Trey in Mournhold, Chapter 9 Options

[treydog]

Chapter 9

The makeshift carrier I had built for the sword seemed light as a feather compared to my footsteps as I made my way to the Temple and the High Chapel where Almalexia waited. She cast her other-worldly gaze upon me and asked in that cool voice,

“Have you forged the blade of Nerevar? Does it burn with the flame of righteousness?”

It was in my mind that what it burned with was the essence of Dwemer alchemy, but I decided not to say so as I uncased the blade and showed it to the goddess. She levitated upward and spun about in her delight as she proclaimed,

“The blade is reforged! Our time has almost arrived. There is but one obstacle that stands in our way, though it pains me to believe it is so. Sotha Sil. I cannot count the times I have fought by the Magician's side. It was he who stood with me the day I fought in Mournhold and banished Mehrunes Dagon to the depths of Oblivion. It was Sotha Sil who was able to delve the mysteries of Kagrenac's tools, and raise me to my rightful station. Now, though, the Tinkerer has become unstable.”

I found it interesting that she admitted that her “divinity” was actually the result of Sotha Sil’s meddling with these “Tools”- whatever they were. And if the source of his power was the same as Almalexia’s, I was willing to believe that he had become unstable. Of even more significance for my immediate purposes was the fact that this was just the sort of information Helseth had asked me to uncover. Therefore, I pursued the issue, inquiring as to the goddess’ reasons for being concerned about Sotha Sil. Her voice became distant, as if she contemplated things only she could see or recall.

“Once, Sotha Sil was like we are, the Lord Vivec and I. He spent time among these mortals, instructing them, counseling them, protecting them from harm. He may have loved them more than any of us, though I know not why. It has been many years since any have seen the Sorcerer, though. Many more since he took initiates into his service. I believe he grew weary of mortal imperfections, and retired to his Clockwork City, where he reshapes life, and some say the very world, into an image he finds pleasing.”

After a pause, she continued,

“His lair is as puzzling as the mind of the Sorcerer himself. Ever-moving, ever-changing, its levers and gears responding to its master's will alone. It is here he performs his profane experiments, aided by his magic and tainted by his madness. I have suspected for some time that the Lord Sotha Sil had entered Sheogorath's realm. His visits have been more and more infrequent, and punctuated by violent fits of anger. He began to speak of the fall of the Tribunal and the return of the Old Gods. But Sotha Sil is not a Seer; he is a Maker. He shapes the Here and the Now, while only I have been privy to what is to come. I know this...he is no longer the man he once was.”

It was disconcerting to hear Almalexia speak at such length and so frankly, when her pronouncements were normally cryptic. In one way, it was as if I was hearing one side of an argument that had raged for many years; in another way, it was as if she felt compelled to unburden herself of all her fears and suspicions, but had found no one in whom to confide. And yet, even if her words were true, they still seemed carefully crafted to show her in the best light. For example, the phrasing about “violent fits of anger” was such that it could apply to either Sotha Sil or the goddess herself. And Galsa Andrano had told me that Almalexia had changed, had become angry and vengeful. Even as I contemplated the implications and undercurrents, Almalexia seemed to reach a decision. She straightened herself and brought her gaze back from whatever distant sights she had considered. Her voice harsh with emotion, she said,

“He is completely mad. It was his creations, these Fabricants, that attacked my city. This once great man is now a danger to Mournhold and to all of Morrowind. He must be stopped, Trey.”

She looked at me steadily and continued,

“I believe it is your calling to stop Sotha Sil's mad schemings. I do not know that he can be reasoned with, Trey, but it is possible. If he cannot be, you must end his life. Though the idea saddens me, it is best for Morrowind...and it is best for him, as well. You have the power to do this. The Trueflame can kill a god, if wielded by one of noble intent. Steel yourself, Trey, and do what must be done. I will send you to his Clockwork City now, if you are prepared. Good luck, Nerevarine.”

