The Story of Trey- Chapter 7 Options

[treydog]

Chapter 7

My life had become ever more complex from the moment I stepped out of that jail in Cyrodiil. Some of that complexity was due to forces far beyond my control. Empires, religious cults, even a semi-mythic devil seemed to be competing for my loyalty and perhaps even for my soul. All I could do about that was remain vigilant and listen to the saner voices inside my head. But the other complexity, the maze I had built for myself by joining so many guilds, I could control. All of my obligations to the guilds were paid. The Mages were so absorbed in their studies that they didn't remember who I was half the time. As for the Thieves, I had done what I could to reduce the threat posed by the Camonna Tong. They weren't defeated by any means, but would have to move more cautiously for a while. The Temple- I would have to think about that.

The Ashlanders certainly believed that the Tribunal were false gods and betrayers. It might be wise to wait until I knew more before getting too deep into the Temple. That left the Blades and House Redoran, opposites in many ways, including how I had "joined." The Blades had drafted me at the direct order of the Emperor and seemed determined to use me up in the pursuit of their unfathomable goals. House Redoran had accepted me, treated me with respect, and made me family. Before I had been put out on that dock in Seyda Neen, I hadn't even realized that a family was what I wanted most. I had believed that wealth and all it signified would be enough. Now I knew better. When I saw the loyalty that a man like Athyn Sarethi inspired, my course was clear. Naturally, I had chosen the House whose back was to the wall in many ways. The other Great Houses were using Redoran's sense of honor against them at every turn. The Hlaalu's criminal connections and lack of ethics gave them a huge edge in business. They had managed to bribe their way into exclusive control of many of the best contracts. Telvanni's ancient wizards accumulated power the way a tree grows new rings, slowly and quietly. They had the patience of spiders. Still, I had made the right choice- although I was a thief, I wasn't a liar or a cut-throat. In my own peculiar way, I had a code of honor that equaled House Redoran's.

Sarethi had asked me to give him a day or two while he decided how to make use of my talents. He was caught in a struggle between his honor and his belief that Bolvyn Venim was not leading the House as he should. Complicating that conflict was the issue of his son, Varvur. Meanwhile, I had a little free time to do as I would. I glanced over the purposely obscure notes I had kept to see if there was any unfinished business I should take care of. There was a notation to look up Emusette Bracques in Tel Aruhn, and another to try to get the Indoranyon propylon index from Divayth Fyr. Those errands both required traveling to the eastern part of the island, an area I did not know. Instead, I decided that this was a wonderful opportunity to spend some time with my books. My collection had grown significantly, and I hoped that some of the books might provide more insight into what was happening. In the end, my session of reading didn't really enlighten me any further, but it did relax and refresh me. The time until my appointment with Athyn Sarethi passed quickly. The Redoran councilor thanked me again for rescuing his son and then asked if I would be willing to do him another favor. Although he could not believe that Varvur would have murdered his friend Bralen, the evidence seemed strong. Athyn asked that I speak to Varvur and discover if there was some way to clear him of the murder charge. It was clear that Athyn Sarethi was torn between his love for his son and his sense of honor. I was pleased that he thought enough if me to entrust me with this task.

Varvur was in his quarters; he looked as if he had not slept well for some time. When I asked him about the death of Bralen Carvaren, he denied responsibility, but admitted that the guards had found him near the body. Varvur added that he had no memory of that night at all, then noted that he had been having bad dreams. When I asked him about the dreams, he haltingly described vivid nightmares that included him murdering his friend. But then he added that the dreams had started before the murder, around the time he had been given a peculiar statue. He asked me if I would mind removing the statue, as its presence was troubling him. When I examined the statue, it appeared to have been formed of ash and had a greasy feel. Moreover, when I handled it, a faint queasiness came over me and I seemed to almost hear a voice whispering to me. I could understand why young Sarethi wanted the eldritch object removed. It also seemed worth asking his father about. Athyn apparently felt the same unease handling the statue as I had- he asked me to take it to Lloros Sarano at the Temple to see if it might explain Varvur's behavior. I was more than happy to give the thing into the keeping of the Temple; the longer I was in its presence, the more I felt as if someone were standing just out of my peripheral vision. Lloros Sarano was immediately able to determine that the ash statue had been enchanted with some sort of conjuration. He asked me to send Varvur Sarethi to him, feeling certain that he could clear him of the murder charge. He expressed little doubt that the statue had influenced Varvur. When I gave the message to the younger Sarethi, he promised to go to the Temple immediately. He also mentioned that he had remembered where the statue had come from- Galtis Guvron had given it to him.

It seemed that my earlier suspicion that someone was trying to weaken the Sarethi family and House Redoran was correct. I decided that I would find Guvron at the Rat in the Pot and ask him some probing questions, such as where he had gotten the statue. After all, an attack on Redoran was an attack on me, and an attack on the Sarethis was an attack on my family.

