The Interim, Part One, A Morrowind Fanfic by BBQ Platypus Options

[bbqplatypus]

Author's Note, Five Years Later:

So yeah. This is a story I wrote quite some time ago about an idea that had long percolated in my head - what happened to the Nerevarine that caused him to bugger off between Morrowind and Oblivion. Not an inherently bad idea for a story - in fact, I still think it could make a pretty good one. This is not that story. In fact, looking back on it now, it's hard for me to imagine any sensible reaction to it other than OHMYGOD THIS IS SO FRUCKING FUCKBAD. Of course, everyone who's ever tried writing started out by writing ten thousand pages of crap. This right here constitutes five of my ten thousand.

I'm not gonna delete it - I'll leave it up, mostly because this forum doesn't seem to allow me to delete topics. But if you've come here by browsing the forums or through some random Google search, please hit the back button immediately and save yourself some time. This story isn't worth yours.






An Account of the Events of the Interim of Grignr the Nerevarine, Between the Fulfillment of the Bloodmoon Prophecy and His Departure to Akavir

Being An Anonymous Account Discovered, Compiled, and Edited by Bereditte Jastal


Editor’s Note: The non-academic nature of this account (its authorship is uncertain, and it is clearly written in prose form, with considerably more detail than one would expect from a typical “journal” or even a memoir) makes it a tome of questionable historical accuracy. The Nerevarine as portrayed in this account – a Nordic male named Grignr Star-Mane, married to an Imperial Legionnaire named Imsin the Dreamer, is b- [a blurry food stain blots out the next few words]-sistent with the details of Hasphat Antabolis’s authoritative (though not universally accepted) account, The Life and Times of the Nerevarine, which [Another food stain, this one with the general texture and coloration of kwama cuttle]

It should be noted that Antabolis’s account of the “interim” period (detailed in Volume IV) is rather sketchy compared to the immaculately detailed chronology of the first three volumes. Many of the events related in this text are [The rest of the page has been torn out, presumably used as a napkin].


Chapter I

The air was warm, heavy, and perplexing, draped like a thick, wet blanket upon the shoulders of the harsh, rocky coastline west of Gnisis. The dark, bloated clouds in the sky grew fat as they slowly drew in the oppressive moisture, accumulating and converging as one. A storm was coming, and we were miles away from cover.

We were one of several detachments that I myself had sent to seek out and clear smugglers caves along the coast of Vvardenfell. This particular group was assigned to investigate the drainage basin of the River Samsi (wherein many underground streams flowed). I led at my own insistence. As Hortator and Knight of the Imperial Dragon, no one dared to argue with me.

“Tread carefully, men,” I called back to the twelve Redoran soldiers who trudged miserably behind me. “We’re a long walk from Gnisis, and we only have so many Intervention scrolls to go around. We don’t want to have to carry anybody back to the Temple.”

“Understood, muthsera,” grunted Tedril Doren, the acting second-in-command of the detachment. His voice carried a ragged and weary tone to it – for he, like the rest of the men, had been marching now for several hours - in full bonemold armor - with very little rest. Even I was starting to feel a bit tired – enchanted armor can only do so much.

“We’ll keep marching until nightfall,” I said, turning my head toward the lieutenant, “and then we’ll head on home.”

The soldiers behind me grumbled a bit, but I could tell they were fairly content with knowing that the march would at least end sometime. For now, though, we would continue to plow ahead.

After a couple minutes of marching, Doren hastened his gait to move abreast with me. “May I speak with you privately for a moment, sera?” he inquired in a low voice.

“Fire away,” I replied quietly.

“Are all these men really necessary? Could you not have conducted this raid by yourself, sera? It seems an awful lot of trouble for us to have to go through.”

“You can never be too careful, Doren. We might catch them in the middle of restocking. Not to mention the amount of contraband we already have to carry back.”

I could tell that inwardly, we both knew the pointlessness of this mission. Even if we were to kill or arrest every man and mer in every cave, hideout, and abandoned fortress in the entire province, there would always be others to replace them. The drug trade is a horrid, unkillable beast, and we were both well aware of it. But I knew better than he did – I knew how to stop it.

It was all a matter of bribing the right person: Orvas Dren. If I could convince Orvas Dren to tell me the names and locations of the major members and safehouses of the Camonna Tong (an organization that I controlled in theory, but not in practice), I could send the full fury of the Dunmer and Imperial military after them, setting the drug trade back months – maybe even years. It only required the right application of bribery, blackmail, or brute force.

But I dared not do such a thing. It would shatter the uneasy peace I had forged with my fellow Hlaalu councilmen (most of whom I didn’t trust as it was), and would put myself, my family, and many of the people I had sworn to protect in danger. And so here we were, scrounging and combing through the caves of Vvardenfell, fighting a war that could not be won.

We marched silently for a minute or two. We were sloshing through the water to skirt a small cliff face when a voice suddenly emerged from the rear of the ranks.

“Come look, sera!” one of the soldiers exclaimed. “I think I see an opening! It’s…submerged, but there’s a door there.”

The rest of us doubled back to see what he had found. Sure enough, there was a weather-beaten, half-rotted door nestled into a small indentation in the cliff face.

“Yes, that’s a cave, alright,” I said. “And from the looks of it, there are or have been people in it. Doren, have one of your boys dive down and check it out.”

“Yes, sera.” He turned to a subordinate. “Arinith, I hope you can swim.”

“I can, sera,” the soldier answered. He dove into the frigid water, nudged the door open, and ducked under the low ceiling into the cave.

We waited what felt like an eternity for him to return. We waited for two minutes…three minutes…four minutes. Finally, after about half an hour, Doren spoke. “I do not know what is taking Arinith so long, but I think we should assume the worst.”

“I agree,” I said grimly. “Which is why I’m going in. I want you and everyone here who can swim to follow me.”

“We’ll be right behind you.”

I dove in and entered the cave.

This post has been edited by bbqplatypus: Mar 28 2013, 06:01 AM

[bbqplatypus]

I surfaced as silently and carefully as I could, as my men emerged quietly behind me. I found myself in a shallow pool of dank, warmish water that smelled vaguely of sewage – likely the refuse of the inhabitants of this very cave. I struggled to peer over the edge of the water, but a foul, brackish mist burned my eyes and clouded my vision. I squinted and tilted my head upward.

We were in a stiflingly narrow, low-ceilinged passage – practically a crawlspace. Beams of flickering torchlight shone from the end of the tunnel, which opened into a large chamber. I could not see very far beyond the threshold, however – a wooden staircase, leading to an unseen area directly above us, obscured my vision.

I squinted harder, straining my neck and my eyes to see through the openings, but I could see no farther. As I waded closer to the end of the passageway, however, visibility began to improve. The water carried a faint tinge of red - a trail of crimson drifting lazily along the surface. My eyes followed the hazy trail to its point of origin. There, near the center of the chamber, lay Arinith's body, broken and unmistakably dead.

Damn. One dead already and the battle hadn't even begun.

Whoever had killed Arinith was inside that chamber – there could be no doubt. What’s more, he (or she) knew we were coming, and had probably already alerted his friends. This was no time for rash, foolish aggressiveness – it was imperative that we be as cautious as possible. I focused my keen and sharpened senses upon the area around me. A kind of deep, innate magic reverberated within me and throughout the cave. I felt aware - one with everything that lived and moved around me, while remaining aware of myself in relation to it all. I felt at least three other living creatures within the chamber. I could sense that at least one of them carried an item imbued with a powerful enchantment.

