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Posted by: treydog Feb 13 2005, 04:17 PM

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.

Posted by: treydog Feb 13 2005, 04:18 PM

My desire to find a better weapon turned out to be one of those proverbial “good news/bad news” situations. The good news was that I was able to find a really powerful sword without ever going inside the Addadshashanammu Shrine (to be known forever after as “the shrine south of Gnaar Mok.”) No wonder people consider Daedra evil- it talks a truly warped and sadistic mind to come up with a name like that one. But anyway, back to the sword. My previous experience with Daedric shrines, although limited, was sufficient to tell me that there were always a number of summoned creatures guarding the grounds surrounding the shrine itself. Therefore, once the eye-popping, stomach-wrenching shape of the shrine became visible, I conjured a bound longbow and cast Beggar’s Nose. The detection spell indicated quite a few potentially hostile creatures, but it did allow me to distinguish, say a netch from a Clannfear. In order to determine the actual kinds of creatures, I would have to see them. And, if I could see them, they could see me. At first, the hunt went well. I downed two Storm Atronachs, a scamp, and a Clannfear without taking serious harm. Perhaps that success made me overconfident, or perhaps I had simply developed tunnel-vision- I needed a sword, I would find a sword, nothing else mattered. Up to a point, my reasoning about how and where to find a Daedric sword had been sound- a Daedric shrine was the perfect place to look. The flaw in my logic was this: such a weapon would almost certainly be in the possession of a creature that would want very badly to KILL me. And worse still, a Daedric sword would provide a quite effective means of achieving that purpose. And that was the bad news.

As I rounded a corner, seeking the entrance to the shrine, I saw a figure clad in red and black armor. Clearly, it was a Dremora. That did not fill me with the fear it once would have; after all, I had killed Dremoras before. Better still, as I thought, was the fact that this Dremora seemed to be wielding a long blade of some sort. All I needed to do was cut the creature down and take possession of the sword. Simple, right? There was only one serious problem with that plan- this was no simple Dremora, but a Dremora Lord. The sort that possessed some major elemental damage spells as well as the wit to use such spells to weaken me before it got within reach of my sword. Flame washed over me once, twice, three times before the spawn of Oblivion rushed forward. Thwarted from my plan of peppering him with arrows by the greater necessity of staying alive, I downed a couple of restorative potions and went to meet the Dremora Lord blade to blade. It was then that I discovered the other attribute that makes Daedric weapons so highly prized- they are sharp as razors and inflict massive damage. In this case, the massive damage was being inflicted upon me. Meanwhile, I was swinging for all I was worth with the Icicle blade I had purchased some time back. It felt as if I were trying to stop an avalanche with a broom- the Dremora’s blows opened huge rents in my armor and my flesh, while my strokes seemed to slide off of his armor. Only the fact that I was able to deflect many of his swings with my shield while imbibing potions kept me alive. Ultimately, it was my ability to repair the damage that kept me alive. That, and the fact that I started using the point of my sword to thrust through the weak points in his armor instead of taking full swings that left me vulnerable to counter-attacks. At last, the Dremora Lord disappeared in a puff of noxious vapor, leaving a little pile of ash and, most important, a Daedric dai-katana. It was then that I discovered the final attribute of Daedric weapons- besides having high enchantment potential and inflicting massive damage, the things were heavy as sin.

Still, there should be some way to overcome the weight problem; I needed to learn to pare down the amount of equipment I carried when adventuring, anyway. Some of my readers may be wondering why I had been so determined to obtain a physical Daedric long blade when I could learn a spell that would allow me to conjure one. My reasons were twofold- first, you cannot enchant a conjured weapon. Second, and more important, a “bound” weapon only remains in existence for a limited time. I could imagine nothing worse than having my blade go “poof” in the middle of a life-and-death struggle. As I stood there admiring my new sword, I was reminded that you shouldn’t declare victory before the battle is over. Warned by the sound of running feet, I looked up to see a most peculiar creature racing toward me. In appearance it was a female of the fabled race called the “Chimer”- the gold-skinned elves that were supposed to have been the forebears of the Dunmer. The being also wore a winged helm, and armor of a sort that I did not recognize. Strangest of all, her face was absolutely expressionless. However, the sword she was waving at me was a hint that her intentions were not peaceful. This was a difficult opponent, particularly because my Daedric sword precluded the use of my shield. On the other hand, no creature could long stand up to the terrible wounds the blade inflicted. When the creature lay dead, I took a moment to examine her. With the advantage of relative calm to study the corpse, I soon realized that this must be one of those creatures of Oblivion known as a “Golden Saint.” They were even more powerful than the Dremora Lords- were, in fact, the most powerful of the summoned Daedric creatures known. Although I had been fighting for my life at the time, I wished I had had the presence of mind to soul-trap this creature- the soul of a golden saint could power a major enchantment. All was not lost, though, the Golden Saint had dropped an enchanted glass sword, which I quickly acquired. I had achieved my goal and hadn’t even gone into the shrine. Deciding that now was a most propitious time, I cast Almsivi Intervention and found myself in Balmora. Now all I needed to do was decide what enchantment to place on my Daedric blade.

Posted by: minque Feb 13 2005, 04:21 PM

Feel welcome, we are all very happy to be able to read about our mighty hero Trey of High Rock!

Please post your nice screenshots as well...... :hearts:

Posted by: treydog Feb 13 2005, 11:23 PM

The usual enchantments placed on weapons were those which added to the damage inflicted. Also, a weapon could be magicked to drain some attribute, sometimes transferring the essence to the wielder. Besides the limitations on enchantment imposed by the material being enchanted, there was the additional limitation that I could only use spells that I was able to cast. My choices were fire, frost, or shock- poison I refused to use, even against evil creatures. That was hypocritical, I suppose- after all, dead is dead. Still, it seemed to me that poison was the weapon of the assassin, the murderer, the kind of person who wanted the victim to suffer. If I must be the bringer of death, I would do it in the cleanest, quickest fashion possible. As I pondered the type of destructive magic to use, I considered the creatures that I had faced and the environment in which I had found them. I had never learned any shock damage spells, so that left fire or frost. Red Mountain and the area under Kogoruhn had been filled with lava, smoke, and steam- all aspects of fire. That was an element with which the Sixth House creatures were familiar- it would not frighten them. Therefore, I chose frost damage- my biting cold would counter the fires of Red Mountain. After passing over my grand soul gem and some 7000 drakes, I had a dai-katana which would cause 5-53 points of frost damage upon a successful strike.

