Trey in Mournhold, Chapter 4 Options

[Soulseeker3.0]

Veyr nice addition and I agree with Minque, a spooky atmosphere. Great job Trey and please keep up the good work.

[treydog]

With the knowledge of the strength of the Temple’s opposition to Helseth burning inside of me, I turned to the next phase of my plan. That next phase was to be the clever part, the part which allowed me to deceive Fedris Hler, thus protecting my delicate skin. At least, that was the idea. The reality was nearly the opposite, as I let my smart mouth talk me into yet another near-death experience. I made my way to the administrative offices, secure in the knowledge that I could handle whatever menial task the Archcanon had in mind. When I reached Gavas Drin’s sumptuous office, my eyes were first drawn to his remarkable collection of books, and my fingers twitched as I resisted the impulse to examine them more closely. With a quick shake of my head, I turned my attention to the office’s living occupants. Gavas Drin was relatively young for his high office, but he wore his authority with ease. His dignity and power were in marked contrast to the other elf in the room, a rather weedy Dunmer priest who introduced himself as Urvel Dulni. The young priest’s ink-stained robes and near-sighted gaze practically screamed “scholar” and “book-worm,” but there was an indefinable hint of some hidden power surrounding him, as well.

After the introductions were completed, I explained that the Steward had sent me to assist in some task. The Archcanon raised a questioning eyebrow and made some remark about the tardiness of my response. I had expected that reaction and quickly replied that the rigors of my struggle to rid Mournhold of the goblin menace had necessitated several days to overcome. Then I added,

“In any event, I am here now and ready to serve.”

Gavas Drin stopped just short of rolling his eyes at my rather pompous pronouncement and said,

“Yes, well. Beneath this Temple, there is a large sewer system, built around the ruins of Old Mournhold. You smell like you may have spent some time there.... Regardless, in these ruins, there lies a shrine. This shrine has been corrupted.”

This did not sound good, but I simply gritted my teeth in a parody of a smile and said,

“Oh, a corrupted shrine. How interesting. Please, tell me more.”

Drin either did not notice or did not care that my answer was lacking in proper religious fervor and continued,

“The Shrine of the Dead was once a place of great power. It served as a channel to the ancestors, allowing the faithful to learn from them...to harness their power. Over the years, it has been forgotten, and it has grown sour. The power that radiates from the shrine has drawn hordes of the undead to it. The Shrine of the Dead must be cleansed.”

I managed to avoid my first impulse, which was to say something like, “How unfortunate, I must have left my corrupted shrine cleaning kit in my spare robes.”

Instead, I politely pointed out that I had no idea of how to go about cleansing a shrine. Gavas Drin snorted and said,

“No... certainly not you. This task falls to one of Almalexia's chosen. You will escort this young priest, Urvel Dulni, to the shrine. Protect him well, Trey. His experience is limited, but he is necessary to complete the ritual. The Shrine is protected by the Profane, powerful liches who feed from the power of the shrine. You must destroy them for Dulni to perform his duties. I stress again...protect Dulni at all costs. It is he who must perform the ceremony. If he is not able, there are no others.”

I wondered what Dulni had done to annoy Almalexia, but I had no chance to ask him, for when I turned to leave, he was nowhere to be seen.

As it turned out, he had not gone far, just into the outer hallway, where he awaited me. Ignoring him, I berated myself for my attempt at cleverness while I enumerated the “blessings” that the Temple had just bestowed upon me. First, I got to go down into the sewers- again. Once there, I would find a bunch of the undead (have I ever told you how I feel about the undead?) But these would not be your common, garden-variety, shuffling-around-in-tombs, ripping-you-apart-and-eating-you undead. Oh no, it was better. There were liches. For anyone who does not know, a lich is the reanimated corpse of a powerful mage who believed that death should not stop a person from continuing to accumulate magical power. And not only must I go into the midst of those malevolent, fireball-throwing, inhumanly-strong refugees from a cemetery- I had to take along a stuttering, pasty-faced priest who said things like, “Oh my, oh, mercy me.” Oh, and just to put the finishing touch on it all, I stank.