I signaled the archers to move abreast of me and aim up toward the platform behind us (in case there was a marksman perched there) while the rest followed behind us. We approached the opening, weapons drawn and at the ready.

No sooner had I emerged from the tunnel than I was spotted. I saw him at the same time he saw me – a short, scrawny Bosmer in tattered chainmail, practically dragging a massive steel claymore alongside him. The sword looked bigger than he was.

“Intruder!” he shrieked, as he rushed at me with his sword raised awkwardly above his head. He let out a shrill war cry as he charged head-on into certain death.

I prepared myself to deflect his wild blow. Could this pitiful specimen of a mer REALLY have killed a battle-hardened veteran of House Redoran? I couldn’t believe he could survive more than five seconds, unless he somehow managed to sneak up from –

“Behind you, sera!” Doren shouted. I turned my head and saw an Imperial standing on a platform above me, his longbow primed and ready to fire. But that wasn’t what concerned me. For there was another enemy approaching from the top of the staircase: a tall, muscular dark elf clad in a full suit of ebony armor and wielding an enchanted longsword. A scar ran down the length of his face through his right eye. This was a mer who had seen many battles. He wore a look of grim determination as he took off down the staircase with his sword raised.

In a single motion, I raised my shield, pivoting to face the two threats to my rear, and swung my blade to parry the wild blow of the charging Bosmer. The ill-delivered strike was deflected with a loud CLANG! Meanwhile, the Imperial’s arrow missed, striking the Bosmer instead (who let out a piercing, agonized shriek). Unfortunately, my shield failed to connect with the Dunmer’s glimmering ebony blade. The blow swept across the top of my helmet, knocking it backward. Bolts of magical lightning singed the hair on my neck and burned my scalp.

I pinned the wounded Bosmer’s oversized claymore to the ground with my left boot and plunged the scythe-like tip of Trueflame into the wood elf’s heart, killing him instantly. Then I pirouetted to face my other attacker, extending my sword just in time to deflect a potential death blow.

As I continued to defend myself, the archers moved into position to take out the Imperial. They made quick work of him turning him into a human pincushion. There was only one enemy left now. Still, that wouldn’t be the case for long – I heard footsteps coming from another passage behind me. The other smugglers must have heard us. My men moved forward to counter the threat as the Dunmer and I continued to do battle.

We dueled back and forth across the staircase, each of us holding one important advantage over the other – I was the better swordsman, while he held the high ground. Neither of us, however, seemed able to gain the upper hand – until a well-timed thrust to the upper body threw him off balance, causing him to stumble. I pounced at him, taking a step forward as I prepared to deliver the killing blow…only to slip on the wet, oily staircase beneath my feet. I fell backward, down the staircase and into the shallow water below, landing directly on my now unprotected head.

The world around me went dark as my mind began to drift…

This post has been edited by bbqplatypus: Aug 10 2008, 07:11 AM

[minque]

ohhh....nice! This will be an interesting story to follow! A very good start mind you BBQ!

[bbqplatypus]

Chapter II

I can remember only fragments of what went through my head while I was unconscious. They were not so much visions or dreams as they were the rattlings of vague memories, from my life and from many lives previous. I am not even sure if all of the things I remembered actually happened. Nevertheless, I witnessed many lifetimes worth of events in those few moments. I watched Akulakhan tumble into the heart of Red Mountain. I fought beside the mortal Vehk in battle, slaying Nords by the dozen. I died countless times in many different ways, both peaceful and violent. But the memory I remember most vividly – the one that resonated with me the most – was also one of the simplest and most mundane of the lot: a conversation between me and my wife, Imsin the Dreamer.

We had not yet become intimate at the time – she was, after all, my superior officer. At the time, I was a young, fast-rising Knight Errant under the command of Radd Hard-Heart. But I had served under her before, and was now stopping by Fort Buckmoth on my way back from a mission to kill a mad wizard in Dagon Fel.

I knew exactly where to find her. I entered the main hall of the fort interior and turned right, heading down the stairs to the foyer. The room was bustling with activity – the blacksmith was hammering away at a broadsword, as various cult members, enlisted men, and NCO’s milled about. I slowly made my way through the crowd and proceeded toward a small, sturdy wooden door near the back of the room. Two guards stood beside it. I approached and addressed the one on the right, a balding Imperial wearing the uniform and insignia of a Trooper.

I cleared my throat and addressed him. “Excuse me, soldier, I’d like to speak with your commanding officer.”

“She can’t see anyone right now, sir. She’s busy writing her monthly report for the Legion brass in Cyrodil. Sorry, but we have orders not to let anyone in.”

“Well, it’s, ah…somewhat pressing business, I’m afraid. Not completely urgent, but it’ll only take about a minute.”

“Well…” the guard pondered it for a moment. “I’ll have to bring this up with Knight Imsin.” He opened the door and stepped inside. Quite frankly, I was surprised he even considered disobeying a direct order like this. I rather suspected that it had something to do with the enchanted masque I had taken from the mad wizard.

The room was relatively small for a fort commander’s office – only about a third the size of the foyer I was standing in. I could see her desk tucked into a corner of the grey stone room. The fireplace crackled and glowed on the side opposite her desk. She looked up from her work at the now-open door.

“Someone here to see you, ma’am,” the guard called out.

“I thought I told you I didn’t want to be interrupted,” she snapped. Then, in a marginally less acidic tone, “Who is it?”

I realized that I had failed to give my name to the guard. I removed the masque and put one foot into the door. “Knight Grignr Star-Mane, ma’am, of the Fort Moonmoth garrison.”

Her expression softened. “Hmm. I suppose I can spare a few moments. Come on in.”

The guards parted to make way for me. I entered the room, saluted, and closed the door behind me.

She returned my salute. “Welcome, Grignr. It’s been only about…a couple months, hasn’t it? I’ve been hearing much about your meteoric rise through the enlisted ranks. You’re becoming quite the soldier, aren’t you?” She smiled at me.

“I…do my best, ma’am,” I replied, rather sheepishly.

“Every soldier worth his salt gives his best for the Empire, Knight Errant,” she said. “It takes a special talent – and a decent amount of luck – to be recognized for it. Now, then, what business is it that you wish to discuss?”

I cleared my throat and answered. “Just simple accommodations, ma’am. I need a place to rest before I head back to Fort Moonmoth, and I would like to know whether any bunks are available for the night.”

“Well, you’re certainly welcome to bunk here. We should have several beds available. Let me check the Quartermaster’s Report…” She rummaged through the stack of loose parchments that lie on her desk. “Well, it looks as though we have enough room, and enough beds. I’ll get a few of the men to set something up for you. I hope you don’t mind sleeping with the enlisted men.”

“Not at all. Thank you, ma’am.”

“No need to thank me. You’re welcome to bunk here whenever your duties require it.”

“Understood, ma’am.”

I started to turn to leave the room when she interrupted me. “Oh, and while you’re still here, soldier, there’s something rather personal I’d like to ask you, if you don’t mind. May I ask it?”