I had little experience with two-handed blades, having preferred sword-and-shield previously, so I decided that practice would be in order. With that in mind, I traveled to Ald’ruhn and from there to the vicinity of the Ghostfence, where the cliff-racers seemed to breed, or at least to congregate in large numbers. Despite the great weight of the sword, its balance was superb. Until I got used to it, I almost felt as if I was a beat behind- that the sword already “knew” where it wished to go. I must also admit that it gave me great satisfaction to utterly destroy a dozen or more cliff-racers, each with a single blow. After I had considerably reduced the population of the winged pests, I returned to Ald’ruhn to check the edge of the blade. To my amazement, it showed almost no signs of wear or use. For the first time since I had begun to believe in this insane Nerevarine business, I thought that I might actually manage to survive. The weight of the Daedric sword was still a problem, even after I laid aside my glass shield and all my other blades. I purchased a Greater Feather spell to temporarily help with that issue, and hoped that I might eventually be able to enchant an item to reduce the apparent weight of my gear. Having done all I could to prepare myself for the coming battle in terms of equipment, I turned my attention to gathering information. Caius would have been my first choice for information, but he was gone, so I considered my other mentor- Athyn Sarethi. In truth, I had been avoiding him ever since I had committed myself to following the path of prophecy. I knew that Athyn was a man of faith and that it would distress him greatly to know that I was defying the Temple’s teachings on this matter. Still worse, I feared putting him in the untenable position of having to choose between our friendship and his faith and honor. If he knew what I was doing, he would be obligated to denounce me as a heretic. Still, if I were careful in what I said and what questions I asked, he would not know what I was doing- he might suspect, but suspicion was not certainty. And besides, I couldn’t seek knowledge from the Temple itself; I had no idea how much they knew of my dealings with Mehra Milo and the Dissident Priests. After resting for a few hours, I made my way to Sarethi Manor, where I received some startling news.

In truth, my mind had been so filled with coming quest to find the Cavern of the Incarnate and the need for a quality weapon, that I had forgotten about the progress of my stronghold. So I was somewhat surprised when Athyn Sarethi greeted me with the news that my home was finished and that I had achieved the rank of House Father in Redoran. He congratulated me on my continued service and dedication to the ideals of the House and also cast an appraising look at my armor and weaponry.

“Clearly, you have had many adventures and acquitted yourself well, if your possessions are any indication. I also see a few new scars- I do hope you will exercise caution, as well as courage.”

Without going into too much detail, I described some of the fights I had been involved in, and even mentioned my ordeal in lost Kogoruhn. That name brought a reaction from the normally taciturn Athyn and his face paled slightly.

“Kogoruhn! Had I known you intended to go to that dark place, I would have counseled you against it. There is no dishonor in avoiding such an ill-omened and deadly lair as that. Still, I see that you have returned, perhaps a bit wiser than when you went. I will not ask you what necessity took you to that place- it is enough that you have come back to us. Now, there is a matter I wanted to raise with you, Trey, and I find myself unsure how to begin.”

I responded that I hoped our friendship had reached a point where neither had to feel any awkwardness, regardless of the matter to be discussed, and urged him to speak plainly.

He thanked me for my confidence, cleared his throat and said,

“No one in House Redoran doubts your courage or your honor, least of all me. Your actions have brought great renown to us- you have displayed bravery when necessary, tempered with wisdom wherever possible. I could not be prouder if you were one of my own children. You have achieved high rank, and that too is as it should be. But now I would speak with you as a friend, as one who knows your limits as well as your strengths. Normally, the next step would be to become a Councilor….”

Here he paused and took a considering sip of wine while he looked at me closely.

“I mean no insult when I say that I believe that your talents may not suit you to be a Councilor. Do not misunderstand me! I have no doubt that you would carry out your duties to the best of your abilities. More, I am certain that you would keep the interests of Redoran in mind. However, as you have seen, there are divisions within the House- divisions which must be handled with great care if we are to survive. My instincts tell me that you are not a politician, and that you would not be able to ignore the insults and slights that would most likely come your way if you sat on the Council. You would feel compelled to issue a challenge, and would then find yourself Archmaster of Redoran. I cannot speak more plainly than that.”

Athyn’s words held no insult, for I knew he spoke truly. I would never be a politician or a diplomat- I had been bullied and insulted too often in my youth to accept such treatment now. Already, I had become aware of the flaws of Bolvyn Venim, the current Archmaster. He was a man who believed that power equaled privilege, without accepting that it also entailed responsibility. He had been a good leader, but he lacked flexibility. Besides his tendency toward self-indulgence, he seemed to be of the opinion that whatever was good for him was also good for Redoran. There was little question that we would clash if I was on the Council. And I would not back down if he attempted to bully me. Although I had no desire to become Archmaster of Redoran, I still felt that I must give whatever was necessary to the House, the people, who had taken me in and raised me up. If that meant that I must sacrifice my own desires, I would do so. If necessary, I could learn to be a good Archmaster, particularly under Athyn Sarethi’s tutelage. When I expressed that resolve, Athyn smiled and place both hands on my shoulders,

“I knew my judgment was sound when I sponsored you! You are Redoran- there can be no doubt! But you do not need to take on this burden, along with all the others that you already bear. I have not spoken of this before, because I was not certain. There is another, an outlander as you are, who is better suited to take this responsibility. Do not fear for your House- it will be in capable hands. The time for change is not yet come, but it is near. Now, that is enough of such matters. I believe you said you were in need of some information regarding the Blight and its creatures?”