Before I went to confront Galtis Guvron about the ash statue, I briefly considered talking it over with Athyn Sarethi. In the end, I decided it would be better to keep him out of this little operation- he had some peculiar ideas about things like "proof" and "honor." Don't misunderstand me, I respected him and his commitment to doing what was right- which was why he didn't need to be bothered with this. If Athyn ordered me to bring Guvron in for a trial, I would have to try. Meanwhile, whoever else was behind the ash statues would have a chance to get away. My methods might not meet with Athyn's approval, but I was interested in results.
The Rat in the Pot was the sort of establishment that shows up in every town of any size, even one run by House Redoran. It was the headquarters for the local Thieves Guild and a place where most things could be purchased, provided you knew who to ask and weren't too particular about bills of sale. Because I had wanted to keep the Redorans from knowing about my past and my less savory associations, I had stayed away from the place. Now, though, I had a very good reason to walk into the seedy dive. My reaction to the place surprised me a bit- I was put off by what I saw. Before, this had been the sort of club that seemed like "home" to me; now I recognized that most of the denizens were just looking for a way to make a fast drake, without regard for how they got it or who got hurt. And worse, their "loyalty" was for sale to the highest bidder- if there was no one else to rob, they would rob each other. Not so long ago, my feet had been set on that same path. I didn't regret my skills, nor the uses to which I had put them, but I had something more to live for, now. And what I had was bigger than me, bigger than simply making money as a way to keep score. I would do what was necessary to protect my new family. And so it was that I found myself approaching Galtis Guvron in the back room of the bar. He appeared glad to see me, no doubt thinking I had come in on Thieves Guild business. That changed when I asked him where he had gotten the ash statue that he gave to Varvur Sarethi. For a second, he was stunned, but he recovered quickly.

Muttering, "I'll take care of this myself," he pulled a pair of daggers and attacked.

That proved to be a fatal mistake. Although he might have been a good smuggler, he was no fighter. The last several months I had spent refining my skills paid off, though, and he was soon sprawled on the floor. True to the nature of the place, none of the other patrons so much as raised an eyebrow. Unfortunately, a dead Galtis Guvron couldn't answer any questions- unless he had some kind of clue on his body.... A quick search turned up several more ash statues, which I resolved to hand over to the Temple, and a note from someone named "Hanarai." The note instructed him to place more statues in Ald'ruhn "where they would do the most good." This was more than just a plot against the Sarethis, then. Someone had developed an insidious attack on all of Vvardenfell. When I returned to hand over the other statues, Lloros Sarano asked me how I had come across them. I explained about Guvron and the note, and the priest recognized the name. He said it sounded like a woman named Hanarai Assutlanipal, who had recently come to Ald'ruhn, claiming to be an outcast Ashlander. Sarano asked me if I would talk to the woman, but warned me that she might react as violently as Guvron. Against that possibility, he gave me several healing potions "just in case."

The priest's powers of prediction proved accurate, Hanarai didn't even give me a chance to ask any questions before she said, or rather recited the following cryptic words, "It is the Hour of Wakening. Dagoth Ur awakes and comes forth in his glory, and his people shall rejoice, and his enemies shall scatter like dust."

Her eyes had glazed over as she spoke and she immediately launched a determined attack. She seemed to have been a more accomplished killer than Guvron; at any rate, her blade caught me several times before I finished her. There were no clues on her body, other than another ash statue, and the upper part of the house was furnished as one would expect. When I breached the trapped and locked door to the basement, though, all sense of normalcy was dispelled. As soon as I swung the door open, the stench of incense and decaying flesh told me I had found a focus of evil and madness. The entire room had been converted into a shrine to the Sixth House, House Dagoth. Candles and wall-hangings created an eerie atmosphere, which was only made worse by the sacrifices of flesh from corprus beasts. Finally, in one corner, I found a crate containing more ash statues. Those I removed for disposal by the Temple. As I left that foul basement, I recalled Addhiranirr in Vivec, talking about the Sixth House and smuggling. Perhaps these evil statues were the contraband that had most of the smugglers occupied and too frightened to talk. With no more names, I was at a standstill. While the problem in Ald'ruhn had been solved, it was only a temporary fix. Although Sarano thanked me for stopping the movement of ash statues into the town, I wasn't satisfied. If the Sixth House had placed one agent here, they could send another. If I was going to protect my new home, I was going to have to learn more about the Sixth House. And that would mean going to Ilunibi, where someone named Dagoth Gares waited. Dagoth Gares, who had wiped out almost an entire Legion patrol and left the lone survivor infected with corprus.

The idea of going into Ilunibi filled me with dread. The very name seemed to have the taint of death. Maybe talking with Raesa Pullia at Fort Buckmoth would help. She was the Legion Champion in command of the soldiers from the ill-fated patrol. If she could give me a better idea of what I was facing, maybe my fear could be reduced to a more manageable level. And maybe what she had to say would scare me even worse, if that was possible. Whatever the result, I needed to talk to her. I needed to find out whatever I could about Dagoth Gares- for example, where his name came from. House Dagoth was supposed to have been destroyed- the members executed or absorbed into other Houses. Of course, a great many things that "everybody knew" to be true had turned out to be wrong. What was certain was that something had destroyed a Legion patrol, leaving the lone survivor infected with a terrible disease. And what was equally certain was the fact that I had to go investigate the place if I was going to be able to live with myself. Even if it killed me.

[treydog]

Before leaving Ald'ruhn, I made as many healing potions as I could and repaired my weapons and armor. After that, I sorted through everything and eliminated all the spare weapons or other dead weight. Somehow, I didn't think that my books would help me on this trip. And then I couldn't delay any longer- Fort Buckmoth was just south of Ald'ruhn. As I took the short walk, I wished it were on the far side of the world. But Raesa was waiting and it was up to me to handle this problem. The Legion Champion might have been a good-looking woman once, but the strain of responsibility had worn heavily on her. Somehow, I wondered if the gray in her hair had been there before she sent that patrol to Gnaar Mok. She told me that the lone survivor had since died, raving and mumbling about Dagoth Gares. He had talked of the cavern called Ilunibi and of fighting cultists and corprus monsters. The patrol had been attacked repeatedly, driven deeper into the caverns, where they became lost. Finally, they encountered Dagoth Gares. The creature- Raesa said the trooper had described him as "half-man, half-beast-" had killed all the soldiers but one. He told the survivor that he was being spared to carry a message- "The Sleeper awakes. The Sixth House is risen. Dagoth Ur is Lord and I am his priest. All will be one with him in the flesh."

