Memories of Resdayn Options

[Kora]

I've been playing Morrowind for almost three years now and the game has managed to hook me every time. As a tribute to its vivid, almost living universe, I've started writing a series of stories, taking place in my game world. Enjoy!


Memories of Resdayn


One – As the Book of Memories Opens



Stand back, Shurr!

Bewildered, the Orc stared at his friend, as if he had never seen her before. Rhen’s skin had changed color, from a healthy light blue to a deathly grey, like the cold slab stone of a grave. Her usually inscrutable eyes were now animated by flashes of cobalt fire and her short, badly chopped hair was almost standing on end.

Rhen, I . . .

I said stand back, fool! the Dunmer woman growled, her fingers curling on the black hilt of her Katana. With one swift move, the blood-red blade was out, gleaming eerily in the ash-laden wind.

On more step, she said, harshly, and I’ll split you open!

Shurr could only gawk, as his mind struggled to take everything in. What in the name of Talos had happened to Rhen? As much as he tried to find the answer to that question, he always failed, as the enormity of the present situation threw him off balance.

I want you to get out of here! she went on, as if oblivious to her friend’s turmoil. Aid the Alliance in their struggle. Heal the wounded. Spare the dying of any further agony. This is not your battle.

Shurr almost jumped out of his skin, as realization finally struck home. Rhen hadn’t turned against him. Far from it; she was trying to spare him, by making him leave her!

Do you take me for a dim-witted Scamp? he asked, his gruff voice almost lost in the infernal howling of the storm. I promised you that I would always be by your side and I have no intention to renege this oath!

Even though her features remained as harsh as ever, a small, almost imperceptible smile quirked the corners of Rhen’s mouth, as she regarded her companion.

I knew you would say something like that, she spoke, this time on a gentler tone. If you are as wise as you think, my dear Shurr, why do you doubt my abilities?

It is not your abilities that I doubt, the Orc countered, shaking his head, rather your stupid habit of charging right ahead, without thinking of the consequences.

At this, Rhen’s smirk could not stop itself from extending across her face.

Ah, you know me all too well, Shurr, she sighed, casting her blue eyes toward the faint, ghostly glimmer of the Ghostfence, in the distance. You are familiar with my methods. What do you think I will do?

The Orc followed her intense gaze, until he could see the fence as well, almost completely obscured by the howling, red ash storm.

Something that has to do with the Ghostfence, he answered at length, his words steady. I cannot discern exactly what.

Rhen’s lips pulled even wider apart and her smile became deadly.

I will use the Ghostfence as a battery, she answered, on a quiet, but razor-sharp tone. At this, Shurr could only shake his head once more, in puzzlement.

What in Tamriel is a battery? he asked, his friend’s mysterious answers starting to wear on his already straining nerves.

Rhen leaned against the stone wall, pulling the leather hood tighter over her face, to protect herself from the caustic ash.

It is a Dwemeri concept, she answered, scraping her heel through the black soot on the ground. Basically, it refers to a device able to both produce and store a certain amount of raw energy. The idea has been all but forgotten, since the disappearance of the Dwemer, Rhen explained, leaning forward, so that Shurr could see the strange, almost unnatural glint in her eyes, and I am, possibly, one of the last beings in existence who remembers it. Dumac’s lessons are not easy to forget.

Shurr had to stop himself from shuddering, as he thought he could hear a deeper, male inflexion in the Dunmer woman’s voice. Even though most of the time he willed himself to forget what his friend was, moments like this shattered that vain illusion. Rhen was no longer the small, mischievous child with whom he had played in the fields of Algernon Priory, in his childhood. Now, she was something else entirely.

Even is she had seen her friend’s reaction, Rhen ignored it.

The Ghostfence will be my battery and I will be its catalyst.

The Orc had to place a hand on the ancient wall, to stop himself from loosing his balance, as a wave of shock passed through him.

Are you insane?! he gasped, inhaling ash in the process. Retching violently, he dropped to his knees, coughing, as Rhen continued to watch him, an unreadable expression on her features.