I had gotten myself into this situation and I would just have to make the best of it. The first thing to do was scout things out. No, actually the first thing to do was buy arrows- lots of arrows. If there were undead down there, I preferred to deal with them from as far away as possible. In any event, I was going to do my scouting alone. There was no way I was going into a life-and-undeath struggle with a walking liability like Urvel Dulni tagging along. Still, it was not Urvel’s fault that he was so unsuited for the task he had been given, so I was as kind as possible when I asked him to wait until I had checked on a few things. He stammered his agreement and disappeared somewhere in the Temple corridors. I took a short detour to the Bazaar, where I left the fletcher much wealthier, and then made my way into the Temple basement, from which I would find access to the sewers. The basement itself was of interest to me, as it was crammed full of sacks, crates, and baskets. I re-arranged the containers to improve the esthetic appeal of the basement and a few random alchemical ingredients accidentally fell into my pockets. And who was I to turn down the gifts that providentially came my way? All right, I admit it- I robbed the Temple basement. The truth was, stealing gave me a thrill that combat and magic never did. My recent turn of fortune had depressed me. Some people go shopping when they are depressed, and so did I- only at a one hundred percent discount. Besides, even if the Temple caught me, what would they do? Maybe throw me into a stinking pit to fight a bunch of undead, brain-rotted wizards? The way I figured it, the rewards the Temple handed out tended to be of the hearty-slap-on-the-back, we’ll remember-you-in-our-prayers sort. Call me hopelessly cynical, but I preferred a more tangible form of payment.

[Burnt Sierra]

Another excellent update to one of the most impressive, and certainly consistent, Morrowind stories. Amazing to think, that after all this time, so many updates, that the quality has never once flagged.

I struggle to post replies as much as I'd like to these days, but I still get a little quiver of excitement when I see a Trey update, and they're always devoured eagerly.

[Kiln]

Wow, I'm really surprised that this hasn't gotten alot of comments...but I guess most people are busy with Oblivion right now and can't break from it. I liked Trey's overall mood in this update, the little remarks he makes in his mind but manages to hold in.

The part when Trey notices the book collection made me smile, something about him not being able to read those books when he wants to seems almost like torture for the character.

Keep up the awesome work Trey.

[minque]

Another excellent update to one of the most impressive, and certainly consistent, Morrowind stories. Amazing to think, that after all this time, so many updates, that the quality has never once flagged.

I struggle to post replies as much as I'd like to these days, but I still get a little quiver of excitement when I see a Trey update, and they're always devoured eagerly. 

Agree with my fellow mod here....a new Trey just makes my day!!!! I usually buckle up with coffee and some goodies to get a moment of total joy!

[canis216]

Fabulous post, Treydog. I've really enjoyed reading Trey's story. I actually just registered at this forum just so I could compliment your work (I can't believe your work doesn't get more comments!).

This post has been edited by canis216: Mar 28 2006, 03:25 AM

[minque]

Fabulous post, Treydog. I've really enjoyed reading Trey's story. I actually just registered at this forum just so I could compliment your work (I can't believe your work doesn't get more comments!).

I have followed he Story of Trey from the beginning....and it is a loooooooooong story, also the inspiration to many of us to start writing. Oh aye, me too! If it hadn´t been for Trey, I´d never even come to think of writing a story and then post it for others to read!

I think that treydog knows by now what an example he is to many of us. I f. ex. could go on praising this story for hours......

[Soulseeker3.0]

Very nice Trey, very nice. heh 100% discount, nice....

ANd yes Trey has insipired most of us... (I'm going out on a limb on this one, trying to remember when I came here yell at me if I'm wrong), but I do thnk he was one of the first stories here (?).

I have started a story(again) I like this one a bit better then my other one.. I just need to type (more of) it up....

[jack cloudy]

I like Trey's personality. A very interesting person. Nice story also.

[treydog]

Having delayed as long as I could, I raised the trap door to the sewers. The stench that assailed me was familiar by now, but was underlain this time by something far worse. It was as if I had opened a mass grave. And in fact, I had, although the occupants had not had the courtesy to rest quietly. All that propelled me down into that noisome darkness was fury- at myself, at the Temple, at the king. If I had possessed any sense at all, I would have left Mournhold and never returned. But two things stopped me from following the sensible course. First, I had announced my presence to Helseth, and I hoped that the knowledge that I was nearby worried him. But if it did, he was likely to redouble his efforts to have me killed- especially if I disappeared. I could not leave until that situation was resolved- one way or another. The second reason that I had to go down into the sewers was more complex. It had to do with who I was, or who I wanted to be. You see, I had given my word. Whether Gavas Drin or the Temple were worthy of my loyalty was beside the point. This was not about them or even about loyalty. It was about me. And I was a thief, but not a liar.