Posted by: Alexander Feb 13 2005, 11:38 PM

another great part treydog. I really like the direction, moving ever so close to archmaster and of course nerevarine

Posted by: minque Feb 13 2005, 11:55 PM

And I just love the way our treydog makes Athyn Sarethi a kind lovable man... :hearts:

Posted by: treydog Feb 16 2005, 02:02 AM

It was clear that he would say no more of this “other,” who seemed so well-qualified to lead Redoran. An outlander, he had said. Even though I was relieved that he did not expect me to take on the leadership of the House, I wondered who this other fellow was. I trusted Athyn, to be sure, but still… it was MY House, too. Although I said nothing, I resolved that I would meet this outlander and form my own opinion. Shaking off my momentary jealousy, I explained to Athyn that I wished to speak with someone who had knowledge of the creatures I had faced in Kogoruhn. Athyn told me,

“As it happens, my son, Salyn Sarethi, is a Buoyant Armiger. You can find him at the Ghostgate, in the Tower of Dusk. Please take with you my greetings. Salyn should be able to tell you all you need to know. Fighting the creatures of the Blight is a noble tradition in House Redoran and I am pleased to see you take up the fight. Do be careful, though- it is a dangerous undertaking.”

Following Athyn’s guidance, I made my way to the Ghostgate and the Tower of Dusk. In spite of the time I had spent in Morrowind, the Ghostfence still caused me to shudder. The idea of so many ancestral spirits dedicated to holding back the Blight was … intimidating. Particularly so when I considered that the Ghostfence was failing and that I seemed to be on a collision course with the power behind the Blight. How could I possibly hope to succeed where untold thousands of Dunmer heroes had failed? Perhaps there was no chance of success, but that did not change what I must do. More than anything else, I must keep putting one foot in front of the other, following the path that had been marked for me. I could do no other.

With that cheerful thought, I reached the Ghostgate and the Towers of Dusk and Dawn. Having seen a few Telvanni towers, it seemed to me that the Ghostgate “towers” were really more on the order of domes. I suppose the Temple didn’t feel that the “Domes of Dawn and Dusk” sounded impressive enough. Strange, how my mind took refuge in trivialities when I felt most threatened. Athyn had told me that Salyn would be in the Tower of Dusk, so I entered that structure and asked the smith for guidance. He told me that Salyn was probably in the barracks on the lower level and gave me directions. Upon entering the barracks, I was startled by a figure that appeared to be a snarling, bipedal demon dressed in glass armor. I had almost drawn my sword before I realized that the “demon’s” face was actually a fully enclosed Daedric helm worn by a Dunmer. I released the breath I had drawn preparatory to combat and moved deeper into the barracks. If I got any jumpier, I wasn’t going to be able to go out in public- my nerves were drawn so tight, I was surprised they didn’t “twang” when I walked. Fortunately, I saw another glass-armored Dunmer, one whose face bore an unmistakable resemblance to Athyn Sarethi. I ascertained that he was, indeed, Salyn Sarethi and introduced myself and passed on his father’s greetings. With the formalities taken care of, young Salyn took my hand in a warrior’s grip and grinned broadly.

“Of course I know who you are, Trey! Father has spoken and written of you and your service to the family quite often. I am also aware of how you helped Varvur. So what assistance can I provide?”

Without going into the exact reasons, I explained that I had recently confronted some Blight creatures and expected to do so again. Therefore, I needed a better understanding of their powers and weaknesses. As I finished speaking, Salyn nodded vigorously.

“You have come to the right place. We Buoyant Armigers spend a good deal of our time on patrol inside the Ghostfence, and we have studied the creatures for many years. I will tell you all that I know and all that the scholars believe concerning these creatures. The fact that you have encountered some of them well beyond Red Mountain is extremely worrisome. Some of us believe that these beasts are using hidden ways to escape into the lands outside. This seems to confirm that belief.”

He then looked around carefully before continuing,

“It doesn’t do to speak too loudly of some things, these days. The Temple hierarchy seems to have become more and more sensitive to ‘heresy’ and ‘defeatist attitudes,’ so let’s find a quiet corner where we won’t be disturbed.”

What Salyn told me amounted to this- what appeared to be different Blight creatures were actually different stages of “growth” or “change” that affected those who had been infected with corprus. Some creatures simply grew more and more malformed and eventually became mindless, shambling beasts. These were the ones known as the “lame corprus” and “corprus stalkers.” It seemed that the “stalkers” were originally Dunmer and the “lame corprus” were other races of man or mer. Both of these types were extremely slow-moving and possessed no magical ability, although they could regenerate damage over time. Far more dangerous were those who seemed to be able to somehow harness the changes wrought by corprus and to maintain their mental ability. It was possible that these creatures did not actually have minds of their own, but were controlled by Dagoth Ur, himself. Although the Armigers’ understanding of the “life-cycle” of these creatures was incomplete, it seemed to follow this pattern- the “special” Dunmer who were susceptible to Dagoth Ur’s mental control, known as “Sleepers,” would go to the slopes of Red Mountain and bury themselves in ash. They would lie dormant for some indeterminate period and then rise as “Ash Slaves.” These Ash Slaves were fairly weak and were able to channel minor fire and shield spells. Next were the Ash Zombies, which were physically stronger, but had lost any magical ability. The heads and faces of these creatures were clearly marked by the preliminary changes in physiology- the faces seemed to collapse inward. This stage was followed by that called “Ash Ghoul,” which had developed a single tentacle-like growth from the center of the face. These creatures had magical ability- apparently, Dagoth Gares had been one such. The final and most dangerous form was that known as the “Ascended Sleeper.” These creatures had lost almost all semblance of their original form, with flipper-like hands and a head that consisted of tentacles and sensory organs. These last were extremely tough and possessed powerful spell-casting abilities. Clearly, I had encountered an Ascended Sleeper in Kogoruhn. Before continuing, Salyn again looked around to make sure no one was paying any attention to our conversation. Leaning closer to me, he lowered his voice and said,

“What I am about to say is not accepted by all in the Temple, but those who have spent much time around Ghostgate and in the Blight know it is true. There is one final creature of Dagoth Ur- the sort known to us as an ‘Ash Vampire.’ They are not true vampires in the usual sense- they do not survive on the blood of their victims. However, they are akin to vampires in this way- even when they have been apparently killed, they rise up again. Our best information is that the Ash Vampires are all close kin and advisers of Dagoth Ur. If they are truly the beings whose names they bear, they were House Dagoth councilors at the time of the Battle of Red Mountain. They move very slowly, but are almost impossible to harm. And even if one is defeated in battle, the ‘corpse’ rises up again. We do not understand what power animates them, but it is clearly very great if it can defeat death itself.”