“Hmm…I suppose I wouldn’t mind too much,” I replied after a brief silence. It wasn’t as though I had any pressing or embarrassing secrets to keep from the Empire.

“Good.” She smiled briefly, and then looked me straight in the eye. “Now, I want you to tell me honestly, one Knight to another…”

I stood stiffly, nervously anticipating the question she was about to ask.

“…how do you feel about being promoted so quickly?”

I was somewhat taken aback. This wasn’t the sort of question I was expecting. “How do I feel about it?”

“Yes. Are you comfortable with it? Do you feel it was right to make you a commissioned officer after a little less than two years? Are you worried about what the other men might think about your swift and relatively painless ascent to the officer’s quarters? How do you feel about it?” She stared piercingly at me, awaiting my response.

“Well, uh…” I mumbled as my mind grasped frantically for the right words. “I…can’t say I don’t like being an officer. I mean, I find commanding and coordinating squads on patrol to be more rewarding than standing still outside a door for hours on end.

“Still…I did notice that I was given active beat duty and special assignments more often than the other men. I did ask General Darius why that was, and he said it was because I was one of his best and most promising young soldiers. The other soldiers didn’t complain much…well, not to my face, anyway. Some of them were more than a little resentful, though. I tried to ignore them, and assuage their bitterness by being the best and most trustworthy leader I could be. This certainly helped for the men I was assigned to lead, but for the others it was a bit more…difficult.

“I think that resentment has a lot to do with my being transferred to other posts so frequently. The fort commanders aren’t sure what to do with me, and they don’t want to spread discontent among their own men, so they ship me off elsewhere. So life in the Legion has been a bit less…stable than I was expecting. Still, I fully believe that I’ve earned everything the Legion has given me. Does that answer your question?”

Imsin, who had been listening patiently and attentively as I spoke, considered my words thoughtfully for a moment. “You say that you feel you deserve to bear an officer’s rank. But are you ready to bear an officer’s burden?”

“What exactly do you mean by that?”

“The duty to their men, to their garrison weighs heavily upon every good officer. You’ve proven to me that you are excellent at following orders from your superiors, and you certainly know how to handle a sword…” She paused for effect. “…but can you fulfill your responsibility as a leader of men?”

“Yes, I believe I can, ma’am. I know I can,” I said firmly and with conviction.

“Then you must always be mindful of the soldiers under your command, for they are the greatest asset at your disposal. They are more important than your career, your rank, and even your life. As an officer, you must know their strengths and their weaknesses. You must gain their trust and respect. Most of all, you must be prepared to fight as one cohesive unit. In my experience, men who are promoted too quickly tend to be poor leaders no matter HOW good they are at fighting. And you’ve been promoted VERY quickly. No offense.”

“None taken, ma’am.”

She put one hand on my shoulder. “Good. Because I’m only telling you this because I like you. You must always remember that a good officer must take his responsibilities more seriously than his privileges. You’re a good soldier, Grignr. I know you will do your duty.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“You’re free to go,” she said, “unless there’s something else you want to ask me.”

“Well, actually, I was going to ask for some archery training from the master-at-arms, but I see you’re rather busy at the moment.”

“True. It’s not like it’ll take me all night, though.” She smiled. “Meet me at the archery range at dawn tomorrow. I’ll give you a few pointers.”

I believe it was at that very moment – the simple promise of archery lessons – that I knew I was destined to be with her; that she was the love of my life. Or would be, as it were. It wasn’t so much concrete knowledge as it was intuitive – a fuzzy, vague…

…dull, throbbing pain that got clearer and more excruciating by the second. Then a cool, soothing liquid touching my lips…a slowly solidifying gray blur in front of my eyes…a familiar voice…

“Grignr! Lord Grignr! Are you alright, sera? Wake up!”

My vision (and my head) gradually began to clear. I could see Tedril Doren standing over me, holding one of my own home-brewed potions to my lips. I moved the flask away from my mouth and sat upright.

“It’s good to see you’re alright, sera,” said Doren. “You took a pretty nasty fall. Made a huge gash on the back of your head. We were able to take down the mer you were after.” He gestured toward the well-dressed smuggler’s lifeless corpse.

I rubbed my hand against the back of my head. There was still a muted, aching pain where I had fallen. “Is the cave secure?” I asked.

“All the smugglers are dead, sera,” he said. “Unfortunately, we’ve suffered a few losses of our own. Two dead – Arinith Sendal and Golam Vendal – plus three wounded, not counting you. They’re being tended to right now. One thing’s for sure, this wasn’t your usual den of run-of-the-mill drug runners. Sure, there were a few of your usual chumps, but make no mistake, these guys had professional help.”

“Camonna Tong?”

“Probably,” he answered. “It was a pretty big shipment of moon sugar – I reckon about two and a half tons worth, plus fifteen slaves for delivery purposes. They wanted to protect their investment.”

“That’s for sure,” I said. “Can I have a look at them?”

“A look at what, sera?”

“The slaves, Tedril. I’d like to ask them a few questions – see if they know anything.”

“As you wish. Right this way, sera.” He led me down a dim, torchlit passage to the pen where the slaves were kept.

This post has been edited by bbqplatypus: Nov 26 2008, 09:17 AM

[minque]

Hah! Imsin the D Grignr's wife to be? Now that's very nice, I like her that Nord-ess. She has a role in my story as well.

Continue this please...it's very interesting! Me likey!

S.G.M

[Marcel Rhodes]

I've seen a few theories about the whole Akavir debacle, but they don't always start this well.

I still haven't played through the Legion (I can't get used to having characters on the right side of the law) so this is a good new angle for me to read. Good stuff.

[bbqplatypus]

The slaves, like most slaves kept by smugglers, were in pitiful shape. Their quarters were cramped, poorly lit, and filthy – the only sanitation afforded to them within their wooden prison was a single bucket in which they were allowed to relieve themselves. The emaciated frames and glaze-eyed stares of these miserable and imprisoned beast-folk indicated that they had neither eaten nor slept very much. Though they didn’t seem to be much in the mood for questioning, I proceeded anyway.

“May I have your attention, please?” I called out to the miserable crowd. I was met with silence. A few of the slaves turned their gaze toward me – the rest ignored me.

I knew that this was about as much recognition as I was going to get, so I continued. “Is there anyone here who can tell me anything about how they got here? From which city were you sent? Where the smugglers were sending the slaves for delivery? Any signs you might have read? Conversations you may have overheard?”

As I expected, none of the slaves had anything to say. They either didn’t know anything or didn’t care enough to tell me. “Thank you for your cooperation,” I said sarcastically, and started toward the wooden gate.

“Wait!” a voice behind me cried out. “Don’t leave, serjo! Ri’Darsha knows some things that might interest you…”

I froze in my tracks and turned to face the slave who had addressed me. “Really?” I replied coolly. “And what does Ri’Darsha know?”