I was sure that my nobility of purpose would be a great comfort to me when I confronted the undead wizards. Of even more comfort was the magical longbow I conjured as soon as my feet touched the slimy stones at the foot of the ladder. The subterranean chambers echoed with the shrieks and howls of the tormented spirits that had been attracted by the Shrine of the Dead. Of all the annoying things about priests (and wizards, for that matter), the one that irritated me the most was the way they left their toys lying around when they grew tired of them. Unfortunately, powerful magical artifacts had a tendency to become more and more dangerous over time. Before I had time to build up to a really satisfying fulmination on the failings of priests, one of the immediate consequences of their neglect, in the form of a bonelord, attacked me. A couple of arrows disintegrated the floating assemblage of bones and I commenced my exploration. The tunnels contained more bonelords, as well as ancestor ghosts, and rats. I never quite understood why rats seemed to congregate in the presence of the undead, yet I had observed that such was the case. Perhaps they were attracted by the random bits that fell off of their patrons- or perhaps by the victims of the undead creatures. Most of the ghosts rushed toward me with hair-curling screams, only to fall to my bow. In one dead end corridor, I came across an undead spirit that did not attack, but simply hovered a few feet off the ground. I nocked an arrow and drew back the bow-string, but something in this ghost’s attitude caused me to stay my hand. Cautiously, I approached the ethereal figure, which regarded me silently. At last, I could stand the silence no longer and rasped,

“Who are you? And why do you not attack me as all of your brethren do?”

The ghost continued to stare sightlessly at me and then a voice seemed to sound inside my mind.

“My name is Variner. I was killed by the Black Dart Gang. I beg you -- avenge my death. Their hideout is in Old Mournhold, Temple Sewers West. Many have died fighting them. But there is a mechanism that can flood the room, drowning the gang. Find a lever that looks like a torch holder, near the east end of the chamber. But whatever you do, don't get too close or you will join me in the afterlife.”
I realized that this ghost was all that remained of the dead husband of Narisa Adus, the woman I had met on my first sojourn into the sewers of Mournhold. She, as well as
a number of other people, had warned me of the danger the Black Dart Gang posed. Apparently, they used very powerful poisoned or enchanted missiles, some of which could cause massive damage. I listened to Variner’s words in silence, and just as silently turned away. Although I was sorry for him and his widow, I would not give my word lightly again, especially to a restless spirit. And, to my shame, I was just as pleased that my task would take me in the opposite direction from Black Dart territory. According to Gavas Drin, the shrine lay beyond the former Temple Gardens, which were in the eastern section of the Temple sewers. Of course, even though I had a fairly well-developed sense of direction, it mostly depended on the sun or the stars, which were notable for their absence in this underground maze.

As it turned out, my self-congratulations over avoiding the deadly gang proved premature when I stepped through the door into the East Sewers. I had barely cleared the doorway when I felt a sudden sharp bite in my lower back. If my attacker had been either smarter or less confident, I would have surely bled my life away in those stinking tunnels below Mournhold. But he could not resist the opportunity to gloat. A snarl of “Die, n’wah,” gave away his position in the shadows of the doorway. Ignoring the painful wound in my back, I turned to see a raggedly-dressed Dunmer, who swiftly raised his right hand over his shoulder and brought it downward. A bit of metal flashed briefly in the uncertain light and I felt another painful bite, this time in my left leg. I returned the favor with a bow-shot to his midsection, which he ignored as he threw another flurry of darts at me. And so we stood, some eight feet apart, exchanging arrows and darts. The pain of my injuries, as well as my attempts to dodge spoiled my aim, but I finally made a fair hit upon his right arm. Instead of giving up, the dark elf downed a potion which healed his injuries. Then with a look of hatred, he reached inside his ragged tunic and withdrew a wickedly barbed dart, which he promptly hurled into the knee joint of my already damaged leg. Surprisingly, that dart did not cause the intense pain that had accompanied the others. However, it was far more deadly, for it was hollow. In effect, it was like a tap draining my life-blood in great spurts even as I watched. Knowing that I must act quickly, I wrenched the terrible weapon from my knee, taking a great deal of flesh with it. Then I imbibed a healing potion of my own and turned back to my foe. Apparently, he had expected the bleeder dart to finish me, for he was not prepared for my renewed attack. His hesitation was only for an instant- he rushed toward me, throwing one last dart, one that seemed to absorb rather than reflect the light. The missile struck me in the abdomen and seemed to literally burrow into my body. The most virulent poison I had ever encountered bloomed within me and only my alchemy skills saved me.