Now that I knew what I was facing, I almost wished I had remained ignorant. Creatures that buried themselves in ash and rose again, vampires thousands of years old that couldn’t be killed- and these were the servants of Dagoth Ur. As Salyn fell silent, I turned my face in the direction where I somehow knew Red Mountain stood, a bleeding wound in the heart of Morrowind. In my bones, in knew that there lay my fate, for good or ill. And I also knew that I would no longer run from it. It didn’t matter whether it was Redoran honor, Breton stubbornness, or simple resignation- I would do what I must, what fate and Azura had decreed, even though I would likely die in the attempt.

Posted by: Alexander Feb 16 2005, 09:55 AM

great part again Treydog. very nicely written, especially the way you describe the blight creatures and such. very good.

Posted by: treydog Feb 18 2005, 03:19 AM

I could not delay any longer- I had a powerful sword, I had greater knowledge of the creatures I must face- the time had come to seek the Cavern of the Incarnate. Therefore, I traveled first to the Urshilaku camp and from there, east along the coast. A note to any of you who may be contemplating a life of adventure- beware of directions that begin with, “when you reach the Daedric shrine….” Actually, Zergonipal presented me no difficulty, mainly because I carefully avoided the place, except as a landmark. However, I was a bit premature in my self-congratulations, for a band of Orcs fell upon me outside the Valenvaryon stronghold. I had barely registered the fact that I was in the vicinity of the ancient fortress when a screaming, foaming Orc descended on me, promising me death and dismemberment. It was during that fight that I discovered how powerful my Daedric sword really was. Orcs are renowned for their toughness, as well as for their battle prowess and the quality of their arms and armor. Generally, a Breton faced with 5 or 6 Orcs has two choices- run or pray. In this case, though, it was the Orcs who should have prayed. In less time than it takes to tell, I had dispatched all of them, usually requiring only one or two swings of the sword. The edge of that blade cut through the heavy Orcish armor as if it were paper. Again, I was completely unaware of the great weight of the sword while engaged in battle. It was as if the blade was leading me through the steps of a dance that it knew well. Only as the last Orc fell did I realize that I had taken several serious wounds myself. I had heard of the “battle-trance” before, but never experienced it. This was not the berserker fury of the Nords, but a more calculating and deadly sort of madness. Like a beserker, a warrior affected by the battle-trance will ignore wounds and fight on until he or his opponent is dead. The difference is that in the trance, the warrior retains his senses and distinguishes friend from foe. I had not known that I was capable of such, and it unnerved me somewhat. After using a restorative potion to heal my wounds, I climbed the rest of the way to Valenvaryon in an attempt to discover what had the Orcs so concerned. Apparently, they actually HAD been praying- or at least worshipping. They appeared to have erected a large statue to Sheogorath atop the stronghold and must have been annoyed that I interrupted their devotions. Although I had no particular liking for the Mad God, I would have let the Orcs go about their business if they had left me alone. Of course, that was the problem- you cannot reason with madness.

Before long, I came to the entrance of a valley leading south toward Red Mountain. On either side were sharp spires of rock- the Teeth of the Wind. As darkness fell, I reached the head of the valley, where I found an intricately carved stone door leading into the slope. The door was covered with stars and crescent moons, the symbols of Azura. It was also closed., and I could not open it. That did not surprise me, as I knew that it was past the hour of dusk, one of the times the light of Azura’s Star would strike the door. I prepared myself for a night-long vigil, awaiting the rising of the sun and of the star that was the key. Whatever thoughts I had that night are lost in the mists of time, and it is probably just as well. I have never been terribly good at waiting, which may explain how I found myself in trouble so often. In any event, I sat there, wrapped in a cloak, occasionally chewing a bit of hackle-lo and fighting the chill. As the horizon began to lighten, I rose and stretched my stiff muscles, then approached the door. It slid open at a touch and I heard the now-familiar voice say, “In the dawn hour under Azura’s Star, the door is opened.” On the other side was a short tunnel, leading to a large chamber formed from the natural stone. In the center of the cavern rose a statue of a kneeling female figure, with her hands cupped in front of her. The face did not look entirely human, yet it showed strength and wisdom, sorrow and resolve. As I came closer, I was startled to see a number of mummified figures scattered around the cavern. They did not appear to have died violently, but rather reclined against the walls, with their heads bowed as if they had gone to sleep- some hundreds of years before. Closer still, and I saw that the statue of Azura held a glowing ring in its stone hands. The ring shimmered with an eerie light and was shaped in the form of a crescent moon and a shining star. The legends were true; this was Nerevar’s Moon-and-Star ring. With a trembling hand, I reached out to grasp the ring, and with it, my doom.

Posted by: minque Feb 18 2005, 08:08 AM

Another two marvellous installments....We are indeed happy to have the opportunity to follow this remarkable man in his adventures in a world we know so well and yet....don´t!!

Posted by: treydog Feb 19 2005, 03:17 AM

As my fingers closed around the Moon-and-Star ring, the symbol of Lord Nerevar, the stone statue of Azura seemed to become a living being which spoke to me.

“Nerevar reborn, Incarnate!”

She told me that I had passed the first three trials and was, indeed the Nerevarine. She also told me that I must go to the ashkhans of the four Ashlander tribes and be named Nerevarine by all of them. I must then go before the councilors of the three Great Houses and be named Hortator, or “war leader.” Nibani Maesa would be my guide. As Azura spoke these words, visions washed over me- the camps of the Ashlanders and the manors of the Great Houses. Behind it all burned a pure flame, a flame that would cleanse Vvardenfell. And then, the goddess told me,

“When you have stood before the false gods and freed the Heart from its prison, heal my people and restore Morrowind. Do this for me and with my blessing.”

My head still ringing from the voice of the goddess and my eyes blurring from the visions she had sent, I turned away, preparing to leave the cavern. But as I turned, I saw that where there had been mummified corpses, there now stood the shades of half-a-dozen people. They were not threatening nor frightening, rather they were… waiting. Their ghostly faces seemed to contain infinite sadness and infinite patience. Although they did not speak or move, I knew that what they had waited for was me.