The poor fellow then awoke outside the cavern and made his way back to the fort. He was so horribly deformed by the disease that the rest of the Legionnaires didn't recognize him. It was only the uniform and equipment that allowed them to determine his identity. He died without ever answering any questions, just repeating the same story over and over. Raesa didn't know where Ilunibi was located, just somewhere on the coast near Gnaar Mok. She suggested that some of the locals might be willing to tell me how to find the place.

Gnaar Mok was a Hlaalu town, so no one was particularly happy to see me there. When I said I was looking for Ilunibi, that changed- people practically tripped over each other to give me directions. The place was a "sea-cavern" on the back side of a rock promontory called "Khartag Point." It was just to the north along the coast. The directions proved accurate, and I found myself standing outside reading the inscription, "Ilunibi, Carcass of the Saint." I wasn't sure what that meant, but doubted that it was anything good. Before I entered, I checked my equipment one more time and made sure I was completely healthy. And then, I did one more thing, a ritual I had learned from a Nord friend. I opened a packet of a bluish paste I had mixed from various plants and painted my face. With the first three fingers of my right hand, I made three vertical stripes down my right cheek. Three, for my name, "Trey," which also meant "three." One each for birth, life, and death. As the dye stained my face, I felt the fear drain away. I was myself; I was Trey; I might die, but I would not fail.

Upon entering the cavern, I was confronted with a steep drop to a pool which was fed by a waterfall on the east side of the chamber. Wanting to save my potions and spells for more serious needs, I climbed down the slippery rocks and waded south, deeper into the cave. The place was almost beautiful, except for the miasma of evil that permeated the air. Just before I reached a large cross-corridor, a half-naked Dunmer rushed at me, swinging a club. A well-placed arrow ended his mad charge and I worked my way to the southern end of the main passage. A dead adventurer sprawled near a large watch fire that had been built on a rock that rose out of the water. Although that was interesting, it was not what I sought, so I made my way back to the east-west passage. I debated which way to choose, then decided on east. East was the direction of the rising sun, of the new day, of rebirth- all things I fervently hoped to see. The Sixth House candles and markings became more numerous and I soon reached a door marked, "Tainted Marrow." Again, I wasn't sure what that meant, but it seemed like the sort of place where an evil priest might be found.
If the presence of vile minions was any indication, I had chosen correctly. When I reached the next intersection, I was set upon from three sides at once by an ash slave, an ash zombie, and a storm atronach. I easily felled the first two with arrows from a conjured Daedric longbow, but the elemental construct did a fair amount of damage with lightning spells before I was able to close with it and finish it with my sword. The desperation of my mission finally affected me- I was overcome with a kind of battle-madness and shouted into the echoing darkness, "Dagoth Gares! I have come for you. You had best commend your rotted soul to whatever gods you worship. For I am Death and I am here."

And then I must have given myself over to the rage, for I have no clear memory of what happened next. I remember going ever deeper into the maze of watery caves, slaying all I encountered with my sword. When I reached a doorway leading to the "Blackened Heart," I knew I was getting closer.

Again I passed through a labyrinth of corridors like a dark whirlwind, slaying opponents without pause or remorse, constantly seeking my final foe. At last, I came to a set of rough-hewn stone steps, flanked by Sixth House braziers instead of candles. Yet another door led to a section called "Soul's Rattle," and I began to doubt. As I fought off Daedra and ash slaves I thought that perhaps this place was simply an elaborate trap, designed to draw me in and weaken me, to disorient me so that I would never emerge. Perhaps there was no "Dagoth Gares," just the insane ramblings of a poor, diseased Legionnaire. As it happened, I was half-right- Ilunibi was a giant trap. As I rounded a bend, I was set upon by two more half-clad Dunmer dreamers. As I fought, a strangely raspy voice spoke from behind me. "The Sixth House greets you, Lord Nerevar. Or Trey, as you call yourself. I am known as Dagoth Gares, priest of Ilunibi shrine and minister to Sixth House servants. My Lord, Dagoth Ur, has informed me of your coming. I wish that this time you had come to honor your Lord's friendship, not to betray it."

Much as I hated having an opponent at my back, I had no choice but to defeat the dreamers in front of me before seeing who addressed me. As the last one fell, I turned to see a bizarre figure out of nightmare standing in the cavern. It was dressed as a man, with long, flowing robes, and stood as a man, on two legs. But the face- there was no face, just a fleshy protuberance that emerged where eyes and nose should have been. Again, the creature addressed me in that rasping, wheezy voice. "Lord Dagoth gives me these words to say, so that you may give them thought. 'Once we were friends and brothers, Lord Nerevar, in peace and in war. Yet beneath Red Mountain, you struck me down as I guarded the treasure you bound me by oath to defend. But, remembering our old friendship, I would forgive you, and raise you high in my service."

There was a great deal more, each lie more foul and grandiose than the last. Knowing that there is no compromise with evil, I replied, "This is my response to Dagoth Ur- you can deliver it when you see him next- in Oblivion."

And with that I stabbed straight for where the creature's heart should be. He fought back gamely, but adrenaline and rage guided my sword. Yet, as he died, a strange smile played across Dagoth Gares' face and he said, "Even as my Master wills, you shall come to him, in his flesh, and of his flesh."