When I had first heard of the Black Dart Gang, I had made sure to prepare antidotes against poisons and to carry them with me at all times. As soon as I felt the tendrils of the vile toxin racing through my blood, I dispelled the magical bow and convulsively swallowed one of my antidotes. Even so, it was a very near thing. I learned firsthand why the Black Dart Gang was so feared. Most people would have succumbed to the poison in a few seconds- it was fortunate that the gang member who assailed me had only carried one such dart and was alone. His weapons spent at last, the Dunmer began to flail at me with his fists, a look of disbelief warring with the hatred on his face. No doubt I was the first of his victims to ever survive. He soon discovered that bare fists were no match for a longsword and I took some pleasure in providing that lesson. But even as he breathed his last, I wondered whether his fellows lurked somewhere in the darkness with still more of their deadly projectiles.

[minque]

Oh my.....that was almost too close! Brilliant installment....just sheer awesome. But now I´m waiting eagerly for the continuation....

*sipping coffee ferosciously*

[treydog]

It was almost a relief when the only enemies that attacked me were a couple of ancestor ghosts. They fell quickly to my enchanted silver blade and I muttered a silent prayer of thanks that I had not joined them in their disembodied state. I am not sure to whom the prayer was directed- what I had seen of the gods so far in my life rather inclined me to believe that they would have appreciated the symmetry of leaving the spirit of a former stable-boy to haunt the sewers of Mournhold. The more finished section of the sewers soon gave way to a rough side passage that appeared to have been excavated by hand from the collapsed walls of the ancient city. The tunnel took me north I think and contained nothing more than additional undead creatures. Doggedly, I pushed deeper into the terrible maze, being hacked at by skeletons and blasted with magicka by bonelords. Finally, at the end of another roughly crafted tunnel, I came upon a warped wooden door with a crude inscription that read, “Temple Gardens.”

The carvings and faded colors hinted at what must have once been a wonder of all Tamriel, fallen now into ruin. Planters that had once held exotic blooms were now home to the pale, fleshy sorts of plants that thrive in dark places. The water that fell was neither sparkling nor pure, containing as it did all the detritus of the forgetful city overhead. I could not help but consider the contrast between the former glory of the Temple Gardens and the austere construction of the current Temple of Almalexia. The gardens had been open to all, a place to stroll in the sun and enjoy a cooling rain. The Temple now was a fortress- forbidding and closed to all but the select few. My thoughts seemed to echo the words of Galsa Andrano, the healer who had worried that Almalexia was becoming bitter and vengeful. After splashing a short distance through the flooded chamber, I came upon a sight that caused me to wonder even more about the current state of the Temple. What I saw was this: a two-story edifice, perhaps the former entrance to an important Temple building, which had been painstakingly cleaned and restored. The high wall contained five openings or niches surrounding a circular metal doorway. In the most important position, that is on the top tier and in the center arch, stood a larger than life statue of a clearly female figure. Although the features were worn with the passage of time, I had no doubt that the statue represented Almalexia. But the two male statues- Vivec and Sotha Sil, I suppose were equally interesting for their placement. One was in a lower tier arch on the right of the door and the other had been casually leaned up against a pile of rubble as if it was of no importance. Looking at the tableau, I remembered that half-joking remark someone had made regarding the fact that levitation did not work in the new city of Mournhold. The joker had said, “Almalexia does not wish for anyone to stand higher than herself.” It seemed that there was more to that story than Dunmer humor. Whatever the symbolism of the statues did or did not represent, the lettering surrounding the door left no doubt- for it spelled out “Shrine of the Dead.”

