The Story of Trey Chapter 10 Options

[treydog]

Thanks to the efforts of Stargelman and Alexander, Chapters 1-8 are available in the Fan Forge section of the main page. So rather than clutter things with reposting all that, I will start with the current "live" chapter.

All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.
Edmund Burke

Chapter 10

Before I relate the next phase of my adventurers in Vvardenfell, I find it necessary to talk for a moment about time. As I have written it, this story seems to be a continuous description of events, one following swiftly on the heels of another. That is not completely accurate, for several reasons. First, there were periods of several weeks that I spent recovering from wounds or from the strain of the many missions I undertook. I have not felt the need to burden the reader with a recounting of all those “slack” periods. Second, certain things occurred during the time of this story that I am not yet ready to reveal. There may come I time when I feel able to relate those other stories, but that time is not now. When I left “home” and made my way to the Imperial City, I was 17. And I celebrated my 18th “birthday” in Vivec. So it may seem strange that such powerful figures as Athyn Sarethi and Sul-Matuul entrusted one so young with the difficult and dangerous tasks that they gave to me. The reason they did so is this- by the time I set my reluctant feet upon the Path of the Nerevarine, when I went into Kogoruhn and came out again, I was 23. Often, in those difficult days, I felt much older, despite the “immunity” to aging that corprus had granted me. Those years had given me a fair number of scars, physical and emotional, and the wisdom that went with them.

While I recovered from my exertions in the ancient House Dagoth stronghold and contemplated my quest to find the Cavern of the Incarnate, I decided that I needed to do two or three other things first. For one, I needed to find out as much as I could about the House Dagoth creatures I had encountered. If I was destined to fight those foul beasts, it would be well to understand the nature of my enemies. The best place to gain such knowledge would be the Ghostgate, where Ordinators and Buoyant Armigers daily fought against the creatures of the Blight. If they would share their wisdom, I might have a better chance of survival. The second task I wished to accomplish was the creation of a better weapon- a sword for preference. In my many battles, I had managed to soul-trap several fairly powerful creatures, and one those soul-gems could be used to enchant a long sword with useful spells. My struggle against Dagoth Uthol was fresh in my mind as I considered this. Because my own skill at enchanting was marginal, I would need to seek the services of a Mages Guild enchanter. The sort of enchantments I had in mind would cost considerably, so I would need to find a way to raise the necessary gold. Such were the mundane thoughts with which I occupied my mind- mostly to avoid thinking too deeply about what would happen when I found the Cavern of the Incarnate.

After frankly moping around Ald’ruhn for two or three days, I decided that it was time to put my plans into effect. My first task would be to have a sword enchanted by Galbedir in Balmora. Here I ran into my first problem- although I had appropriate soul-gems for the sort of enchantments I had in mind, I did not have a good enough sword to take the enchantments. It seemed that an item’s capacity for enchantment was related to the material from which it was made. The best weapons for enchantment were Daedric or ebony, followed by Imperial and Dwemer. Due to its nature, glass was among the worst materials for enchanting- Galbedir tried to explain the reasons, but I fear I quickly got lost in the arcana of her explanation. What it came down to was this- if I wished to have major enchantments placed on a weapon, it would have to be Daedric or ebony. And the best place to find a Daedric weapon was the sort of place I had scrupulously avoided- a Daedric shrine. The items were so rare and so difficult to find that no merchants carried them. Some ebony weapons were rumored to be stored in the Great House vaults in Vivec, but even I didn’t want to think about burglarizing those. And even if I did raid one or a dozen Daedric shrines, there was no guarantee of finding a long blade- it was merely a possibility. Even better, the likelihood of finding such a weapon was directly proportional to the likelihood that said weapon would be guarded or even wielded by some particularly powerful summoned creature. The irony was almost too much for me to bear- in order to create a weapon that would give me a decent chance against the creatures of Dagoth Ur, I would have to face the almost equally nasty summoned creatures of Oblivion. Unfortunately, there was nothing else for it- I simply HAD to have a better sword. And I knew of at least two Daedric shrines that were fairly close to Balmora- Shurinbaal, near Gnaar Mok and Ald Sotha, near Vivec. As I set off for Gnaar Mok, I wondered at the ultimate irony- the cruel twist of fate that had turned me from a thief into a crusader.