With that, he blew his dying breath straight into my face and I found myself suddenly light-headed and dizzy. When the dizziness passed, I realized that, in my moment of triumph, Dagoth Gares had closed the trap. He had infected me with corprus.

[treydog]

Almsivi Intervention brought me back to the Temple in Balmora. For several long moments, I simply stood there, unable to think of anything but my impending fate- that I would die a maddened, misshapen monster. And the end might come quickly- Raesa had said that the disease ran its course quite rapidly in the Legionnaire. Finally, a glimmer of an idea presented itself- Caius. The Blades agent collected all kinds of out-of-the-way information- it was his job. Perhaps he had heard of some way to slow or even cure the cycle of the disease. In any event, he had sent me into the trap, and he should witness the result his intrigues had wrought. If I had to suffer this death, then he would know, by all the gods, that I had done my duty. As I made my way through the town, it was clear that the signs of the disease were already visible- the common people shunned me and the guards threatened me. Whatever was to be done would have to be done soon.
When I reached the spymaster, his sense of duty nearly cost him his head. I almost broke down as I told him that I had been infected with corprus and hopefully awaited his response. I had come to depend on Caius far more than I had realized- if Athyn Sarethi was the father I had never known, Caius was the wise uncle who gave good advice.

But instead of a solution, he offered me knowledge I already possessed, that there was no known cure. And then, risking his very life, he asked me to report on my findings at Ilunibi! Whether it was my restraint or my weakness that saved him, I don't know. When I drew breath to scream my rage, there was simply nothing left. I had been through so much, so quickly, that even the anger I had come to depend on in place of resolve was absent. Numbly, I told him all I remembered of the caverns and the poisoned words of the creature that had called itself Dagoth Gares. And then I said, "Although it was not my intention, I have given my life in service to the Emperor. Please tell him that. And tell him that I hope he chokes on the message."

Just when I believed he could not surprise me any more, Caius did so. Compassion clear in his voice and eyes, he said, "It is not my intention that you give your life in service to the Emperor or anyone else. You are far too valuable to simply cast aside."

Apparently, he had been aware of the possibility that I might contract corprus in Ilunibi, and had put his considerable network of informants to work in search of a cure. There was a chance- not a certainty, but a chance- that he had found one. It seemed that Divayth Fyr, one of the ancient Telvanni wizards, ran a Corprusarium and had been researching the disease. He had been experimenting with various potions and combinations to develop a cure. Fyr also collected Dwemer artifacts, and that would be my passport to him. Caius gave me a Dwemer cohorer and 1000 drakes for expenses, then told me to get to Tel Fyr as quickly as possible. He recommended that I use the guild guide to reach Sadrith Mora and inquire for further directions at Wolverine Hall. When I expressed surprise that he possessed an illegal Dwemer artifact, Caius just laughed and said, "Yes, I know it's treason to trade in Dwemer artifacts, but don't worry about it. I'm a big-shot Imperial spymaster, remember?"

He also told me that he needed me to get myself cured, because he had a plan for getting the lost prophecies for Nibani Maesa. Although he said that last in gruff voice, I like to believe he genuinely cared what happened to me. Of course, if I didn't get cured, it wouldn't much matter how anybody felt about me.

Following Caius' advice, I teleported to Sadrith Mora and spoke to Sondryn Irathi in the Fighters Guild about how to reach Tel Fyr. She gave me detailed directions and asked me to leave as quickly as possible- she had no desire to catch corprus. As I was leaving, she added a last bit of advice- I had better have some means of Levitation- the Telvanni didn't believe in stairs. I exited Wolverine Hall into a cold, soaking rain. Somehow, the prospect of catching a cold didn't seem terribly daunting just at that moment. I knew how to cast Water Walking and had plenty of potions besides, so I turned southwest and set off among the many islands of the Azura's Coast region. If Divayth Fyr couldn't cure me, I had the consolation that the whole Sea of Ghosts was available to drown myself.

Although I had heard and read of the Telvanni and their organic "towers," nothing had prepared me for my first sight of Tel Fyr. It was a cross between a tree and an incredibly large mushroom, sprawling over and spiraling up from the island on which it grew. Bulbous shapes extended outward over a hundred feet in the air- rooms grown to suit the wizard's needs. Just as the resident wizard's power never stopped growing, so it was with his home. And the Telvanni could live for thousands of years. It was a sobering reminder that I would do well to step lightly around Divayth Fyr. Even if my life had not been on the line, an ill-conceived jest might prove that there were worse things than death for one who crossed a powerful wizard. As I stared at the weirdly-shaped tower looming above me in the rain, I thought about what would happen to me if there was no cure. My body would begin to grow twisted and malformed, and my mind would deteriorate along with it. Although I had imagined dying in a hundred different, heroic ways, that was not one of them. Such a death would have no dignity and, at that age, dignity seemed very important to me. Still worse, it was not even a "romantic" death, like wasting away from some fatal, but slow (and non-contagious) disease, as beautiful women wept quietly by my bedside. Still, I had resolved not so very long ago that I would not run from my fears. Although I couldn't fight this illness with a sword, I could still fight. At last, tired of the rain pooling in my boots, I entered Tel Fyr.

If anything, the interior of the "tower" that was Tel Fyr was stranger than the exterior. Roots and branches were hollowed out to serve as passageways; some "walls" had been intricately carved into lattice-like screens; and the whole place- moved. Because it was alive, Tel Fyr shifted with the sun and shook in the wind. Not only that, but I could hear the movement of the sap through the "veins" of the great tree. No wonder the Telvanni were peculiar- living like that would make anyone a little odd. Of course, I rather liked it, so I suppose I was already odd. A short distance from the entry was a small room where a Dunmer woman waited, almost as if she expected me. Even though it was extremely hard to judge the age of any elf, with this woman it was even more so. Her face appeared youthful, but there was something ancient in her eyes. As I entered the room, she spoke in a tone that was at once breathless and bored.