[treydog]

Where the previous parts of the Clockwork City had been flooded, this section was filled with sparks that cascaded from the ceiling at regular intervals. Whether that was intentional or the result of some device that had failed, I could not say. A superstitious part of me recalled that some creation stories claimed that Nirn had been born in fire and then quenched with water- perhaps these passages represented a journey to the beginning of all things. In any event, I at first tried to avoid the touch of the sparks, fearing that they might cause serious injury. Eventually, I had to pass through some of them in a narrow hall and was unharmed, so I stopped worrying about it. Still, there were numerous fabricants which would happily injure or kill me, so the rooms were not without danger. The walls were completely covered with drawings that consisted of straight lines and square shapes. If it was art or a language, I could not grasp the meaning. Perhaps the lines were plans or diagrams of some sort- or perhaps they were just the random scratchings of a mad god who believed he was creating the world anew.

There was little time to contemplate meanings, for the fabricants began to appear in groups and I was hard-pressed to stay out of their reach. I did not always succeed, for they moved with terrible speed and inflicted painful wounds with their “horns.” I had discovered quite early that levitation magic did not work, so I had to depend on my own speed and the accuracy of my arrows for protection. Although I carried Trueflame with me, I did not completely trust the blade. First, it was oddly curved, unlike the long sword with which I was familiar. Also, at least a part of it had been in Almalexia’s keeping for long years and I had no way of knowing what sort of baleful magicka she might have used upon it. And finally, it seemed remarkably foolish to try to slip quietly through this eldritch place while holding a flaming sword that was better than a town crier at announcing, “Here I am!” So the sword remained in its carrier, and I depended on a conjured bow and enchanted arrows for my extermination of the mechanical creatures. If I ever found Sotha Sil, perhaps I would have a chance to discover whether or not Trueflame really had the power to harm a god. Meanwhile, I doggedly searched hallways and domes, seeing no living thing, just more traps and fabricants, along with ever-turning gears and showers of sparks.

Occasionally, there was evidence that I was not the first to pass through the city. One chamber contained a massive central shaft of some unknown metal, which appeared to be powered by the molten stone into which it disappeared. This shaft drove great gears, but it was impossible to divine what the purpose of those gears was. At the head of a spiral stairway was a door that appeared to have been blasted from its hinges by some unknown force. The metal was scorched and buckled, and I suspected powerful magic had been involved. Beyond that short passage was a wide corridor patrolled by one of the scorpion-like fabricants and three of its bipedal brethren. Several tense moments of work with bow and arrows ended the threat. In the next room, I discovered a truly difficult obstacle. The chamber was circular, and ringed by a narrow gallery some fifteen feet above the floor. A vertical shaft or axle descended from the ceiling, and drove a second, horizontal shaft. At the end of that massive piece of metal were three great, saw-toothed wheels, which ran along the gallery. A set of steps provided access to the gallery, but the only exit was halfway around from the head of the steps. The velocity of the rolling blades was such that one would have to be endowed with super-human speed to reach the safety of the doorway ahead of them. Scattered and crushed bones littered the chamber and gave stark testimony to just how effective the trap was. If I were to guess, I would have had to conclude that Sotha Sil preferred not to have visitors. If levitation had been possible, it would have been a simple matter to avoid the trap and exit the dome. Barring that, I would have to find a more…creative method of escaping in one piece.

I had studied the alchemical properties of the fluids exuded by the fabricants when they were destroyed. Apparently, those fluids imbued them with some of their characteristics- a fact that I hoped to use to my own advantage. The fluid from the scorpion-style fabricants provided a brief boost to strength, which was of no use at present. On the other hand, the fluid from the agile fabricants provided a momentary burst of speed, exactly what I needed to dodge the deadly blades that rolled along the gallery. I secured all of my gear carefully, knowing that anything I dropped would be lost forever, then climbed the stairs to a point just below the top. Crouching down, I lined up half-a-dozen vials of the fabricant fluid on the top step and waited. Using my own pulse as a clock, I estimated the time it took the blades to make their circuit. When I was certain that I had an accurate count, I drank the potions one after another just as the trap passed over me. As soon as the head of the stairs was clear, I sprinted for the safety of the doorway. I could hear the rumble of the death machine growing louder, and resisted the fatal impulse to look behind me. Just as I felt sure that my heart would fail from the combination of fear and potions, I reached the safe haven and flung myself inside. The passing blades caught my heel and nearly dragged me to destruction, but I was able to hold onto the doorframe and pull free. Despite the noise and the odd vapors of that otherworldly place, I lay back against the curved side of the short passage and slept.