This post has been edited by treydog: Oct 22 2009, 05:43 PM

[treydog]

I could not delay any longer- I had a powerful sword, I had greater knowledge of the creatures I must face- the time had come to seek the Cavern of the Incarnate. Therefore, I traveled first to the Urshilaku camp and from there, east along the coast. A note to any of you who may be contemplating a life of adventure- beware of directions that begin with, “when you reach the Daedric shrine….” Actually, Zergonipal presented me no difficulty, mainly because I carefully avoided the place, except as a landmark. However, I was a bit premature in my self-congratulations, for a band of Orcs fell upon me outside the Valenvaryon stronghold. I had barely registered the fact that I was in the vicinity of the ancient fortress when a screaming, foaming Orc descended on me, promising me death and dismemberment. It was during that fight that I discovered how powerful my Daedric sword really was. Orcs are renowned for their toughness, as well as for their battle prowess and the quality of their arms and armor. Generally, a Breton faced with 5 or 6 Orcs has two choices- run or pray. In this case, though, it was the Orcs who should have prayed. In less time than it takes to tell, I had dispatched all of them, usually requiring only one or two swings of the sword. The edge of that blade cut through the heavy Orcish armor as if it were paper. Again, I was completely unaware of the great weight of the sword while engaged in battle. It was as if the blade was leading me through the steps of a dance that it knew well. Only as the last Orc fell did I realize that I had taken several serious wounds myself. I had heard of the “battle-trance” before, but never experienced it. This was not the berserker fury of the Nords, but a more calculating and deadly sort of madness. Like a beserker, a warrior affected by the battle-trance will ignore wounds and fight on until he or his opponent is dead. The difference is that in the trance, the warrior retains his senses and distinguishes friend from foe. I had not known that I was capable of such, and it unnerved me somewhat. After using a restorative potion to heal my wounds, I climbed the rest of the way to Valenvaryon in an attempt to discover what had the Orcs so concerned. Apparently, they actually HAD been praying- or at least worshipping. They appeared to have erected a large statue to Sheogorath atop the stronghold and must have been annoyed that I interrupted their devotions. Although I had no particular liking for the Mad God, I would have let the Orcs go about their business if they had left me alone. Of course, that was the problem- you cannot reason with madness.

Before long, I came to the entrance of a valley leading south toward Red Mountain. On either side were sharp spires of rock- the Teeth of the Wind. As darkness fell, I reached the head of the valley, where I found an intricately carved stone door leading into the slope. The door was covered with stars and crescent moons, the symbols of Azura. It was also closed., and I could not open it. That did not surprise me, as I knew that it was past the hour of dusk, one of the times the light of Azura’s Star would strike the door. I prepared myself for a night-long vigil, awaiting the rising of the sun and of the star that was the key. Whatever thoughts I had that night are lost in the mists of time, and it is probably just as well. I have never been terribly good at waiting, which may explain how I found myself in trouble so often. In any event, I sat there, wrapped in a cloak, occasionally chewing a bit of hackle-lo and fighting the chill. As the horizon began to lighten, I rose and stretched my stiff muscles, then approached the door. It slid open at a touch and I heard the now-familiar voice say, “In the dawn hour under Azura’s Star, the door is opened.” On the other side was a short tunnel, leading to a large chamber formed from the natural stone. In the center of the cavern rose a statue of a kneeling female figure, with her hands cupped in front of her. The face did not look entirely human, yet it showed strength and wisdom, sorrow and resolve. As I came closer, I was startled to see a number of mummified figures scattered around the cavern. They did not appear to have died violently, but rather reclined against the walls, with their heads bowed as if they had gone to sleep- some hundreds of years before. Closer still, and I saw that the statue of Azura held a glowing ring in its stone hands. The ring shimmered with an eerie light and was shaped in the form of a crescent moon and a shining star. The legends were true; this was Nerevar’s Moon-and-Star ring. With a trembling hand, I reached out to grasp the ring, and with it, my doom.