shape into useful armor and weapons. A full set would bring a king's ransom- even a piecemeal outfit such as this was more valuable than anything I had ever seen. And even more significant, at least to me, was the fact that glass was light armor- the type with which I was most proficient.

Needless to say, I overcame any squeamishness quite readily and relieved the poor fellow of the armor. With a silent prayer for his soul, I rolled him over to undo the lacing of the cuirass and discovered an even greater mystery. Underneath him was a great two-handed blade, which glowed with magicka both malevolent and powerful. Careful not to lay a hand on the weapon, I was able to decipher the markings on the blade and determine that this was the legendary claymore known as "Fury." It was said that the wielder of this sword would find himself able to strike powerful blows, but could also be blinded and find his ability to defend himself severely weakened. It was a weapon for someone who courted death on the battlefield and it was a unique artifact. Carefully wrapping the enchanted blade in several layers of cloth, I stowed it amongst my goods. Even with the sword thus muffled, I seemed to hear it whispering to me, urging me to grasp its hilt and rush headlong into glorious battle.

Considering the Ordinator outside and these three inside, Kogoruhn was a veritable magnet for those who sought glory. It also seemed that it was a trap for those would-be heroes. It was fortunate, then, that I was not interested in being a hero. My goal was to survive. Whispers or no, Fury would stay where it was until I could find a suitable place for it.