The Khajit grinned. “The smugglers try to hide these things from Ri’Darsha. When they took Ri’Darsha off the boat with the other slaves, they put a blindfold over his eyes so that he cannot see. But Ri’Darsha does not need his eyes to see what is happening around him. Ri’Darsha still has his ears, his nose, and his whiskers. He smells the bitter swamplands and feels the wooden planks beneath his feet. Then, in the cave, he hears a few words and names that the smugglers whisper to themselves. Words like ‘Gnaar Mok,’ ‘Othran,’ and ‘Gro-Bagrat.’ They talk about the sugar, and about the plantation. Sometimes they bring a slave out with them when they empty the bucket, and Ri’Darsha never sees that slave again. Ri’Darsha thinks they were delivering the sugar from the cave to the plantation, and they would make the slaves do it. And when the delivery is complete, they kill the slave. He does not think that there was anyone in the cave named Othran or Gro-Bagrat. They are from the plantation, he thinks. This is what the Nord wants to know, yes?”

I smiled and nodded. In truth, although I did indeed want every bit of information I could get from the slaves, this was not the main reason I had questioned them. I wanted to see which ones were observant enough to pick up on such details. I wanted to seek out the ones who had the qualities of a good agent – one who could spy on the shipping routes of the Camonna Tong. In short, I was looking for slaves like Ri'Darsha.

Just by looking into his eyes I could see a certain energy, visible even in his physically weakened state – a “glow” that showed that a shrewd, intelligent mind lay behind those eyes. Yes, Ri’Darsha would make an excellent agent. I just needed to pry him away from House Redoran.

I thanked the Khajit for his help and turned to speak with the lieutenant.

“Tedril…these slaves are considered contraband, correct?”

“Correct. They are now property of House Redoran.”

“And what does House Redoran typically do with slaves that have been seized as contraband?”

“Well, they’re auctioned off – unless there are exceptional circumstances involved. Why do you ask?”

“I’d like to purchase these slaves, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Sera?” Doren stared dumbfounded at me.

“You heard me. I’m willing to pay 15,000 drakes directly to the House Treasury in exchange for these slaves. I can guarantee that House Redoran won’t be able to auction them off for nearly that much, because it’s considerably more than they’re worth. Since I don’t have that much money in my pockets right now, you’ll have to settle for this certificate that promises that I shall deliver that gold within two days time.” I pulled a scroll out of my pack and began to write on it.

“But…I’m not…it’s not w-within my authority, muthsera!” he stammered.

“Why not? Auctions of government-seized property are usually conducted by a military officer, are they not?”

“W-well, yes, but –“

“Then this is perfectly within the limits of your authority! Simply deliver this note to your bosses and tell them that the contraband has been legally redistributed.”

“But –“

“That’s not a request, Doren.”

The lieutenant hung his head in defeat. “Very well, Hortator. It shall be done.”

“Good. Now, how are we in terms of hauling capability? Do we have enough men to carry these goods back to Gnisis?”

“We should have enough to do the job.”

“Splendid. Let’s bag and haul this contraband and head on home.”

The men began the task of carrying away the narcotics, while the slaves followed behind. A furry hand tapped me on the shoulder. It was Ri’Darsha.

“So…you are Ri’Darsha’s new master?”

“No,” I replied with a knowing grin. “You will be free once the men and I are finished, as will all the others. However, I do have a job for you…if you’re interested.”

“Ri’Darsha is listening.”

My smile grew wider. He would be a great agent indeed – one among many under my employ.

My mind was now made up. There would be no more lives wasted on these pointless raids. I’d had enough. It was time for me to take a risk for the sake of my countrymen. I had a plan…one in which Ri’Darsha would play a small part.

This post has been edited by bbqplatypus: Nov 26 2008, 09:16 AM

[bbqplatypus]

I've seen a few theories about the whole Akavir debacle, but they don't always start this well.

I still haven't played through the Legion (I can't get used to having characters on the right side of the law) so this is a good new angle for me to read. Good stuff.

Thanks for the compliment! I've done some writing before (mostly for school and whatnot), but this is the first fanfic I've ever attempted. I'm glad that people are enjoying it.

I like to think of Grignr as a basically lawful guy who grew up as a thief out of necessity. One thing I'd like to point out is the passage in the first chapter (second post) that implies that he was born under the sign of the Tower (the part where he's able to detect an enchantment). Sometimes he works his way around the law (as the last update proves). But he values the basic spirit of the law, which is what really counts anyway.

This post has been edited by bbqplatypus: Jul 30 2008, 02:46 AM

[bbqplatypus]

NOTE: Yes, I know Rethan Manor isn't as large in the game as it is portrayed here. I'm basing this off the Grandmaster of Hlaalu mod, plus the natural assumption that Grignr would expand upon the stronghold to fit his needs. This installment contains quite a bit of dialogue, an aspect of fiction writing with which I don't have a whole lot of experience. There's also some romance, which I have even LESS experience with. Anyway, I just hope you don't think it sucks.

Crossing my fingers,
BBQ Platypus




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Dagoth Ur paused momentarily for effect. He raised his hideous, clawed hand in front of his face, turned his palm inward and brought his fingers in one by one to make a fist, with the practiced debonair style and grace of a well-travelled troubadour strumming his lute. And then he spoke, his voice carrying the same terrifying calmness that it had before.

“It will all be decided here. I believe I will prevail. But I cannot be sure, and I am vain enough that, should I fall, I would wish to be remembered in my own words. So, if you have final questions you would ask, ask them now. I have final questions I would ask you, if you would answer.”

”You and I and all of Morrowind have waited three thousand years for this moment. A couple of questions should be no trouble at all.”

"My first question is…are you really Nerevar reborn?"

His voice, normally so composed and self-assured, seemed to hold the tiniest bit of doubt as he asked this.

“Listen carefully, Lord Dagoth, because I will say this only once. I do not like to repeat myself.” I removed my helmet briefly, wiping the sweat from my brow before continuing. “I am a self-made hero. I follow my own path and make my own destiny. I am no mere puppet of fate, prophecy, or the et’Ada. But the prophets have said that the spirit of Nerevar will return to inhabit a champion who shall defeat you in battle and bring an end to your reign of terror. And I AM going to kill you, Voryn, whether you believe it or not. Therefore, I AM Lord Nerevar reborn. And I shall prove it to you, to Morrowind, and to all the world on this day. The gods and fate have deemed that it is the destiny of the Nerevarine to kill the devil and sunder the false gods from the source of their unholy power. But it is by my hand, and NOT the gods and fate, that you shall fall.”

Chapter III

It took me but an instant to teleport from Gnisis back to Rethan Manor, my home; the first true home I had ever known in my life. And what a beautiful home it was – a practical castle in the true Dunmer tradition, unadorned as it was by unnecessary spires, staircases, or any of the typical signs of Imperial excess – just a few economically placed sentry towers that loomed overhead. It rose above the lush, verdant ocean of grass that blanketed the Odai Plateau, watching over the land – an oasis of justice in a desert of Hlaalu corruption. To see the sun set upon it, as it was doing now, was truly a marvelous sight.

But I had no time to take in the sunset. I materialized just inside the outer walls of the stronghold and made my way to the manor proper, leading Ri’Darsha by the wrist. Guards, both Hlaalu and Imperial, greeted and saluted me as I passed. In addition to being my home, it also served as a headquarters of sorts for all my political and Legion business. The compound was usually quite busy as a result, and today was no exception. Soldiers, nobles, merchants, and commoners alike walked about the courtyard, going about their business even as the daylight waned.

“So many people working for you, sera…” Ri’Darsha whispered into my ear. “What is it you want from poor old Ri’Darsha that all these men cannot do? Nothing illegal, he hopes…”

I cracked another smile. This Khajit never ceased to amaze me. “Not exactly,” I said quietly. “We’ll discuss it in my chambers when I meet with my advisors.”