"Have you come to plunder the dungeon? Or do you have corprus? Or are you here to see Divayth Fyr? I'm Beyte Fyr. I'm the wife of Divayth Fyr. One of them. Sort of."

She rattled off the questions and statements one after another without pausing, then stopped and stared at me blankly. I probably stared back just as blankly- "plunder the dungeon? ...ONE of his wives? Sort of?" What had I gotten myself into? As had become my way even then, I answered questions with questions. If people think you're not terribly bright, they tend to speak slowly and clearly. And that can be useful. Particularly when you don't have the faintest idea what is going on. So first, true to my thiefly nature, I asked about plundering the dungeon- especially because Beyte almost seemed to expect that that was why I was there. She explained that Divayth Fyr had accumulated a large collection of "relics and artifacts." Then she added that he kept them in the Corprusarium and said, almost wistfully,
"We don't see many good thieves here. Just the stupid ones."

[treydog]

That seemed to exhaust that topic so I asked about the "one of his wives" remark. She shrugged and said matter-of-factly, "Yes. Well. Not 'wife' in the 'married' sense. But... you know. 'Paramour.' 'Consort.' Something like that. It's a bit awkward, really. Because... well... he made us, too, so, though we aren't really his daughters or anything, it's like we were his daughters. Because he made us. You see?"

No, I really didn't see. On the other hand, it didn't much matter. Because what I was really there for was to see Lord Fyr. Beyte explained that he was in his study, high up in the tower and that the only way to reach him was via Levitation. That was the most sensible thing she had said. Talking with Beyte was like being spun around in a whirlwind- I got dizzy just trying to keep up. But, for now, she was finished, so I could think over the "options" she had presented.

Perhaps, if I had heard of Divayth Fyr and his fabulous tower a few months earlier, I might have been tempted to come and try my hand at "plundering the dungeon." Then again, perhaps not. It was never my intention to be known as the "best thief in Tamriel." My idea of a successful thief was one nobody had ever heard of. If you had a reputation as a great thief it meant one of two things- either you had made up a lot of stories about yourself and spread them around, or else you had been caught. Either way, you weren't really a very good thief. Besides, I had gotten into it for what I could get out of it- not for a challenge. It was a lot easier to get rid of a bunch of regular gems or the contents of some rich guy's liquor cabinet than it was to make any money from a unique item. Here is an example: Let's say you were able to dodge all the traps and guards and undead guardians and steal the giant ruby that was the eye in the statue of the One-Eyed God. And you were able to get back out alive. Now what? Who were you going to sell it to? When people refer to something as "priceless," they think that means it can't be bought for all the money in the world. Well, what can? Who has "all the money in the world?" At some point, "priceless" and "worthless" mean the same thing- that you can't get any money for your trouble. And add to that the fact that merchants like to talk over a few drinks just like anyone else. Pretty soon, the Cult of the One-Eyed God has a really good description of you and they're highly motivated to find you. So I didn't think I would have come to Tel Fyr with theft in mind.

And, although I did have corprus, I wasn't ready to consign myself to the corprusarium. In fact, I wasn't sure if I would ever be ready for that. My sense of responsibility to others only went so far, after all. Meeting Divayth Fyr, on the other hand, well, that was what I had come here to do. But now that it was time to do so, I was almost unable to continue. How do you even talk to someone who has lived for over 4000 years? What do you say? If I offended or angered Fyr, he might refuse to treat the disease. And what if the "cure" didn't work? To him, it would just be another entry in a notebook, probably with an additional note that the madness took the form of a deluded belief that I was Lord Nerevar reincarnated. And that would be all the "immortality" I would ever have- a couple of lines in a notebook. But my continued existence- preferably as a human being, not a corprus beast- was of more than scientific interest to me. What finally got me moving wasn't fear of dying. Rather it was the same thing that had carried me through so much already- a combination of nerve, anger, and youthful ignorance. So what if Divayth Fyr was a legend? So what if he had created his own wives? (Well, actually I thought that was kind of a clever trick, particularly given my lack of success with women.) When I left High Rock, it was because I believed I was as good as anyone else.

Divayth Fyr might kill me, he might turn me into a toad, he might ask me to perform some seemingly impossible task- but he would not ignore me. One way or another, I would get his attention, appeal to his scientific soul. The very fact that I had corprus would work to my benefit- after all, he was researching the disease. The corprusarium was partly an act of kindness, but it was also a grand experiment, an attempt to meet a challenge. From my own rudimentary studies, I knew that, to a true scientist, an "unsolvable" puzzle was like an itch that can't be scratched. This disease was an affront to Divayth Fyr's belief that everything was knowable, everything was possible. To Fyr, there was no such thing as a question without an answer- it was simply that no one had found the right answer. When you are young, as I was then, you believe in reasons and causes and fairness. You don't realize that some things simply are. And so it was that I had to talk myself into doing the only thing I could do. Or perhaps it was simpler than that- perhaps I was just petrified by the idea that I might become a monster when I had barely had a chance to be a man.