You can’t do that, Shurr spoke faintly, pulling himself up. Rhen, you can’t manipulate raw energy!

Who said that the Ghostfence is raw energy? the Dunmer asked, twirling her Katana through the air, in several graceful arcs. Have you forgotten all of the text books that those n’wahs in the Temple made us read?

Shurr could almost slap himself, as the answer came unbidden within his mind.

Ghosts . . . he whispered. The fence is made of ancestor spirits, bound to Mundus through their remains!

Rhen nodded, her features hardening once more.

They will give me all of the strength that I need.

For a few moments, the mad roar of the storm was the only thing heard, as Dunmer and Orc regarded each other, in complete silence.

You overestimate your abilities, the Orc sighed.

Maybe, was the quiet answer, but I will take my chances, nonetheless.

Shurr wanted to say something, but the words died in his throat, as both Rhen and his surroundings started blurring and moving quickly.

Rhen, he yelled his voice full of unrestrained fear, as the silhouette of the woman disappeared in the swirling mass of black and red. [/i]Rhen!

The next thing that he felt was a sharp, ringing pain, as his forehead struck the hard, cold stone floor.



3E 434, Imperial Cult Chapel of Akatosh, Legion Fort Buckmoth, Ald-Ruhn, District of Vvardenfell, Morrowind

“Shurr, you look horrible.”

The Orc monk raised his eyes from the book that he had unsuccessfully tried to read all morning, to regard the Breton woman who had spoken.

“Diplomatic as always, Muriel” he sighed, absent-mindedly turning a page.

“Who ever heard of an Orc giving a Breton lessons in diplomacy?" Muriel asked, a playful glint in her brown eyes. “If Rhen were here, she’d laugh herself silly at the idea.”

At this, Shurr’s features darkened and he lowered his eyes into the book, with a small growl.

Muriel slapped her forehead, in self-annoyance, as she realized what her friend’s thoughts were.

“You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?" she asked quietly, walking to the nearest window, to stare at the dreary weather outside.

A lone grunt was her answer.

“Now, stop playing the big, dumb, barbarian charade, because I’m not falling for it!” Muriel scolded him sternly. “I’ve known you for seven years and I’m well aware that you can speak with a lot more eloquence that that!”

“Who ever heard of a Breton scolding an Orc?” came the other’s reply, as he resignedly closed the book, placing it on the stone altar.

“Touché,” Muriel smiled. “Now, are you going to answer my question or not?”

Shurr carefully stood up from his seat, to join the Breton woman by the windowsill.

“Yes” was the simple answer.

Muriel nodded, as her eyes traveled over the vast expanse of dreary Ashlands, pelted constantly with rain over the last two weeks. Five years ago, rainfall in the Ashlands would have been considered a once-in-a-lifetime-miracle, but, after the fall of the Sharmat, a great many things had changed, both in the ancient land of the Dunmer and in the rest of Tamriel.

“She does what she believes to be the best for everyone” Muriel went on, her soft voice accompanied by the steady sound of the downpour.

“But there has been no sign from her for over six months!” Shurr nearly exploded, his usual calm, quiet demeanor completely gone.

“She will come back to us” Muriel spoke, not even flinching at her friend’s outburst. “You, of all people, who has known Rhen for almost her entire life, should know her power and possibilities. In the end, she will come back to us.”

On the altar, a gust of wind made the book flip open, its yellow, worn pages flapping in the breeze.

“In the end, she will return to us. I have no doubt about it.”



3E 406, Algernon Priory, District of Colovia, Cyrodiil

You’re as slow as a Sload!

The orc boy turned around, only to receive an apple directly in the face.

What was that for? he asked angrily, eying the small Dark Elf child standing in front of him.

Because I’m bored, came the prompt reply, as she girl smiled.

That’s a stupid reason to hit somebody! the orc boy shouted once more, breaking into a run after the Dunmer girl.

You’re never gonna catch me with those short legs! the girl laughed, hitching up her brown dress, to run faster.