“Ah, a very secretive Nord, this one…”

We entered the manor itself and made our way to the Legion office, where Imsin the Dreamer, my wife and second-in-command (as a Knight of the Garland), worked. From there, she dealt with garrison business for the House and Imperial troops stationed here, and also took over my duties while I was away (as I did for her while she was away). However, she had been confined to her office more often than usual lately, for she was with child, and had been for almost six months now.

The sentries at the door parted to let me through. I turned back to Ri’Darsha. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a moment.”

“As you wish, muthsera.”

I stepped into the office. Imsin was at her desk, dutifully looking over and filling out forms. Paperwork: the bane of every officer’s existence. She looked up from her work to see who had entered.

“Good evening, my dear,” I greeted her.

Imsin practically leapt straight from her desk into my arms to embrace me. “It is good to see you again, darling,” she said. “I’ve missed you so much. I wish I could go on these raids with you...”

“So do I,” I said softly. “But we cannot risk the child.”

“I know.” She looked down and put her hand on her pregnant belly. “I probably wouldn't even be able to make it that long without food. I can feel it moving and growing inside me more and more as the days go by. Listen…”

I bent downward and put my ear against her stomach. I heard a single soft thump…and then a second…and a third in quick succession. The baby was kicking – and it was kicking pretty often, too.

“Well…this seems to be quite the energetic little one. I know it will grow to be strong.” I slowly rose to look Imsin in the eye. “Like her mother.” I kissed her on the lips. We smiled at each other.

“So…how’s business with the Legion?” I murmured, still embracing her.

“Oh…nothing much…of interest,” she whispered to me in between passionate kisses. “General Darius says that they’ve brought in…Imperial geologists…to map out the…cave system…on the River Samsi. At Fort Moonmoth…they’re dealing with a gang of…highwaymen based outside Balmora. In Ebonheart it’s…business as usual, but Fort Wolverine…is noticing more smuggling…activity…going on lately. Raesa Pullia at Fort Buckmoth says that they just took down a…group of…stop it! That tickles! Necromancers.”

“Yes…she seems to have done a pretty good job over at Fort Buckmoth since I stole you away from there…”

But as I moved in to kiss her again, she backed off slightly and looked over my shoulder. “Who’s your friend?” she asked, gesturing toward the door.

I looked back and saw a fairly embarrassed-looking Khajit peeking through the door, which he was holding slightly ajar.

“He’s a new associate of mine,” I said, barely managing to stifle my laughter. Then I called out to him. “You might as well come on in, Ri’Darsha!”

He slowly slunk into the room looking rather sheepish, with his ears sinking downward and his tail twitching nervously. “Ri’Darsha is sorry for intruding, milord.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for, my friend,” I assured him.

“Speak for yourself,” Imsin muttered under her breath.

“Now now – let’s be nice to the poor fellow,” I chided her. “It was an honest mistake. Still, I am curious…how did you manage to get a peek at us without the guards noticing?”

“The sharpest eye can be stricken blind by the right distraction, sera.” The Khajit grinned mischievously.

“Hmm…I think we’d better leave it at that. I get the feeling I don’t want to know. Regardless, I think I’m going to have a talk with those guards on the basics of sentry duty.”

Imsin glared suspiciously at him. “So…Ri’Darsha, is it? What sort of duty were you hired for, I wonder?”

“Ri’Darsha is not sure. Master Grignr has not told him yet.”

Imsin redirected her steel-hard gaze at me. “You haven’t even TOLD this poor Khajit what he’s doing here?”

“I needed to wait for the correct moment to do so,” I explained calmly. “His work is going to involve some sensitive information, and I simply hadn’t enough privacy to tell him about it on the way here. I think now would be a good time, seeing as how there’s nobody else here.”

“Go ahead, then. Tell Ri’Darsha what he is supposed to do.”

“Very well.” I cleared my throat and addressed the Khajit. “Now, what I am about to tell you is highly classified information. It must not leave this room. Do not reveal it to anyone unless I say you can reveal it to them. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I'll get right to the point, then. I am an agent of Imperial intelligence – a member of the Blades. I am, in fact, the acting Spymaster of the Vvardenfell District. I’m not particularly active or involved as a spy – for the most part, my fellow spies go about their business autonomously. Still, I have the authority and responsibility to serve as the eyes and ears of the Empire, as a representative of law and justice. I also consider it my duty to monitor the activities of Imperial and Dunmer officials themselves, to ensure that they stay true to the ideals on which this government was founded, serving the people rather than themselves. I am the one who watches the watchers.

“I am telling you this because I wish to make you an associate of the Blades. I do not have the authority to officially make you an agent – only the Emperor can do that. Still, you will be an Agent in all but name, and you’ll be well-paid for your service – 300 drakes a week. Understand, however, that you will be putting your life on the line. Do you accept?”

Ri’Darsha bowed his head to me in respect. “Ri’Darsha already owes you his life. Ri’Darsha would consider it an honor to work for you as a spy.”

“Excellent. You will be assigned to monitor Camonna Tong activities and shipments in Telvanni country, under the guise of a slave working in the town square. Sadrith Mora will serve as your base of operations – I have many such agents working in other important port towns, and I already have a few contacts in Telvanni territory who will help you get started. You’ll have the authority to employ additional help should you need it, and will also be expected to make recommendations of the use of force against suspected hideout locations.”

“So…Ri’Darsha will be looking for the sugar and the skooma, yes?”

“Not exactly. While severely restricting the flow of narcotics into Vvardenfell is our ultimate goal, you won’t be looking for drugs per se. Moon sugar and other such contraband can easily be hidden among normal goods, and can even be sent in smaller shipments to areas of shoreline far from the cities while still remaining a viable enterprise. Instead, I want you to keep an eye on the slave trade. As you know, slaves are a vital part of the Camonna Tong’s delivery network. If we could follow the slaves that the Camonna Tong are using, we’d be able to find their hideouts much more easily. You’ll need to look for a few telltale signs – frequent repeat business at the slave market, members of House Hlaalu with no good reason to be in Telvanni country, boats docked either outside or in the most remote areas of the harbor – those sorts of things. Do you think you’re up to the task?”

Ri’Darsha nodded.

“Good. You will leave for Sadrith Mora in one week’s time. In the meantime, there is a special task that I would like for you to do for me. I will tell you what that task is when the time comes. Right now, however, I must leave. I will return later.”

Imsin spoke up. “Why? Where are you going?”

“I have to speak with a few important officials and schedule a meeting,” I replied. “I have important plans that I wish to discuss with them. Your presence will be required as well. You two can have dinner in the meantime – the servants can probably cook something up for you. I’m sure you must be starving.”

Imsin shrugged. “Well, I have been doing an awful lot of paperwork…”

“Ri’Darsha has not eaten in three days,” my new spy cheerfully interjected.

And with that, I left the room and made my way for Ebonheart.

This post has been edited by bbqplatypus: Nov 18 2008, 04:57 AM

[Black Hand]

Wow. Just finished reading this thing, and its very good BBQ. I like Ri'Darsha, and Grignir isnt an uber-warrior nerevarine, I like that.