Without thinking about it, I knew that I must speak with these shades, that they had some wisdom or knowledge to give me. Therefore, I turned to the first, a male Dunmer standing to the left of the tunnel and bowed to him. He said,

“Welcome, Incarnate. I am Hort-Ledd. I was not the one. But I wait and hope. Ask, and I shall tell you my story.”

He spoke thus,

“I died four hundred years ago, in the last days of turmoil and unrest after the Empire came to Morrowind. I was a thinker, and not a doer, and though I was marked by the stars, I was not a hero. Take these things of mine. My bones won't complain.”

With that, he presented me with a copy of the rare book Sithis and his enchanted robe.

And so it went around the cavern. Each of these people had been marked by the stars, but had not fulfilled the prophecies. They were a crusader, an ashkhan, a thief, a warrior. Each had a story of their failure, through despair or anger or ignorance. Each gave me a gift of their enchanted possessions and warned me that I must not fail. Finally, I reached the last figure, that of a Dunmer female, who stood to the right of the tunnel. She seemed more substantial, more nearly alive than all the others, and her greeting was different:

“Welcome, Incarnate, Moon-and-Star Reborn, Hortator, Nerevarine, Mourner of the Tribe Unmourned, Redeemer of the False Gods. I am Peakstar. I was not the one. But I wait and hope. Ask, and I shall answer, if wisdom guides me.”

Because she seemed to have more knowledge, I asked her many questions, some of which I will repeat here, along with her answers. First, I asked what they had all meant by the words, “not the one.” She explained,

“I am a failed Incarnate. So are all these who remain here with me in the Cavern of the Incarnate. I survived the blight, but I fell in battle with an Ash Vampire. I could not master the arts of war. Nor could I learn the ways of the Great Houses. They would not have accepted me as Hortator.”

When I asked about the title “Moon-and-Star” she told me:

“You bear the Moon-and-Star, the ring of Nerevar. None may deny; you ARE Nerevar Reborn, the prophesied Incarnate. The Temple will know you as an enemy. Ordinators will mark you for death, and the Tribunal Faithful of the Great Houses will hate and fear you. The doubters of the Tribes will test your strength and doubt your honor. You will be known. You must prepare, and be ready.”

There was much else, some of which confirmed that the powers of the Tribunal did, indeed, come from the same source as the power of Dagoth Ur- the tools of the Dwemer priest, Kagrenac. “The Tribe Unmourned” referred to House Dagoth, the house that had served Nerevar most faithfully. Dagoth Ur had been betrayed by Nerevar, who had placed him in an impossible situation- requiring that he guard Kagrenac’s Tools. The false gods of the Tribunal had attacked Dagoth Ur and stolen the tools in order to make themselves divine.

Finally, Peakstar echoed the words of Azura, telling me,

“You must go before the ashkhans of the Wastes People and satisfy them, for only the ashkhans of the Four Tribes can name you 'Nerevarine.' Speak first with Sul-Matuul of the Urshilaku, and with Wise Woman Nibani Maesa, for of all the Ashlanders, they are wisest in the lore of the Incarnate, and you have already shown Sul-Matuul proof of your worth.”

At that moment, looking at the shades of those who had walked this path before me, it seemed that I was looking into a mirror. Their flaws were my flaws; their failures were my failures. I, too, had been guilty of pride, despair, and anger. I had ignored the counsel of those who were wiser. Most of all, I had thought only of myself and how the prophecy affected me. Whatever else may have happened in the Cavern of the Incarnate, I know this of a certainty- I had shed my selfishness and equivocation like a rotten cloak. These were the shades of true heroes, even if they had failed. Through the long years, each of them had done their best to save an entire people, perhaps the entire world, from the madness of Dagoth Ur. And now, it was up to me to succeed where they had not. Although I was not myself Nerevar, the betrayer of Dagoth Ur, I was his incarnation. It fell to me to right the wrongs he had done. I had been given the opportunity to learn from the errors of the Failed Incarnates, to avoid the mistakes that had cost them the victory over evil. When I had thought of heroes at all, I had always assumed that they were somehow different than you or me- that they had some special “something” that allowed them to do great deeds. Now I knew better- a true hero was a person who simply did the best that they could, even when there seemed to be no hope or reason left. A true hero was someone who never gave up, no matter what the odds. Leaving the Cavern was difficult, for I felt a bond with those spirits, but I knew my work had just started. Before I cast the spell that would take me to the Urshilaku camp, I looked at them all and said,

“Peace be upon you, my brothers and sisters. May you find the rest you have sought for so long.”

Posted by: treydog Feb 20 2005, 06:17 AM

When the effects of the Recall spell had subsided somewhat, I realized that I had an unexpected problem- with the weight of my fancy sword and the items the Failed Incarnates had given me, I couldn’t move. Of course, that had happened to me before, when I learned the hard way not to try to carry my entire library with me into the wilderness. Fortunately, I was in the Urshilaku camp, where anything I put down would be safe. The heaviest item I had was the Daedric sword- once I laid it aside, I was able to move easily. The items from the Cavern of the Incarnate, though, I needed to consider more carefully. Even if I had not felt such a deep connection to my predecessors, I still wouldn’t have just tossed their gifts on the ground. They were gifts after all, never mind their symbolic significance. On the other hand, most of the items were of no practical use to me. For example, I wasn’t proficient enough to handle Erur-Dan’s spear or Conoon Chodal’s axe. As I pondered what to do to honor the items properly, the answer came to me- I actually DID have a place for the artifacts. My stronghold at Bal Isra should be complete. Leaving my sword where it lay, I was able to make my way to Ald’ruhn and, from there, to Bal Isra. I cannot describe the feeling I got when I trudged up the ash-covered slope to the front door and received Hetman Guls’ greeting,

“Welcome home, House Father.”

Those four words meant everything to me. No matter what the future might bring, I had a home to come back to.