The boy gritted his teeth and lunged forward, trying to get a hold of the girl. He missed her, but his fingers embedded themselves in the thick material of her dress. Grinning, he stopped suddenly, pulling the girl to a halt as well. The Dunmer yelped, as the boy’s strength sent them both tumbling in the long grass.

Do you give up? the orc asked, keeping the girl pinned to the ground.

I do, she whimpered, her small face contorting in pain. Just let me go.

The boy made to let go, but as soon as his guard was down, a sharp knee in the stomach made him double over in pain and in shock.

Now who’s giving in? the girl asked, her previously innocent expression giving way to a cunning grin.

Cheater, the boy grumbled, massaging his sore spot.

I don’t cheat, the girl quickly answered, on a resentful tone. I just play with the rules.

The orc boy wanted to fire off another harsh reply, but he found himself smiling instead. This girl had a great deal of personality and temperament, even though she looked no older that eight years of life.

What’s your name?

The girl’s scowl immediately disappeared, to be replaced by a small smile as well.

Rhen.

Just that? the boy asked, puzzled. What about your family's name?

I’m one of the orphans who live here. I never knew my parents, so I don’t have a family name.

The boy nodded in understanding, mentally cursing himself for his lack of tact.

What about yours?

I’m Shurr-ogr-Farra, he answered, with pride. My father takes care of the stables here at the Priory.

And what are you doing here? Rhen asked. There are far more interesting places to be, than a monastery.

Not for me, Shurr answered, on a tone that made it clear that he disagreed completely with Rhen’s statement. I help my father with the horses from time to time, but in my spare time I read a lot. I want to become a Chapel priest some day.

At this, Rhen started laughing, which made Shurr frown.

Sure, go ahead and laugh, like everybody else! he grumbled, standing up to leave. But one day I’ll show you that I can work with my mind, even though I’m an Orc!

Calm down, Shurr, Rhen said, struggling to control her laughter. I’m sorry. It’s just that I imagined you in a big, golden robe, with a large white, curly wig on your head! it was so funny!

Shurr couldn’t stop himself from smirking.

That’s a member of the Elder Council, not a priest, he answered, trying to keep up a serious demeanor but failing miserably.

Whatever, the girl waved her small hand, in a non-commital gesture. They're all the same to me.

Shurr bit his lip, to avoid breaking into all-out laughter.

What do you want to do with your life? he asked, in an effort to maintain his composure.

I don’t know, Rhen answered, on a more hesitant voice, a small shadow passing over her features. Shurr couldn’t help himself but stare at the strange girl. She was the most unusual Dunmer that he had ever seen. Most of her features were alike those of any of her kind: the blue-gray skin, the boyishly short, red hair and the slightly gaunt features. However, one thing differed: her eyes were not the usual blood-red (or variations on it), but a clear, crisp blue, like the waters of the Iliac Bay, in summer.

Help others, I guess, Rhen went on, oblivious to Shurr’s examination. I’ve always liked to do that.

Shurr almost smiled once more, at the girl’s innocence. For all her bravado, she was still untainted by the pain and suffering that he had seen.

Or was she? A closer look into her eyes revealed that something lay hidden in their dark depths, some things that a girl of eight years old should not have witnessed.

Shurr’s reverie was interrupted by the Abbot’s sharp voice, as he called his name.

I have to go, he grumbled, forlornly. Stiff-Pants wants to talk to me.

Rhen smirked at the nickname that the boy had found for the Priory’s stern, unyielding head. Leaning low in the grass, she watched as Shurr climbed up the marble steps and disappeared within the Priory house.

He’s nice, the girl whispered to herself, playing with a blade of grass. Maybe he’ll understand.

Close by, a spiritual presence agreed with Rhen’s words.

This post has been edited by Kora: Apr 12 2006, 08:05 AM

[Kora]

Three – Infant



3E 399, Algernon Priory, District of Colovia, Cyrodiil


Sister Raisa sighed, as she leaned slightly against the old, wooden fence. It was close to midnight and the merchants from Skingrad City had still not arrived. The black, winding road was silent, disappearing in the distance, in a dark haze.