[bbqplatypus]

Wow. Just finished reading this thing, and its very good BBQ. I like Ri'Darsha, and Grignir isnt an uber-warrior nerevarine, I like that.

Thanks. I like writing dialogue for Ri'Darsha - it's a lot of fun to do. But the encouragement really helps.

FYI, I do think that in real life (er, the "real" Tamriel, at least), Grignr actually WOULD be considered to be an uber-warrior (he's strong, intelligent, a master swordsman, and whatnot). But not even an uber-warrior is totally invincible, and there are limits to what a human can do. It's sort of like the movie Road House - there's this one scene where Patrick Swayze (a world-famous bouncer who by this point in the movie has established himself as an uber-badass) isn't able to take on a whole bunch of thugs at once, so he needs Sam Elliot to come in and save him. And then one of the thugs says to Sam Elliot, "You wanna fight, d*ckless?" and Sam Elliot says, "Well, I sure ain't gonna show you my d*ck." And then he roundhouse kicks the guy in the face and...

Whoa. Sorry. Kinda got a little off-track there. Road House is my favorite movie - I try to mention it or quote it at least once a day. Hell, I'm watching it right now. I know what you mean, though - it's very hard to avoid turning a warrior-type character into a Gary Stu.

This post has been edited by bbqplatypus: Jul 31 2008, 07:47 PM

[Black Hand]

I mean the Dark Armor wearing person who breathes out frost on a hot summer day that never gets hit and deals out death like a gypsy deals cards.

That is I like characters with humanity and weakness.

[bbqplatypus]

You know, on that same subject I was ranting about, this story does bear a couple similarities to Road House. Grignr's kinda like Patrick Swayze's character Dalton, and House Hlaalu is kinda like the Double Deuce - a wretched hive of scum and villainy that needs to be cleaned up by a strong leader. And Orvas Dren is like Brad Wesley - the bad guy who makes money in an illegal fashion while the townspeople are powerless to stop him (his henchmen don't drive a monster truck, though).

Man, I'm sorely tempted to write a scene that begins with Grignr saying "I'm gonna give it to you straight - it's my way or the highway." Or maybe he gets wounded and refuses treatment and says "Pain don't hurt." Perhaps he'll run into a couple of "trustees of modern chemistry" who are "too stupid to have a good time."

A polar bear fell on me!

This post has been edited by bbqplatypus: Aug 2 2008, 06:22 AM

[Black Hand]

Interesting points...does that have anything to do with your new avatar?

[bbqplatypus]

Interesting points...does that have anything to do with your new avatar?

Yep. The pic you're looking at right now is that of the Swayze-monster himself.

[bbqplatypus]

NOTE: A reminder that this story sucks and isn't worth your time.

Love and hugs,
BBQ Platypus




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Three days later we gathered in the Grand Council Chambers in Ebonheart – Imsin and Ri’Darsha were there, along with the two Hlaalu Councilmen I felt I could trust completely – Duke Vedam Dren and Crassius Curio. All of them sat at a simple round wooden table that had been brought in for the occasion. The doors surrounding the chamber were locked, and the sentries on the staircases stood guard just outside of earshot. This meeting had to be conducted in absolute secrecy – I couldn’t risk tipping my hand.

I was the last of the people assembled to take my seat. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, Councilman Cur – er, I mean, Uncle Crassius. Your Grace.” I gestured toward Crassius and Duke Dren as I acknowledged them.

“Oh, it was really no trouble at all, pumpkin,” the flamboyant Imperial replied. “It’s not like I live very far away. And it’s HIS castle, after all!” He beamed widely.

“What’s this about, Grignr?” the Duke inquired with one eyebrow raised. His very expression made it clear that he was in no mood for such frivolities.

“Your brother, milord. And the Camonna Tong in general.” I addressed the Duke with the reverence and respect with which subjects traditionally give royalty, even though I held at least as much power as he did. The fact that I respected him so tremendously as a person probably had something to do with it.

The royal stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm…well, I can see why you wanted to keep this meeting a secret, then. Still, I thought my brother effectively handed control of the Tong over to you.”

“Officially, yes. Effectively, no. He still controls and coordinates all of its operations.”

“Ah. It figures that he would make such an arrangement. Frankly, it would have surprised me more if that weren’t the case. Now…what about the Camonna Tong do you wish to discuss, sera?”

“Well, as all of you know, I’ve been coordinating a series of House and Legion raids along the coast of this island, looking for smugglers caves. These missions are basically being conducted on a search-and-destroy basis – we look in a vague general area and hope there are caves there. As you can guess, it hasn’t been very effective.”

“Patrols along the Bitter Coast by the Moonmoth Legion alone have gone up 300 percent, and we’re not even making a substantial dent in the drug trade,” Imsin piped in.

“Demand has a tendency to create its own supply, sweetie,” Crassius said, shaking his head sadly. “Anyone who's ever taken a look at all the streetwalkers in the St. Olms Canalworks could tell you that. Not that your old Uncle Crassius would know anything about it…”

“True. We’ll never be able to truly stop the flow of illegal moon sugar into Morrowind. But we CAN stop the intrusion of the Camonna Tong and their ilk into the upper echelon of House Hlaalu. And Orvas Dren is the key to stopping it.”

The Duke looked at me with a skeptical expression on his face. “Really? And how’s that?”

I smiled. “Blackmail. You see, a couple nights ago, I had my personal courier here run a little errand for me in Suran...or thereabouts. And wouldn't you know it - something very interesting happened along the way. Perhaps Ri’Darsha would explain this best.” I gestured toward the Khajit.

“Certainly, milord,” Ri’Darsha said, his usual devious smirk spread across his face. “Ri’Darsha was returning home from...buying some fruit...when he passed by the Dren Plantation. But Ri’Darsha was getting lonely and wanted someone to talk to, so he started up a little chat with an Argonian slave returning from the fields.

“The Argonian invited Ri’Darsha to come into the manor and enjoy his master’s hospitality. So Ri’Darsha let himself in. He also recommended a very interesting letter for him to read, so Ri’Darsha went to the basement and brought it home for the Grandmaster. The Grandmaster is quite a bookworm, you see. Such a shame, though – the Argonian’s master did not show Ri’Darsha any of the famed Hlaalu hospitality. They never even noticed he was in the house.”

“Thank you, Ri’Darsha.” I cleared my throat and pulled a parchment from the folds of my Grandmaster’s Robe.

“Ranes and Navil,
You have served me well over the years. My brother has been trying to stop our business. We've lost over half our shipments recently. The Duke may be my brother, but if he keeps interfering I am afraid he must be killed. I will be next in line and can consolidate my power before the Redorans even come up with a candidate. I am telling you this so that you know the risks you may be taking. If you are unwilling, I will accept your word of honor not to speak of our business. If you stay, I will reward you.

~D”

“Lovely little note, isn’t it?”

The Duke stood out of his chair and pounded his fist on the table in anger. “That fetcher! I’ll have his HEAD for this!”

I raised my finger at him. “Ah, but then we wouldn’t be able to bring down everything he’s worked so hard to build. I plan on blackmailing your brother into telling me everything he knows about the Tong. I’m placing particular emphasis on the names of major members and associates with positions in major organizations. The Fighters Guild, for instance. Faced with being executed for treason and conspiracy, he’ll have no choice but to offer his full cooperation. Now, I’ve personally written two exact duplicates of this letter, one for each of you. This is in case anything goes wrong with the negotiation process.”