I thanked him for his greeting and entered my new home. A room had been prepared for me on the lower floor, so I made my way there with the things from the cavern. All this worry over a few enchanted items may strike some of you as rather foolish- after all, why keep things I couldn’t use? Besides the reasons I have stated before, there was this- these were some of the very few gifts that I had ever been freely given. Maybe if I had been accustomed to receiving lavish gifts on my birthday, I wouldn’t have cared so much for these. But the fact was that the only birthday gifts I ever received were the books I had purchased for myself. Therefore, I treasured every one of the items I had received in the Cavern of the Incarnate. I found an honored place for each one in Indarys Manor, as my new home was called. My final reason for preserving the gifts was this- they reminded me of the responsibility I carried and the price of failure. I next took the time to meet the retainers who now lived at Bal Isra and then slept in a bed that belonged to me for the first time in my life. With the arrival of the morning, I Recalled to the Urshilaku camp so that I could talk to Sul-Matuul and Nibani Maesa about what had happened to me in the Cavern of the Incarnate.

I picked up my sword and slipped the Moon-and-Star ring onto my left hand, then entered the ashkhan’s tent. When Sul-Matuul saw the ring, his face remained expressionless, but he declared,

“You have passed the Third Trial. Before you lie the Fourth and Fifth Trials. I have spoken with Nibani Maesa, and I know these trials. You wish to be called Urshilaku Nerevarine. But first, would you hear the counsel of Sul-Matuul?”
Though I had learned much and grown wiser during my years in Vvardenfell, I had no doubt that the ashkhan was far wiser than I. Therefore, I indicated my willingness to listen to any advice he could provide. He warned me that, as soon as I started the Fourth and Fifth Trials, I would have to declare my conviction that I was the Nerevarine. And that act would make me a marked man. The reason for that was that the Fourth Trial was to be named Hortator, or war leader of the Great Houses. To achieve that goal, I would have to convince the councilors of the danger of Dagoth Ur and that I was worthy to face that danger. In the words of Sul-Matuul,

“I would give you warning. When you are called 'Nerevarine,' the word must spread, and many must hear. Your enemies will hear, and come seeking your blood. And such friends as you may have among the Great Houses, those who heed the words of the Temple, they may forget their love for you. If you have business with the People of the Houses and Temple, you may wish to conduct that business first, before you are named 'Nerevarine.'”

He also advised me to take care in approaching the councilors, particularly the Telvanni. In his words, “Anyone who isn’t afraid of a 2000-year-old wizard is a fool.”

His second piece of advice regarded the Fifth Trial, which was to have the Ashlander tribes name me Nerevarine. He advised me to seek the council of Nibani Maesa regarding the other tribes. As an outlander, I would not be trusted and could make an error that would make my task difficult or impossible. Not all of the tribes would be ready to accept me in the way that the Urshilaku had done. Although I intended to speak to the wise woman as well, I asked Sul-Matuul to share his knowledge of the other three tribes. He told me the names and showed me the locations of the camps of the Ahemmusa, Erabenimsun, and Zainab. Uniting the tribes would not be easy, for they were proud and would need to be convinced before they gave up their differences with one another.

True to my contrary nature, I decided that I would rather deal with the Ashlander tribes first, even though that was considered the Fifth Trial. In truth, it seemed to me that it would make little difference which impossible task I attempted first- and the Ashlanders were less likely to turn me into something unnatural than the Telvanni. With that in mind, I took my leave of Sul-Matuul and sought Nibani Maesa. She offered me her knowledge regarding the other tribes, which I will summarize here.

The Ahemmusa had come upon hard times, having been driven from their best grazing grounds, and attacked by monsters. The wise woman of the Ahemmusa, Sinnammu Mirpal, was also their ashkhan. They would be the most likely to name me Nerevarine, after the Urshilaku. The Erabenimsun were a dangerous bunch, led by a ruthless ashkhan named Ulath-Pal. My best chance would be to seek out the Wise Woman, Manirai, and follow her advice. It was likely that there would be blood-letting, no matter what, for Ulath-Pal and his gulakhans did not abide by the rules of hospitality. Finally, there were the Zainab. They were arrogant and proud, as well as devious. However, they were honorable in their own way and would respect strength and cleverness. I might have to bribe them, but I might also have to win a battle of wits.
I did not look forward to a long period spent wandering in the Ashlands- moreover, I was not certain that I could accomplish this task. Apparently, I was the first of the Incarnates ever to have gotten this far. Still, the situation of the Ahemmusa concerned me; it sounded as though they were barely surviving as a tribe. My dealings with the Urshilaku and most of the other Ashlanders I had met had given me a great respect and affection for the tribal Dunmer. They had maintained their beliefs and their way of life despite the Temple, despite the Great Houses, despite the terrible conditions in which they lived. If I was to follow Azura’s admonition to “heal her people,” I could do far worse than to start with the Ahemmusa. I could have gone to any one of the tribes, but I chose the one that seemed to be in the greatest need. By such small decisions as that is our fate determined.

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Feb 20 2005, 08:49 PM

way to go trey! keep up the good work, i'm thinking of doing my own story but i wouldn't know how to start it. *shrugs* oh well.

Posted by: minque Feb 20 2005, 10:52 PM

Well it´s the hardest thing now.....to post a story when big writers such as treydog and Override are posting their professional work.....

I´m getting more and more...... :paperbag2:

Posted by: Elongar Feb 21 2005, 06:43 PM

It may be a bit daunting but if you're determined and you have an idea (true, you do need some talent, but that's definately not everything), than you should be able to come up with something. If you then find that people like your writing, and you're enjoying it, why not continue?

Half the deal with these stories is determination and inspiration...

Posted by: minque Feb 21 2005, 09:04 PM

You are right of course...but still...... :confused:

Posted by: Alexander Feb 21 2005, 11:16 PM

oh minque, really now. remember I've read it already and it's very good as well and you can be proud and post it. nothing to be ashamed of

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Feb 22 2005, 02:16 AM

i haven't read it but i'm sure its good. post it here first, on this board i mean.

Posted by: minque Feb 22 2005, 10:18 AM

OK ...I´ll start posting when I get back from Riga this coming sunday......HERE first so you can chop my head off if it+´s not good enough!

Posted by: Elongar Feb 22 2005, 07:26 PM

The only person doing any kind of chopping at all will be me with my pickaxe, dismembering my stupid computer when I find out the page with your story on it is going to take another two years to load...