Now that my mind was made up, all I had to do was find the Lord of Tel Fyr. I left Beyte and turned right, which soon brought me to a ramp sloping downward. That didn't seem right- Beyte had indicated that I would need to levitate to get to the wizard's study. On the other hand, wizards were known for being devious- maybe I would have to go all the way to the basement before I found the passage to the upper levels. Soon enough, I found another Dunmer woman, who introduced herself as Delte Fyr, another of Divayth Fyr's "wives." She was less friendly than Beyte, but also more informative. She explained that I would need to go to the "Hall of Fyr" and then look for a central "flywell" to reach Divayth Fyr's study. As I left the room, I noticed a golden door across the passage. What drew my attention was the fact that the door had a fairly complex lock and also showed signs of being magically trapped. What could be behind that door? Both of Fyr's "daughters" had indicated that he kept his treasures in the Corprusarium, so why did he have a locked room here? With difficulty, I reminded myself that I had vowed not to offend Divayth Fyr. Unfortunately, locked doors are like a magnet for me- I just have to know what is on the other side, even if I have no intention of taking anything. It is the challenge of it, finding out what someone wants to hide or protect. But that could keep until later- after all, the door wasn't going to go anywhere.

I retraced my steps and soon came to the door that opened into the Hall of Fyr. Within the Hall were three pleasant rooms- an alchemical laboratory, a small reading room, and a sitting room with a cheerful fire. I felt again the stab of longing for a place of my own, a place that would welcome me with familiar sights and smells, a home. Shaking off the melancholy, I looked around. This seemed to be another dead end- there was no way out except for the doorway through which I had entered. Just as I was about to start searching for sliding panels, I remembered Delte telling me to "look up." There was a vertical passage in the center of the Hall, reaching up 15 or 20 feet. As Levitation potions had been among the first that I had mastered, I had a plentiful supply. Once I had risen up the "flywell," a maze of passages opened on four sides. To the north, I saw a figure that I at first took to be a dremora. A closer look proved that it was instead a Dunmer wearing Daedric armor. This must be Divayth Fyr. Struggling to maintain my composure, I removed the Dwemer artifact from my backpack, and approached the great wizard. He was unlike any other dark elf I had ever seen, with white hair and a white beard. His face was lined with age, yet he still appeared fit and healthy. And his eyes- red as were the eyes of all the Dunmer, but even more- they were deep. Those eyes had seen over a million sunrises and still looked for something new in each day. Since coming to Morrowind, I had met people who inspired fear, respect, attraction, and even anger. But this was the first time I had ever felt awe. Divayth Fyr was a legend- the greatest wizard and scientist of the Age, and he was also real. My hands shook as I mutely extended the artifact.

Those ancient eyes went from the artifact to my face, searching and amused. In a surprisingly youthful voice, he expressed interest in the history of the item. Since I didn't have any idea about that, I simply replied that it was a courtesy gift for him. A brief smile crossed his face, and he graciously accepted the gift. Then he proved his shrewdness and asked why I had felt the need to improve his disposition. In an amused tone, he continued, "Come to consult the great Divayth Fyr? You have the divine disease? Want to plunder the dungeon? Or leer at my daughters?"

It was difficult not to like someone who was so straightforward and even more difficult not to respond in kind. Wondering what he meant by the term "divine disease," I first asked about that. He explained that he used that term for corprus because he felt certain that the disease was a curse, or possibly a blessing, from a god.

When I admitted that corprus was my reason for being there, I got a reminder that it can be difficult to understand the mind of a 4000-year-old wizard. First, Divayth noted that corprus rendered the victim immune to all other diseases- thus, it could be considered a blessing. He also noted that the Ashlander prophecies stated that the Nerevarine would be immune to disease. With a laugh, he concluded, "Maybe I have the Nerevarine down in my Corprusarium and I don't even know it. The Nerevarine, a fat, disgusting corprus monster and mad as a marsh rat. Wouldn't that be funny?"

I suppose you had to be a little older than I was to see the humor. Or maybe much older. Regardless, I stepped firmly on my temper and decided to appeal to his scientific curiosity. So, I casually mentioned that I appeared to fulfill the prophecies. Somehow, I was able to get that out without choking on it- I still wasn't sure I believed in the prophecies, but I did know that I would die if I couldn't convince Divayth Fyr to cure me.

[treydog]

The plan worked; I could see the spark of interest in his eyes, but then he quickly said that delusions were one of the symptoms. Still, it intrigued him, and he finally offered me a proposition. He had created a potion that should cure corprus. The only problem was that it didn't work. Well, that, and the fact that it had killed everyone who had tried it. Again, I was taken aback by the way his mind worked. He had tested this potion on living subjects? Perhaps my horror showed on my face, because he then said, "I am willing to let you try it. But first, I want you to go to the Corprusarium and see what the disease does to its victims. While you're there, you can get my boots from Yagrum Bagarn. Do that, and I will give you the potion."

There was something about this Yagrum fellow that Lord Fyr wasn't telling, but when I asked all he would say was, "He's my oldest patient. Handy fellow; fixes things for me."

So that was my choice- I could turn away from his offer, in which case I would likely die a horrible, lingering death. Or else become a monster, living forever in that hideous, mindless form. Or I could go down into a basement- a dungeon, really- filled with corprus beasts. And if I survived that, I could drink a potion that had killed everyone else who had tried it. What do you do when all your choices are bad? If you can't change the rules, you take the best that is offered. Almost certain death is not quite as bad as certain death. And even certain death was better than losing my humanity. And I have to admit, I felt a bit of a scientific thrill at the thought of being part of an experiment. Although I would never reach the level of detachment that would allow me to test my potions on others, I was curious enough to see what Divayth Fyr's potion would do to me. If you have not realized it by now, you should know that all who follow the lure of science are just a bit mad. Some more than others. I had always thought that I might end my days in a wizard tower in some remote place. If it was the tower of Divayth Fyr, that was still better than some forgotten tomb or cave, or even the stinking straw of a stable in High Rock.

