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]

My decision to immediately depart from my new stronghold was not easy. I would have very much preferred to take a few days to get used to the idea of having a place to call home. But I felt that events had taken on an urgency and that I needed to move quickly. Azura had confirmed me as Nerevarine- it seemed likely that Dagoth Ur would also have felt the ripples in the Ether when I grasped the Moon-and-Star ring and survived. It was clear to me now that the ash slaves and the dreams had been attempts by Dagoth Ur to murder or manipulate me to prevent my fulfillment of the prophecy. Now that those efforts had failed, would he not exert his power in some more violent fashion? So it seemed to me. Another reason that I left Bal Isra so quickly was that I tended to believe in the theory that you don’t miss something you have never had. How much harder would it be to leave my home if I got used to the idea of having one? Finally, I was fairly certain that I was not going to live long enough to enjoy the house, anyway. So all those reasons or fears caused me depart in haste. Still, I did in fact, take some time to look around. And thus I discovered a minor irony- another joke of the gods and the world of Morrowind.

When Athyn Sarethi had told me that I must build a stronghold, I had simply accepted that requirement and not inquired further as to what was involved, beyond obtaining a contract and paying the costs. And, even though I vaguely understood that the stronghold was considered an outpost of House Redoran, I did not fully grasp what that meant. Somehow, I didn’t think about the fact that Redoran would see to furnishing the stronghold and supplying the retainers. The reason this matters is that the House provided more than just guards, servants, and household furnishings. They also provided arms and equipment. Arms and equipment, moreover, suitable to someone with the rank of House Father. Recall, if you will, all the effort and terror I went through to obtain a Daedric blade. Now imagine how I felt when I saw an ebony longsword simply lying on a shelf in my bedroom, no doubt supplied from the Redoran Vaults. I had long since realized that the gods had a perverse sense of humor- what surprised me was their attention to detail.

Regardless, it was now time to seek the camp of the Ahemmusa Ashlanders and determine what service I could provide that would convince them to name me Nerevarine. For that would undoubtedly be the way it would work- I would have to trade something for their support- simply showing the Moon-and-Star ring would prove nothing. I used Recall to carry myself back to the Urshilaku camp and set out east along the coast from there. The Ahemmusa camp was located at the northeast corner of the main island of Vvardenfell, just at the edge of the region called the Grazelands. My journey was uneventful, largely because I carefully avoided the Daedric shrines, tombs, and mines that I encountered along the way. The events of the last few months had gone a long way towards curing me of any desire for “adventure for adventure’s sake.” I did come across one reminder of why this area of coast and islands was called the Sheogorath region- named after the mad god. Along a desolate stretch of sand and ash, I came across a slaughterfish completely out of the water. It was alive and moving, but seemed unable to make its way back into the sea. Although the fish are vicious predators, I decided to leave this one as I found it. In fact, given my experiences since I had been unceremoniously dumped here, I gave serious thought to adopting a fish out of water as my heraldic device.

When I reached the Grazelands, it became obvious why the Ashlanders loved this region and preferred their nomadic lifestyle. The gray and brown Ashlands with their thorny plants gave way to rolling green hills and fertile valleys. If all of Vvardenfell had looked like this, the Empire would have had to impose limits on immigration. Despite the wild beauty of the country, the Ahemmusa camp gave evidence that all was not well. A tribe in the Grazelands should have had a decent herd of guar, yet all I saw in the camp was one lonely pack beast. And even that pack-guar did not appear healthy to my unpracticed eye. Though my experience had been with horses and mules, rather than guar, there was something about the way the creature stood and the look in its eyes that reminded me of an ailing equine. Then there was the relative silence of the camp itself. Although a few people were moving about, they seemed to have little purpose and less hope. The sound of the wooden wind chimes was eerily reminiscent of the rattle of dry bones. It was as Sul-Matuul and Nibani Maesa had said, the Ahemmusa were in danger of dying as a tribe.

As I started to approach the wise woman’s tent, I remembered two bits of information- that the Ahemmusa wise woman was also the ashkhan and that the way to approach an ashkhan was through the gulakhans, or sub-chiefs. It was considered disrespectful to simply walk into the ashkhan’s presence without a suitable introduction. The courtesies must be observed, especially because the Ahemmusa were in serious trouble. Therefore, I made my way to the yurt of Dutadalk and requested permission to enter. In the way that information travels across vast distances, seemingly without the benefit of human speech, he was aware of my quest. I was surprised that the gulakhan did not seem hostile to the idea of an “outlander” as Nerevarine, but realized that it was a measure of the desperation of the tribe. Dutadalk advised me that, when I spoke to Sinnammu Mirpal, I should tell her that I would find the Ahemmusa a place of safety. In a gloomy voice he added,

”That is what I would ask of the Nerevarine.”

The gulakhan would not explain the meaning of his words, saying that it was the place of the ashkhan and wise woman to decide how much I should know of the troubles that plagued the Ahemmusa. He added another cryptic comment, to the effect that I was “not the only outlander seeking to help,” then refused to speak further. He had the look of a man who feared he had already said too much.

As I wondered what could daunt and discourage one of the normally fearless Ashlanders, I stepped out of his yurt and into a mystery. As I turned toward the wise woman’s tent, I saw what must have been a vision, yet it seemed quite real. The vision took the form of a tall, dark-haired woman leaving Sinnammu’s yurt. In itself, that wasn’t unusual; there were many tall Ashlander women, and most of them had dark hair. But this was no Ashlander, nor even a Dunmer- if I wasn’t going blind, she was an Imperial. And what was more, she wore the colors of House Redoran. Determined to find out who this was and what she was about, I made haste to cross the camp. However, before I had gone three steps, I was stopped by an Ahemmusa hunter named Zallit. He was impressed by my armor and weaponry, as well as by the rumors that I was the Nerevarine. As I knew that discourtesy was a mortal insult to the tribes-people, I had no choice but to stop and answer his questions. When I was at last able to turn back to Sinnammu’s tent, the Imperial woman was gone, as if she had never been. Somehow I knew that, phantasm or flesh, she was important. The memory of that slender figure turning away would haunt my dreams for many days.