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]

Firmly pushing the vision of the Imperial woman to the back of my mind, I stepped up to the wise woman’s tent and asked permission to enter. A strong yet weary voice responded, bidding me welcome. Sinnammu Mirpal had the gray hair and lined face that only very old Dunmer ever achieve. Still, she was straight and tall and bore the leadership of her people proudly. Rather than immediately asking her to name me Nerevarine, I questioned her regarding the hardship that seemed to have come upon the Ahemmusa. She detailed their struggles- the blight storms and blight monsters from Red Mountain, the soul sickness that kept the people from sleep, the resultant loss of the herd and game animals. The Ahemmusa were peaceful- they could not attempt to wrest better lands from the Urshilaku or the Zainab. At the same time, they could not fight the blight monsters. Having explained the plight of her people, she then asked me if I was the outlander who had been named Clanfriend of the Urshilaku and claimed to fulfill the prophecies. I agreed that this was true and that I wished to be named Nerevarine of the Ahemmusa. The wise woman asked me to tell her my story and show her the proof of my claims. She knew the prophecies and would decide. However, even if she believed that I was Nerevar reborn, there would be a price before she would name me Nerevarine of the Ahemmusa. And that price would be to find a safe place for the tribe. It was clear to me that she already had a place in mind and, even more, that I probably wasn’t going to like it. Still, I had expected that I would be required to bargain for her support. And even more- I would not watch these people die out if I could prevent it. I knew about hunger and despair. I knew what it was like to feel helpless, unable to fight back. So I promised to do what I could.

After listening to the story of how I had come to believe I was the Nerevarine and examining the Moon-and-Star ring, Sinnammu pronounced herself satisfied. Then she explained that, in times past, the Ahemmusa had used the ancient shrine of Ald Daedroth as a place of safety. It was large enough to contain the entire tribe and its herds and the walls were still strong. Recently, though, a priestess or witch named Hlireni Indavel had come and reclaimed the shrine for the worship of Sheogorath. So long as she and her followers were there, the Ahemmusa could not use the shrine as a refuge. My task was to remove the threat, then accompany Sinnammu to the inner shrine, where she could ensure that all was safe. If I accomplished this task, she would name me Nerevarine and War Leader of the Ahemmusa. She went on to tell me that the sprawling shrine of Ald Daedroth was located on an island almost due north of the camp. The intervening water, as well as the walls, would provide protection- if the cultists could be “persuaded” to leave. Although I understood the idea of using the sea as a defense, I couldn’t help but wonder how Sinnammu planned to move the entire tribe there, herds and all, without any boats. Still, she seemed confident, so I did not ask any more questions. I did wonder if a side-effect of being Nerevar reincarnated was that I was going to have to clear out every Daedric shrine on Vvardenfell.

Traveling to Ald Daedroth was not difficult- Water Walking had been one of the earliest spells I learned. As I approached the island, though, I heard the sounds of a fight- the roaring of an Orc and what sounded like someone calling upon the Tribunal for aid. Since I wasn’t sure what exactly was happening, I approached carefully, just in time to see a man dressed in the gold and purple of the Temple finish off an Orc warrior. He introduced himself as Drores Arvel, a Temple witch-hunter. He asked me what my purpose was at Ald Daedroth; whether I had come to worship at the shrine or to loot it. I quickly dismissed the idea of telling the truth- that I was there in order to be named the Nerevarine. In the eyes of the Temple, that would be worse than admitting to worshipping Sheogorath. When I indicated that it was my intention to loot the shrine, Arvel sneered and told me that was fine, just to, “Stay out of our way.” He then added that if I happened to kill any of the Daedra worshippers, that would be fine with him. His use of the word “our” indicated that my problem would be more difficult- although I had serious doubts about the Tribunal, I didn’t really want to start filling its priests with arrows. That meant that I would have to make sure of my targets before I attacked, which in turn meant that they would have a chance to injure me. The first two people I encountered in the shrine made things simpler by attacking me on sight. They paid for that error of judgment in a permanent fashion, and I moved on.

The two outer wings of the shrine were scenes of swirling fights between Ordinators and cultists. Magic and weapons wove a fearsome display and I thought that this was no place for a self-respecting thief. Mostly, I just stayed out of the way- the Ordinators didn’t really seem to need my help. Besides, all it would take would be an ill-considered sword stroke or badly aimed arrow to turn the Temple soldiers into my deadly enemies. When I entered the antechamber, I discovered that there was more to fear than just the wrath of the Ordinators. In fact, the only Ordinator I saw there was long past caring about anything. Almost before I could consider what that meant, three powerful Daedra-worshippers attacked me from all sides. If that wasn’t bad enough, someone nearby was also summoning Golden Saints. Needless to say, those Daedra were NOT on my side in the ensuing fight. I was also treated to a firsthand display of just why ebony weapons were almost as highly prized as Daedric- one of the cultists used an ebony spear to great effect upon me. As I backed up and tried to defend myself from three and sometimes four attackers, I missed my shield. The dai katana was a wonderful offensive weapon, and one that could also be used to defend. The problem was, it could really only be used to occupy one opponent at a time. With a shield, I could have protected my left side while menacing the opponents to my front and right. Still, I was able to get into a corner and use some healing potions. From there I methodically defeated my attackers. Following that near-death experience, I resolved to make use of my stealth and to shoot full of arrows anyone not wearing Temple garb.

As I made my to the inner shrine, I put that resolution into practice and was thus able to defeat Hlireni Indavel without taking any further harm. If I felt any twinge of remorse about striking her down from the shadows, it was far outweighed by very real pain from the wounds her followers had inflicted upon me. Besides, I did what I did as a matter of survival- my own and that of the Ahemmusa. And Ald Daedroth was no field of honor, with pennants and challenges and codes of conduct for killing each other in a “civilized” fashion. This wasn’t about honor, or even about right and wrong. It was about life and death. And I had made up my mind that I was going to live.