The nun pulled the thick woolen robe closer to her, as protection against the cold. The first signs of Spring were starting to show themselves, but the weather was still chilly, even this far south.

“I hate to think what those poor souls in Bruma must be going through” the nun whispered to herself, swaying gently from one foot to the other, to keep herself warm.

Suddenly, the silence of the night was interrupted by the rhythmic thump of horse hooves on the road. The nun’s eyes turned to the west, where she could see the small caravan, slowly making its way across the wind-swept plain.

“Finally” Raisa sighed once more, in relief.

The caravan marched on and only stopped when all of the riders could see the Priory’s lights.

“Sorry for the delay, Sister” the leading rider said, “but we had some trouble at the outskirts of Skingrad.”

“Are the supplies intact?”

“Yes” the man answered, lightly jumping off his horse and helping the others unload several sacks from the carts. “This was trouble of a different kind.”

“What kind of trouble?” Raisa asked, a tint of fear slipping into her voice. She had known the tall Redguard caravan leader for several years, but she had never seen such an odd, dark glint in his eyes.

“A family was killed” he explained, his jaw set and voice grim. “They had a small shack built, near Skingrad’s east wall. When we were passing, we saw the whole thing burn to the ground!”

“Oh, my!” the nun gasped, one hand flying towards her mouth. “Did . . . did anyone die?”

“I’m afraid so” the man answered. “It seems that two Dark Elves, husband and wife lived there, with their infant child. When we were coming out of Skingrad, we saw the whole house turned into an inferno! We tried to put out the fire, but the flames were too strong for us. By the time the town guard deigned to show up, there was nothing left of that place!”

Raisa continued to listen, her eyes wide with fear.

“But that’s not all” the Redguard went on, in a hushed voice. “We managed to pull out the woman and the baby from the flames.”

“However” another trader cut in, on the same low tone, “the woman had been burnt from head to toe and died soon after. Only the baby was unharmed.”

“By the name of Kynareth!” the nun breathed, in utter shock. “What happened after that?”

“What could have happened?’ the caravan leader asked, on a dry, sarcastic tone. “The Skingrad guards showed up, sealed off the entire area, took the bodies – or what was left of them - to be buried and forbade anyone from coming close to the site of the disaster.”

“And what of the baby?”

The Redguard man signaled to another trader, who handed him a small, black bundle.

“Here she is.”

Raisa cautiously inched forward, to peer at the small being, that the man held in his hands. The infant was tiny, the only thing that could be seen, out of the black cloth in which it was wrapped, was a small, pale grey face, whose features the nun could not discern, in the obscurity of night.

“Her name is Rhen” one of the traders said. “Her mother told us so, before passing on.”

Raisa could only stare at the fragile, little Dunmer child, as she slowly felt her feet giving way underneath her.

“But . . . what about the city guard?" she asked, faintly. “Didn’t they stop you from taking her?”

“They told us to bring her here” the Redguard man quickly lied. “They told us that this Priory also serves as a small orphanage for those children that are besieged by fate.”

“Well . . .” the nun hesitated. “Yes, it does. But I’m afraid that we’re at full capacity at the moment.”

The man frowned, as he gazed at the nun with a pair of dark, steely eyes.

“This child has no other living kin” he said, on a low, dangerous tone. “Would you abandon a lost soul in its hour of need, Sister? What kind of devotee of the Nine are you if you refuse to help an innocent, defenseless being?”

The nun was silent for a few moments, before she extended her hands, a resigned expression on her face.

“Very well. Give her to me and I will speak to the Abbot about this special case.”

Smiling slightly, the Redguard gently placed the sleeping infant into the nun’s outstretched hands.

“Thank you Sister. What shall we do with the provisions?”

“Leave them by the stables” the nun said absent-mindedly, as she carefully studied the sleeping child in her grasp. “The stable-master will take care of them in the morrow.”

The Redguard wanted to say something else, but his reply was interrupted by a loud wail, as the little baby started crying.

“Ssshhh . . .” the nun cooed desperately, trying to silence the wailing infant. “Please be a good girl and be quiet . . .”