It didn't take long to make my way back down to the ground floor and on to the door which led to the Corprusarium. Strange, how a life-changing event can occur in the blink of an eye. On the other side of the door stood a large Argonian, who introduced himself as Vistha-Kai, Warden. His job was to protect the Corprusarium inmates and to guard the treasures Divayth Fyr had placed inside. Echoing Lord Fyr's words, he warned me that I could not harm the inmates, even if they attacked me. Although the Corprusarium was a place to hold the victims of the disease, it was also a sanctuary, a place where they would be safe. It seemed that Divayth Fyr was intent on testing my will even more than my courage. Any idiot with a sword could flail around and kill everything in sight- it would take skill and determination to avoid the inmates and endure their attacks without striking back. As never before, I was grateful for my talent in stealthy movement- I hoped to simply elude the inhabitants until I could find Yagrum. Even without the warnings from Vistha-Kai and Divayth Fyr, I did not want to kill the poor creatures that were confined to this living hell; after all, I could be one of them, soon enough. I have neither the words nor the desire to describe my journey through that awful place. Suffice it to say, I was more firmly resolved than ever to try Divayth Fyr's potion, even if I was certain it would kill me. I wandered for an indeterminate time, taking many wrong turnings and doubling back. I avoided most of the corprus creatures by stealth; the others, I was able to outrun. At last, deep in that nightmare realm, I came upon the strangest sight yet.

A small living area had been set up in an alcove, consisting of a plank floor complete with a rug, a wardrobe, and other furnishings. Inside this scene of seeming domestic normalcy stood another of Lord Fyr's daughters or wives or whatever they were. And there was another inhabitant, as well. And he was.... At this point, I find myself forced to beg an indulgence from the reader. I must ask that you believe that what I am about say is true, no matter how incredible it seems. First, this individual was not of any of the races I had ever encountered. He had pinkish skin similar to that of men of my own High Rock or from Cyrodiil. Yet he had the ears of an elf. His body was grotesquely distorted from the progress of corprus, yet the light of sanity, even of intelligence, still gleamed in his eyes. He had no legs, or rather he had no "human" legs, for below the waist, he was a mechanical construct, possessing six spider-like legs made of Dwemer metal. And finally, most incredible of all, he said his name was Yagrum Bagarn and that he was the last living Dwemer.

I know as well as you, better perhaps, that the disappearance of the Dwemer from Tamriel is one of history's great unsolved mysteries. We have their ruined halls, their artifacts, even an occasional working construct. But there had not been a reliable report of a living Dwemer for thousands of years. And yet here sat a creature who claimed to be one. This, then, was what Divayth Fyr's suppressed laughter had been about when he referred to his "oldest patient." When I stopped staring and was able to shape words again, I blurted, "How...who....what.... I...you....?"

Not my greatest intellectual or conversational moment, but the circumstances were hardly ideal. How many times can you expect to meet someone whose very existence has passed beyond legend, beyond myth, and into the realm of scholarly speculation? For his part, Yagrum was not in the least put off by my stumbling introduction. He simply launched into a testy speech regarding the poor initial quality of the boots Divayth Fyr had given him to repair. During the tirade he referred to his own great skills as a "magecrafter" as opposed to the "lack-wit blunderer" who had created the boots. Finally, I realized that he was referring to the boots Lord Fyr had sent me to retrieve. Apparently, even though he had been able to repair them, Yagrum was not impressed by the original craftsmanship, and wanted Divayth Fyr to know that the lack of quality was not his fault. The boots in question were Dwemer Boots of Flying, which Lord Fyr had "obtained" from a thief who no longer needed them. As Yagrum handed them over to me, he again explained that he had once been a Master Crafter under the Dwemer Lord Kagrenac, and could create any of the great wonders that worthy could design. He had a great deal more to say, for he was clearly one who loved the sound of his own voice and was thrilled to have an audience. I will not burden you with the entirety of his speech, for it was long and full of self-congratulation.

The shorter version was this- he believed himself to be the last living Dwemer in all Tamriel and the "Outer Realms." He also believed that Kagrenac, in an attempt to make the Dwemer race immortal, had instead utterly destroyed them or cast them into some undiscovered place. Yagrum had avoided that fate because he was away from Tamriel at the time of the disaster, and returned to find his people gone. His search had taken him to Kagrenac's great workshop at Red Mountain, and it was there that he contracted corprus. Divayth Fyr had brought Yagrum back to sanity and continued to care for him and seek a permanent cure for the disease. Over time, he had also sheltered and protected as many other sufferers as he could. And that reminded me that I had my own appointment with the great wizard of Tel Fyr and his cure. And after seeing what I had seen in the Corprusarium, I knew it would be a cure, even if I died from drinking it. For even death would be a release from the sort of life I would otherwise lead.

[treydog]

I made my way back out of that shrieking nightmare of a place to the wizard's study, where I gave him the Boots of Flying. After examining the boots, Lord Fyr explained the conditions he had in mind before he would consent to give me the potion. First, I had to take it in his presence and allow him to observe the effects. Second, he wanted to administer it himself. Even if I had been inclined to argue, I would have agreed- what other choice did I have? And anyway, I was shaking so badly by now that I would most likely have dropped the vial. Finally, I understood his scientific curiosity, even if I didn't like being the subject. At his prompting, I closed my eyes, opened my mouth, and...swallowed.