“And what are we going to do with the members that he identifies?” Imsin inquired. “We won’t be able to arrest a lot of them – they hold too much power!”

“I’ve already thought of that. We will deal with them the way the Dunmer have always dealt with such matters – through the Morag Tong.”

“Hmm…I like many things about this plan,” said the Duke. “And I don't think Dram Bero will have any problems with it, either. But what about Nevena Ules and Velenda Omani? They are Camonna Tong as well, and they represent damn near half our council!”

“Ules and Omani are cowards. When they see what has happened to the mer who bullies them around, they will capitulate immediately. Still, it would be a good idea to expel them from the council. I would suggest House Brother Relen Hlaalu and House Cousin Hlodala Savel, my savant, as replacements.”

The table fell silent.

“Look, I know this plan carries many risks. But they are the sort of risks that every leader must take. Those who stand for justice will always have many enemies. By standing against them, there is a possibility that we will make new enemies in the process. But I would rather have many weak enemies than a few powerful ones. Right now, we have in our hands the weapon that could wipe out corruption in this district. Without a leader, the Camonna Tong would collapse under the weight of petty squabbles between would-be kingpins. No longer will criminals hold sway over this Great House! The people would finally be able to trust those who have tasked to protect them and honor their laws! We may not be able to put a stop to trafficking, but we CAN stop it from permeating our government! Who among us is willing to actually FIGHT for that which they claim to represent!? Have we NO courage at all?”

For a few agonizing moments, all was silent. And then, finally, Imsin spoke up. “I will do whatever your plan requires, Grignr. You know that I would follow you through nine hells if you asked it of me.”

After a brief pause, the Duke rose from his seat. “I will go along with your plan, Lord Grignr.”

“As will I,” Crassius interjected.

Although my expression remained grim and determined, I could feel the faintest hint of a smile begin to creep across my face.

This post has been edited by bbqplatypus: Mar 7 2014, 07:01 AM

[canis216]

Nice work. I'm always a little slow to review new stories and new writers, so my praise always come in a little late, but I must say that you've got a good thing going here. The writing is tidy and organized, the story intriguing. I'm looking forward to following this.

[bbqplatypus]

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Seriously, why are you still even here? I've already told you I've disowned this story..


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


"Go ahead. Stare. Marvel at my own mortality – the way I defy your preconceived notions, but then, when you REALLY look closely, turn out to be everything you thought I’d be. Feel free to state your thoughts out loud. Tell all your friends that there’s just something special about me – you can just see it. As if you would have noticed had you passed me on the street back when I was just a young, wet-eared pauper.

'Is that REALLY the Nerevarine?'

'It can’t be – the stories say he is eleven feet tall, with the glowing bronze skin of our ancestors.'

'They say he can kill a man jes’ by starin’ at ‘im. And he jes’ stared at YOU.'

'No, that’s him. Has to be. Look at him…the way he stands, walks, wears his armor…that man was born a Hero.'

Yes, it is true. I was born the incarnation of Lord Nerevar. But do not make the mistake of thinking that I was born a Hero. I did not always possess the innate qualities that you claim to see in me.

Nobody, not even Lord Nerevar, is born a Hero – you will never find a Hero within the soul of a newborn. This is because the Hero is not born from the womb as mortals are, nor is he defined by his personality, his character, or even his soul. In fact, it is best not to view the Hero as a man at all, but as an ideal – a path to be walked down. For the Hero, being and becoming are one and the same, for it is not the mortal soul that defines the Hero, but his deeds. Once the Event has come to pass, the world will know of the Hero and his greatness – because he has become the Hero, he always was and always will be. But he never would have been had he not brought himself into being. As the proverb says: 'Walk like them until they must walk like you.' The Hero did not exist until someone took on his mantle by imitating him.

The Hero is naught but legend; yet the stories of his exploits describe him better, and will last longer, than the mortal who carries his legend ever could. More people will know the Hero than will ever know the man. So if you have seen me in person, let your friends know the truth.

Tell them I am eleven feet tall."

- Excerpt from Collected Wisdom of the Nerevarine


Chapter IV

I strode toward Dren Plantation in full armor, with my sword by my side. There was no point in adhering to the usual softness and niceties of negotiation here. I meant business, and I was prepared for war in the event that my offer was refused. And I had a sneaking suspicion that Orvas Dren did not want me here.

I had hired a few scouts to case the place the night before. It seemed there were fewer guards than usual present in the compound, likely due to the increased security required in the far-flung smuggler's caves along the coast. The Tong's shipping operations were decentralizing, and the time to strike, it seemed, was right now. However, I did not expect to walk in there unopposed.

And sure enough, as I approached his villa, I was accosted by two angry-looking Dunmer, each dressed in black from head to toe. Both of them carried what appeared to be enchanted glass shortblades.

“You are not welcome here, outlander,” snarled the one on the left. “Leave this place now, or you shall die where you stand!”

I stared deeply into the mer’s eyes, maintaining an expression of complete calm. “I only wish to discuss business with the master of this plantation.”

“And yet you come dressed for war,” he noted.

“I am a soldier by vocation. War is my business. Will your employer speak with me?”

“Orvas Dren does not wish to speak with you. Go away.”

“Hmm…pity. Perhaps I should send someone else to deal with him, then. Someone carrying a different sort of contract…” I glanced knowingly at the Dunmer to my left (as he seemed to be the brains of the outfit), making sure he got a full grasp of my meaning.

“You seek to threaten Orvas Dren?” The Dunmer’s red eyes flared.

“I don’t make threats, sera…only promises.” I subtly moved my right hand toward Trueflame. I could sense that this would not end peacefully.

I snuck a glance at the thug on the right. Although his physique was tough and brutish, his body language was submissive, with just a hint of insecurity about it. I knew his type well – sycophantic, dim-witted, and easy to prod into foolish action. I put on a smug sneer. “Well, what say you, friend? Do you do any talking, or do you just follow him around like his little pet? You wouldn’t happen to be sleeping together, would you?” I asked in the most mocking tone I could muster. Even the feeblest and most juvenile of insults can hurt like a thousand daggers when it is well-delivered.

He hissed with rage and drew his shortblade. Exactly the reaction I was hoping for.

Fortunately, I was prepared. By the time his hand had reached his sword, I had already drawn mine. I made short work of him, slicing open his stomach. He writhed in pain as Trueflame’s fire enchantment boiled away his innards. Now I had only one adversary to deal with.

The other Dunmer proved to be more of a challenge, however. He dodged and darted around me swiftly, making quick jabs at me with his shortsword before ducking out of range. We moved back and forth across the grounds in front of the villa, with me only having enough time to deflect his strikes.

Then, as he leaned in to attack me again, I parried his blow with such force that I knocked him on his back. I took advantage of the opportunity as best I could and swung my sword downward toward his heart. Unfortunately, he was able to roll out of the way, and he somersaulted back onto his feet.

Still, I struck quickly, thus seizing the initiative. The Dunmer had only barely managed to escape, and he was now on his heels. I now controlled the direction in which the battle would go. Slowly, through precision strikes that took advantage of my own momentum, I was able to back him against the wall of the villa. Though he tried as best he could to block with his glittering jinkblade, I needed to get through his defenses only once to run him through.