Edit: I hope that makes you feel better

Posted by: Ze Milanio Feb 22 2005, 10:17 PM

That`s also the feeling I`m getting more and more with my poor Redguard scout... alone, bleeding into the northern sea... and I`m having a god**mn block AND lack of time, all at once :paperbag2:

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Feb 22 2005, 10:29 PM

Riga? i couldn't chop your head off, your to nice.

Posted by: minque Feb 23 2005, 02:46 AM

Thank you....hmm it did...you´re so sweet..... :kiss:

Posted by: Sinder Velvin Feb 23 2005, 08:11 AM

As if that wasn't enough, if you make any lore mistakes, I'll let you know.

Posted by: Warsgoth Feb 23 2005, 02:29 PM

I am so jealous. I wish I could write stories this great. And even if I could, I would never be able to keep with it and make not 1, not 2, but 10+ chapters of the story.

Truly amazing, your work. And especially how your lore is accurate. Sure, there are minor spelling errors here and there, but every great has mistakes. The way you make the story with events in the game make me want to join in and play with you.

Keep up the great work Trey!

:goodjob:

Posted by: Elongar Feb 23 2005, 08:16 PM

Treydog + spelling mistakes???????

Funny, I can't see any! :eek: :shocked: :confused:

Posted by: Dantrag Feb 23 2005, 10:42 PM

I haven't been reading your story faithfully, I admit, but just having caught up with it all....I love it. It doesn't drone on and on, but keeps the same level of interest (if not more) than when you first started the story. Thanks for sharing a wonderful story Treydog.

Posted by: OverrideB1 Feb 24 2005, 09:15 PM

Don't, for heaven's sake, let other people put you off posting your story. I. for one, look forward to the first installment with... anticipation. (Sorry, chanelled The Rocky Horror Show there for a moment )

I shall be very sad if you don't post....

Posted by: Elongar Feb 24 2005, 10:43 PM

Me too. :incrediblysad:

Posted by: treydog Feb 26 2005, 01:03 AM

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Posted by: Alexander Feb 26 2005, 02:17 PM

greatas always, and like someone on the main forums asked, what's with that person coming out of the tent, hm, intriguing

Posted by: General Edor Crespin Feb 26 2005, 03:25 PM

A little offtopic, but for those with writer's block, I've always found that playing Morrowind helps to rekindle my sense of imagination.

Posted by: Elongar Feb 26 2005, 11:38 PM

I play the game, make notes whilst playing, and then write it up straight after that when my memory is still fresh.

And another great part there, treydog! :goodjob:

Posted by: minque Feb 27 2005, 12:01 AM

Treydog...you´ve done it again...and the mystery you added....intriguing!


also I want to thank you all for those lovely kind encouragements you have given me in this thread....they were fruitful.... :iwubu: :hearts:

Posted by: treydog Feb 28 2005, 03:27 PM

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.

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Feb 28 2005, 10:37 PM

great Treydog!

Posted by: Alexander Feb 28 2005, 11:04 PM

yes I agree with soulseeker here, another great addition again here

Posted by: minque Feb 28 2005, 11:12 PM

well guys..what did you expect? Something less than perfect???? no way that´s gonna happen....

Posted by: treydog Mar 1 2005, 02:27 AM

Carefully, I entered the room to make sure Hlireni was really dead- you can never be completely certain with Daedra priestesses, particularly when you are on their home ground. In this case, I had no need to worry- my arrows had transfixed her- one in the head and one in the heart, assuming she had one. The other occupants of the room, an Orc and a scamp, didn’t seem terribly concerned about the demise of their leader. The scamp merely offered to sell me some sujamma and the Orc rumbled, “Meow.” I shook my head. “Meow?” An Orc that said, “meow?” Perhaps I had taken a few more blows to the head than I realized. That was one disadvantage of my phobia about helmets. While a helmet might restrict hearing and sight, it also served the useful function of keeping one’s brains from getting scrambled. After feeling around to make sure I didn’t have any depressed skull fractures or new bumps on my head, I turned to the Orc and said,

“Excuse me, but did you just say ‘Meow’?”

Rather than becoming offended the 6-and-half foot tall green creature replied with a sort of low growl that might have approximated a purr- in a nightmare- and introduced himself as “Ra’Gruzgob the Khajiit.” Clearly, one of us was crazy, and I was beginning to have a glimmer of an idea which it was.

“Ra’Gruzgob the Khajiit?” I repeated, trying to keep the disbelief from my voice.

“Yes, Khajiit. How do you like my tail?”

Now that is one of those questions I have never known how to answer, particularly not when it is asked by another male of whatever species. Not that I have been asked that question very often, mind you. In fact, that was the only time. Finally, I decided that it never hurts to humor a crazy Orc, and anyway, if things got out of hand, I still had my sword.

“Fine. Very… nice.” I mumbled, carefully not catching the eye of the smirking scamp. A part of me wondered why I was doing this- after all, Ra’Gruzgob was almost certainly a Daedra-worshipper, whether he was crazy or not. But my curiosity has gotten in the way of my better judgment before, and it was hard to seriously contemplate cutting down an Orc that simply stood there “purring” and stroking non-existent whiskers. Apparently, my half-hearted compliment was successful, as the Orc offered to tell me a “little secret,” provided I gave him some moon-sugar. Now it became clear- this fellow wasn’t simply addled by the influence of the Mad God, he had been receiving a little chemical help. Noticing some crystals of the addictive substance atop a nearby stone block, I palmed them and offered them to Ra’Gruzgob. His “purring” redoubled in strength and seemed to shake the very stones of Ald Daedroth. He thanked me and then said that he had hidden “something special” under his pillow “for the sugar-fairy.” I almost didn’t want to think about what kind of “something special” an Orc might hide under his pillow- particularly an Orc that thought he was a Khajiit. Back when I had lived in the stable, I had been the recipient of the sort of “gift” the barn cats thought appropriate and endearing. Even though my bed had been an old horse blanket over a pile of straw, finding part of a mouse in it was not pleasant. Nevertheless, it seemed worth checking out, so I made my way over to a couple of pallets that had been set up in one corner of the chamber. Using the tip of my blade, I shifted the first pillow and found- nothing. Steeling myself, I turned to the other pallet, shifted the pillow, and saw an extravagantly embroidered glove, which glowed with enchantment. The power of the spell on the item fairly sang, and I knew that I was in the presence of a very special artifact. Careful not to touch the glove, I bent closer to read the Aldmeris script which was formed by the stitching. As near as I could determine, it spelled out “Gambolpuddy.” Wondering if sleeping with this item under his head had anything to do with Ra’Gruzgob’s delusions, I extended my magical senses to try to “read” the enchantment. My original feeling that the spell was powerful proved to be correct. The wearer could cast a spell that would provide major enhancements of agility, intelligence, personality, and luck. However, at the same time the spell would lower strength, speed, wisdom, and endurance. I was hard-pressed to think of a circumstance in which that exchange would be worthwhile, but I nevertheless packed the glove away. After all, it was likely a unique item, and might be valuable as a curiosity.