Though I know that I will fail, I must still attempt to describe the next few seconds. Oddly, the potion had no real flavor- rather it was a matter of sensation- hot and cold at the same time. As it slid down my throat and reached my stomach, I felt as if a fireball had exploded inside of me. Against my closed eyelids, I seemed to see the stars of the night sky rushing inward to a single point and then bursting outward again, racing to their familiar places. The heat passed and was replaced by a chill that felt similar to the one from a Temple blessing, but far more powerful, more...profound. As the chill passed through me, it felt as if my entire body was being unraveled and then re-knit in an instant. And through it all, over and around and behind Divayth Fyr's shouts of, "It's working!" was a voice- singing. The voice was feminine and achingly familiar, yet alien. It sang not in words, but in pure notes, impossible to re-create on any instrument or with any human voice. It sang of love, of loss, of vengeance, of return. The voice was perfect and, for those few seconds, so was I. And at last, in that same voice, there came words- "I name you mine."

I remember no more until I became aware of Lord Fyr standing over me, checking my eyes, my pulse, my temperature. At last, he pronounced himself satisfied; I no longer displayed signs or symptoms of the disease. Then Divayth explained that, although I still had the disease, its progress was halted. Therefore, I was immune to all other disease, even to the effects of aging. Barring accident or attack, I was...immortal.
My mind refused to grasp that concept and so I concentrated on simpler things. As the wizard busied him scribbling notes and talking under his breath, I asked him, "Who was singing? Was that one of your 'daughters'?"

For the first and only time, I saw the Lord of Tel Fyr surprised. He stopped his note-taking and stared at me with a frown. "Singing? You heard singing? Describe the voice, please. Did you recognize it? What were the words?"

As I haltingly described all I could remember, Divayth Fyr wrote and scowled in thought. At last, he spoke, more to himself than to me, "Auditory hallucination.... Interesting side-effect. I must ask the other subjects if they experienced anything similar. You say your mother died as you were born. Perhaps she sang while she was carrying you. That would certainly explain the lack of words- an unborn child would not have language. And that fits with the other 'rebirth' symbolism of your experience. Yes, yes, I am sure that is the case. Simply the mind's way of handling the stress of a near-death experience. Very interesting."

Although I didn't say so, I had a strong feeling that, in this case, Divayth Fyr was wrong. Whoever had been singing, it was not my mother. Though they may try, scientists cannot explain everything.

As time went on, I would have more questions about what all of this meant, but for now, I simply wanted to go back to more familiar surroundings- to think. As much as I was able, I thanked Divayth Fyr, who waved off my gratitude with talk of the "advancement of knowledge." It was clear that I was no longer of scientific interest to him- he had performed his experiment and recorded the results; now he wanted to be left in peace to consider the implications. As I traveled back down the flywell and wondered what I should do next, I felt inexorably drawn back to that locked and trapped golden door. This was not the lure of old familiar adrenaline rush that came from being somewhere I shouldn't- it was a deeper feeling that came from outside of myself. My life had been saved and forever altered here- now there was a price to pay. There was something on the other side of that door that I needed to see, something that remained unfinished. And so, though it might seem poor payment to the man who had saved my life, I resolved to open that locked door in Tel Fyr. Although I had spent more time practicing my martial skills recently, I had also kept up the less "acceptable" of my talents as well, so the trap and lock were no obstacle to me.

When the door slid open, I admit I was somewhat disappointed when all that greeted me was a Dunmer woman. She said her name was Delyna Mandas and asked who I was and if her father had sent me. It became clear that she was a prisoner in Tel Fyr, but she did not explain how she came to be there, nor why she was imprisoned. Finally, she asked if I would lead her out of the tower- she could make her own way once we were outside. Even without more information, my sympathy would always be with a fellow prisoner- I had the memory of my own time in a cell. So I agreed and we left the tower without incident. Once we were outside, Delyna handed me a locket with a request that I take it to her father, Arethan Mandas. It would be a sign to him that she was safe. When I asked where he might be found, she admitted that she was not sure, but added that his friend, Athyn Sarethi would know. At last, the "need" that had drawn me to open that door was made clear. Delyna was a Redoran agent, a member of my House. Somehow, I had known she was there. I promised to deliver the locket and the message and then considered what I should do next.

I had been cured of corprus and was free of the fear that had gripped me ever since that final battle in Ilunibi. Moreover, I was now immune to all disease- at least according to Divayth Fyr- and I had no reason to doubt him. But what did all this mean? Could the prophecies have some truth behind them, instead of being more of the usual factional and religious politics? And whose voice had been singing and claimed me as "her own?" I had no answers to these questions, but I did have a locket and a message to deliver. The great powers of the world could weave their plots as they chose- as for me, I would honor my word and my obligations to my House. It was time for me to go home, to Ald'ruhn, to House Redoran and Athyn Sarethi.

Here Ends Chapter 7

[ArtemisNoir]

Wow.....
I am so glad you've been posting these. I've enjoyed the entire story, so far, but that last chapter was amazing, on every level. Especially, I loved your description of Fyr's Corprus cure, and Trey's experience as he downed it. Previously, in all the times I've played the game, I've never really paused to consider what a, literally life-changing, experience like that would be like, but this.. it just pinpoints the sensations, and impact (emotional and physical) upon Trey, perfectly.

Thank you!

[treydog]

Chapter 6 (and then Mournhold) was where I really began to do more than just record the in-game dialogue. Given the significance of the "cure", I wanted to describe it in a way that reflected the profound change. And then there was that mysterious voice....