With the way now clear, I dusted myself off and entered the villa.

This post has been edited by bbqplatypus: Mar 7 2014, 07:02 AM

[mplantinga]

Interesting story so far. I really like the idea of filling in the Nerevarine's story during this time period, and I think you're off to a great start. Your Nerevarine is bold, confident, intelligent, powerful, yet vulnerable, which makes for great depth of character. I'm certainly looking forward to his confrontation with Dren.

[bbqplatypus]

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Suck suck suck suck suck. Ass ass ass ass ass.



I entered slowly, carefully surveying my surroundings as I crossed the threshold. Turning my head slowly and deliberately, I scanned the entirety of the entry room for guards and traps – from the pale stone floor to the lofty ceilings, to the unassuming corners, behind the ornate wood furniture and the brightly colored tapestries. Strangely, no weapons of any kind - living, mechanical, or magical - were there to welcome me. Most people would find this to be an encouraging development. Not me. I smelled an ambush.

So I inched my way across the foyer and ascended the staircase to Dren’s chambers with even greater caution than usual. Yet I still encountered no resistance on my way up the staircase, from Dren’s thugs or otherwise. And the door that led to Orvas’s chambers – where he himself was no doubt waiting for me – appeared to be unlocked! I checked the mechanism three times for traps before I opened it. I practically tip-toed my way through.

And then, out of the corner of my eye, I could see it – a glint of black. A razor-sharp ebony blade making a beeline for my throat. Time seemed to slow down. An eternity seemed to pass before…

CLANG!

In a split second, I had somehow managed to duck and bring my shield just high enough to re-direct the blow toward my shoulder, where my Daedric pauldron was able to absorb the damage. Had this battle taken place but a year before, I would have been a dead man. Fortunately, blocking was practically a reflexive action for me now. Even so, I was lucky to have survived.

I turned to face my assailant. It was Orvas Dren himself, clad in a full suit of orcish armor. “Prepare to die, meddler!” he snarled, brandishing his longsword with an elegant flourish.

I took advantage of his posturing, however, knocking the now-unbalanced weapon out of his hand with a single blow and sending it flying across the room. I then shifted weight and kicked him to the floor.

I planted my foot on his torso and sneered at him. “If you were planning on killing me, serjo, you should have just done it and dispensed with the showboating.” I leaned in closer, preparing to start my interrogation, when I noticed something. He wasn’t glaring or grimacing at me – he was smiling…and staring over my shoulder…

I did an about face, expecting to see the whole of Dren’s guards come to face me. Instead, I saw a single guard wearing ebony armor and hefting a Daedric shield.

Almost in spite of myself, I laughed. “What? There’s only ONE of you?”

Leaning forward, I charged (or rather, walked briskly – I was indoors, after all). As formidable as my opponent was, I was really more annoyed (yet at the same time, excited) than I was frightened. I don’t know why this was – perhaps it was the famed Nordic thirst for battle awakening within me. Or maybe I was simply tired of having to deal with thugs like him. Whatever the reason, I attacked with more energy, more aggression, and less restraint than usual.

The guard seemed quite taken aback by this. I imagine this was because he was not used to fighting someone who wasn’t intimidated by him – he was well-armed and incredibly muscular. But as strong as he was, I had fought many stronger enemies, and after a disappointingly short period of time, the battle was over.

As the guard’s head rolled out the door and down the staircase, I again turned to face Dren. As I suspected, he was crawling quietly toward his weapon. I walked over calmly and stepped on the blade just as he was about to reach for it.

I looked down at the drug lord and smirked. “I wouldn’t touch that if I were you. You could hurt someone.”

The Dunmer glared at me, his eyes seething with boundless hatred. “Well, what are you waiting for? Get on with it, s’wit! Kill me!”

“Kill you? Why in blazes would I want to do that? I have a business proposition for you, Sera Dren.”

“Whatever it is, my answer is no.”

“Really? That’s a shame. I was really hoping you’d say yes. If only there were some way I could force you to cooperate…for instance, if I were somehow able to implicate you in some sort of crime. Conspiracy to commit murder, perhaps? Throw in a bit of treason…maybe a dash of attempted fratricide? Why, I’d be able to get you to do anything. Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

Dren’s eyes widened with fear. “Y-you can’t…you have no proof…!”

“I can and I do. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. One of my associates took the liberty of rummaging through your personal correspondence, and found a most interesting letter. I have a duplicate right here, if you’d like to read it. But then again, I suppose you already know what it says. You wrote it, after all.”

“Fine! Tell my brother all about it! I don’t care! I’m prepared to go into hiding! I’m even ready to face the executioner! But I will NOT cooperate with you, you Imperial dog!”

“As it happens, I’ve already TOLD your brother. And yes, it’s true that I am authorized to use lethal force against you if absolutely necessary. But we don’t plan on killing you, Orvas. After all, that’s exactly what you want, isn’t it? No, we’ll just put you to sleep…” I pulled a sedative-laced dart from my pack, “...and we’ll take you away, leaving you at the mercy of the Duke’s guards. You’ll experience pain as you’ve never experienced it before. They’ll do things to you that you can’t even imagine.” I drummed my fingers and paused for effect. “Or maybe they won’t. Maybe they’ll just strap a pair of bracers on you and send you to work in the mines, alongside the beast-folk and outlanders you hate so much. Perhaps they’ll do both. Whatever suits the Duke’s fancy.”

"N-no...this can't be happening..." The Dunmer’s face quivered with panic for a moment before exploding with rage. “You...you BASTARD! You lying, scheming son of a snake! I KNEW I shouldn’t have trusted you! I should have KNOWN you were lying when you promised to drive the Empire from Morrowind!”

I grinned. “Why, whatever are you talking about? I made no such promise, serjo.”

“Yes you did! It was the only reason I agreed to name you Hortator!”

“Oh, you’re referring to that little incident. Well, you should really learn to listen more carefully, serjo. What I said was that I would rid the land of Imperial corruption and oppression once and for all. Completely different from Imperial control itself.

“But I wouldn’t expect you to know the difference, Sera Dren. To you, control goes hand in hand with corruption and oppression. You derive your very power through fear, crime, exploitation, and death. Face it, Dren – you don’t hate the Empire because of your pride in Dunmer tradition. You hate them because they’re cutting in on your action!”

“LIES!” he screamed. “And besides, I can never talk! People will suspect…they will come after me!”

“Well, then, leave the island. As a matter of fact, I recommend you skip the province entirely. I have a few shares of an ebony mine up in Raven Rock that I’m willing to sell you. Solthsteim is really quite nice at this time of year. A bit chilly, of course, but quite lovely nonetheless. How does 500 drakes sound?”

Dren stood there, fuming silently. Then, after about a minute, he finally spoke. “Fine. Hand me a quill and let’s get this over with.”

I have killed gods. I have survived Hircine’s Hunt. I have saved all of Morrowind twice. But of all my accomplishments, none felt as satisfying as sitting in that room, watching Orvas Dren sign document after document, compiling list after list, destroying his entire criminal empire with a few strokes of his pen. And then, after it all was over, to have HIM hand me a sack of gold…I could not help but grin like a Scamp.

This post has been edited by bbqplatypus: Mar 7 2014, 07:03 AM