And now there seemed nothing else to do but report back to Sinnammu Mirpal. Leaving the Orc crooning “sweet moon-sugar” and batting at a ball of yarn, I worked my way back outside, passing the glowering Ordinators without a word. Considering the way the Ashlanders felt about the Temple, I wondered if the Ahemmusa wise woman would feel that the shrine was safe with the Temple soldiers wandering around. On the other hand, with Hlireni and her followers dead, maybe the Ordinators would go somewhere else to bother people. Back in the camp, Sinnammu listened as I explained that the sorceress was dead. She then stated that I must escort her to the great statue of the inner shrine. If we could get there without being attacked, that would show her that Ald Daedroth was safe enough for her people. I needn’t have worried about the wise woman’s ability to reach the island- she water-walked as well as I. We made our way to the inner shrine, where Sinnammu agreed that I had fulfilled my part of our bargain. Then she drew an amulet out from her pack and formally intoned,

“And so I name you Ahemmusa Nerevarine, War Leader of the Ahemmusa, and Protector of the People. I also give you the Madstone of the Ahemmusa, which shall be a sign to all Dunmer, that you are the Nerevarine, and that the Ahemmusa shall follow you, in all things, even unto death, until the Enemy is defeated, or until you are dead.”

With that she handed me the amulet and explained that it was useful against spell casters, for if I could invoke its power and touch a wizard, it would set up the echoing of the voices of the ancestors inside his head, making it impossible to concentrate on magicka. Unfortunately, the voices would also echo in MY head, thus explaining why the amulet was called the “madstone.” I thanked the Ahemmusa wise woman and took my leave of her. All my recent encounters with madness caused me to wonder- was there some hidden message in all this? Perhaps I myself had gone mad from the effects of corprus and was even now shuffling around in the corprusarium of Tel Fyr, imagining all of this. That seemed as plausible as the idea that I was the reincarnation of a Dunmer general.

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Mar 1 2005, 03:19 AM

good job Treydog. I didn't know how she would react to the high ordinaters. i always kill every one at the shrine.

Posted by: Elongar Mar 1 2005, 06:50 PM

Too right!

Posted by: treydog Mar 5 2005, 04:14 AM

In the end, it made no difference whether I was going mad or not- I still had to finish what I had started. Therefore, it was time to go see the next Ashlander Tribe, either the Erabenimsun or the Zainab. I knew that these Ashlanders would be harder to convince than the Ahemmusa. First, because the Ahemmusa had needed to believe- it served their purposes to name me Nerevarine and War Leader, as they had no ashkhan and few warriors. My sword could make all the difference to their survival. The other tribes did not have that need. The second reason that the other tribes might hesitate was simple human nature- the Ashland tribes were rivals. Therefore, it would be hard for the Zainab or the Erabenimsun to go along with what the Urshilaku and Ahemmusa wanted. Still, it must be done, so the only question left was where to go first. Should I try the crafty Zainab or the treacherous Erabenimsun? In either case, I had decided that I would avoid populated places until this part of my task was done. Word was sure to reach the Temple soon enough that there was an “outlander” who had proclaimed himself the Nerevarine. When that happened, they would try to silence me- possibly permanently. After all, the last that had been seen of Peakstar was when she was imprisoned by the Temple. And I myself had been sent to convince or kill a “False Incarnate” in Suran. It seemed best to stay out of the areas where the Temple held sway, at least for a time. That decision made, I reached another- I would try the Zainab next. Trickery and craftiness were traits I understood; I had certainly seen enough of them in my life. Treachery, though, was something I recognized only in the abstract- it would be a bit longer before I gained firsthand experience of it.

But I did not immediately seek the camp of the Zainab, for I had much to consider and felt the need for running water. I needed the river rather than the sea, whose salt was as bitter as tears. The water of a river seems to always change and yet remains always the same. So I traveled west and south, avoiding people and towns, until I had reached the Odai. I made a camp along the bank and spent a few days preparing myself for what was to come. The Ahemmusa had named me Nerevarine, and the Urshilaku stood ready to do so. If I could convince the other two tribes, I would then have to go among the Great Houses. Hlaalu, Telvanni…and Redoran. What should be an occasion of honor would be one of dread- I would be asking my House to name me Hortator, not because I was best suited for that role, but as part of a prophecy that defied the Temple. I would have to tell the whole story to Athyn Sarethi, who had been my friend, almost my father as I was reborn in Morrowind. The man I had become was largely due to him. And what I feared more than Dagoth Ur, more than death, more than the fate Azura had laid upon me; what I feared most was the disappointment of the only true father I had ever known.

Here Ends Chapter 10

Posted by: minque Mar 5 2005, 02:34 PM

[quote]And what I feared more than Dagoth Ur, more than death, more than the fate Azura had laid upon me; what I feared most was the disappointment of the only true father I had ever known. [/quote]

That is soo sweet! Just the thing a lovely young man like our Trey would think!

:hearts:

I keep my fingers crossed that he will succed with the Ashlanders

Now that is a gifted writer who can picture his character in such a lovable way, I´m totally possessed with Trey...

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Mar 6 2005, 08:10 PM

great job treydog.

Posted by: ArtemisNoir Apr 19 2023, 10:18 PM

It feels strange to comment on such an old thread, but it was lovely to be able read this chapter, subsequent to chapter 9!

The above, written with perfect dryness, struck me as especially amusing. *chuckle*