It was no use as the child continued to cry loudly, her screams echoing in the empty plain.

“Get her inside” the Redguard raised his voice, to be heard over the din. “She’s crying because of the cold. Get her somewhere warm.”

Raisa nodded dumbly, before heading for the Priory’s doors on a fast pace, without so much as a goodbye to the men. The traders watched as her small silhouette disappeared in the gloom.

“Hey, Boss, don’t you think that it would have been better if we told her the entire truth? What if the guards come looking for the girl here?”

“They won’t” the Redguard shook his head firmly. “This place is too secluded. Besides, they believe that the child died along with the parents and that her body was incinerated by the flames.”

“Then it’s true, isn’t it?" another trader spoke up. “The guards were somehow involved it this mess.”

“Not directly. It is more than likely that someone gave them a hefty bribe, to pretend that they couldn’t see the fire until it was too late.”

“I don’t understand, Boss. Why would anyone want to wipe out a family of dirt-poor Dark Elf refugees from Morrowind? It makes no sense whatsoever.”

“Does any killing of an innocent make any sense?’ the Redguard sighed. “Perhaps they angered someone in a position of power. Or perhaps someone from Morrowind followed them all they way here, in the south. Either way, we’ll never know. What’s important now is that the infant is safe and has a chance at life.”

The other traders nodded in silence, as they swiftly mounted their steeds and positioned themselves in an organized line.

“We set out for the Imperial City” the leader raised his voice, to be heard by everyone. “I expect us to be in front of the main gates tomorrow, at noon sharp. No delays are accepted!”

And with this, the caravan was once again in movement, the hooves of the horses striking the cobblestones in a rhythmic, primal cadence.

In the sky, above the row of dark silhouettes below, stood Masser, in all of her glory, shining in an ominous blood-red, on the black sky.





3E 422, City of Cheydinhal, Nibenay Basin, Cyrodiil


“You look much too beautiful to be a bar wench!”

The Dunmer male’s red eyes glinted voraciously, as he looked at the woman seated next to him. Her head was bowed, so he could not see her eyes, but the short, red hair, pale grey skin and elegant, long-fingered hands told him that he was facing a young, healthy example of his species.

“Well, aren’t you going to say something?”

The Dark Elf woman was silent, as she continued to stare in the depths of her cup of ale, thoroughly ignoring the other’s voice.

“Oh, the shy, silent type, eh?’ the man smirked. “Just my kind. What do you say to some fine wine, my dear, instead of that cheap drink?”

But, as his dark fingers reached out to encircle themselves across the woman’s hand, her own arm shot out, gripping the man’s wrist in a tight hold.

“Touch me and you are dead” came the answer, delivered on a calm, but nonetheless deadly tone.

“Come on, sweetcake” the Dunmer grunted, trying to free his hand, a part of him amazed at this woman’s strength. “I didn’t mean anything by it . . .”

“Of course you didn’t” the Dark Elf said, on a dry tone, raising her eyes. The man gasped, as he stared at the other’s face.

“What kind of monster are you?” he breathed in horror, staring at the other's strange, ice-blue eyes. The woman’s features darkened, as she quickly twisted her arm and the man screamed, as the bones in his wrist broke all at once.

“You are the monster, not me!” she growled, throwing the man over the table. He flew a few meters through the air, before smashing into a table and toppling it over, with a loud, rumbling sound.

For a few seconds, the entire tavern was silent, every pair of eyes focused on the Dunmer woman, who took her seat and casually drank the rest of her beer.

“The extra is for the mess over there” she said, handing the owner several drakes. “The others are for the ale.”

The owner nodded, carefully avoiding looking the Dunmer in the eyes.

“Why did you do that?” the man quietly asked, in a whisper. “You nearly killed that Elf!”

At this, the woman’s pale lips split open, in a feral smile.

“Death has run freely in my family. It only comes naturally for me.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and strode out. The other locals quickly stepped out of her way, no one foolish enough to try something with such a dangerous woman.

Above the city, Masser’s light shone in an ominous blood-red.