As can be imagined, my joy at being so close to my destination was remarkably subdued. By way of celebration, I cast my weak Chameleon spell and conjured a magical bow. If all went well, the liches would never know I was there until my arrows carried them to the death they had cheated. Upon opening the door, I entered a vast, echoing chamber, with four massive black pillars disappearing into the roof. More significant was the skeletal robed figure wandering across the floor. I did not pause to inquire, but loosed half-a-dozen arrows as fast as I could draw, nock, and fire. So far, my plan was working well, a circumstance that should have caused me to immediately run away screaming. The only time my plans seemed to be working was when I had overlooked something of great and painful significance. Unheeding, I crept deeper into the roughly-constructed chamber, with some thought of examining the remains of the creature I had just slain. That particular acolyte of the Profane (as I later discovered the liches were called) was no danger to me. However, the black columns that ringed the room were. Apparently, they had been set up as a magical trap to blast any living being who was unwary enough to step between them. All that saved me from severe injury was my natural resistance to magical attack. For that, I thanked my poor dead mother- the wretched gods had nothing to do with it. Still, it was several minutes before I stopped seeing flashes of color before my eyes and could again concentrate well enough to continue.

When my vision cleared sufficiently, I saw that the room was empty, except for another circular metal door. When I laid a careful hand upon the latch, it was as if I had touched a door on the other side of which burned a great fire. Except instead of heat, what I felt radiating from that door was a sense of wrongness, of corruption, of evil so powerful it was a presence in the room. Knowing that the shrine and its undead guardians had to be close, I made my preparations. First, I drew forth a bundle of specially-made arrows I had been saving for just such an occasion. Next, I conjured my magical bow and opened the door. Three robed figures, closely akin to the one I had already dispatched, shuffled and bowed around the corrupted altar. Hiding in the shadows of the doorway, I knelt and waited until one of the liches separated from the others. I released my first arrow and was gratified to see the undead wizard’s tattered robes burst into flame. Knowing that the lich’s wailing would draw his fellows, I dispelled my bow and sprinted into the chamber. My goal was a pile of debris off to one side of the altar- I knew I would need both hands if I were to have any hope of scrambling up the steep mound of shifting masonry. Fortunately, my opponent chose to summon a bone-walker as his first retaliatory action. That gave me all the time I needed to secure myself out of reach and to speak the words of my own spell- boghu tromhad. I ignored the bone-walker, knowing that killing its master would cause the awful creature to dissipate. However, summoning was not the only power that the undead mage possessed. Even as I sent a second arrow to burst into flame at his feet, the skeletal figure gestured at me and I saw a crackling blue sphere emerge from his bony hands. The sphere expanded as it flew towards me, becoming large enough to completely engulf my body. I felt as if I had been trapped inside a lightning storm as the spell blasted me into a quivering heap. That involuntary spasm was all that saved me, as the next shockball flew harmlessly over my head. Maintaining my precarious hold, I quickly imbibed a healing potion and redoubled my efforts at archery. My only hope was to so distract the lich that it could not cast another spell. The bursts of flame from my arrows had the desired effect and soon I was faced with “only” two of the vile creatures. However, I now had seen their deadliest spell and was able to use my more accurate marksmanship to destroy them at long range.

As my magical bow dissipated, I surveyed the room, breathing in great gasps. The air was foul with the stench of the burning piles that had once been wizards, but I did not care. The way to the Shrine had been opened; all that remained was to fetch Urvel Dulni so that he could do whatever it was that the Temple had in mind. I retraced my route back to Gavas Drin’s office, where Dulni still waited. When the young priest saw me, his already ashen complexion turned even grayer. No doubt I presented a less-than-reassuring sight- covered with blood, soot, and thoroughly beslimed from wading through the sewers. Beyond that, I can only imagine that my demeanor was such that I closely resembled one of the animated corpses I had so recently sent to its final rest. Fixing the priest with a glare, I growled,

“Come with me.”

Urvel Dulni swallowed hard and said, “Are you sure you don’t just want me to wait here? I would be glad to….”

Seeing that I would not be persuaded, he silently fell into step behind me as I made my way back to the Temple basement and the sewers.

I have to say this much for him- he kept up with the pace I set and he did not complain about the smell. More than that, he proved to be an asset instead of a liability. At one point I heard a quiet grunt, followed by a crunch and a loud rattle. Thinking that the poor devil had fallen and broken his leg, I turned to see him holding his mace looking rather surprised. At his feet lay the remains of a skeletal warrior that had clearly been about to skewer me with a spear.

When we reached the corrupted altar, Urvel Dulni… changed. He seemed to grow taller and more powerful and his voice lost its stutter. In a much deeper voice than his former tenor squeak, he spoke the words of an incantation that I could not understand, then bowed his head and stood silently. At last, he looked at me with a piercing gaze and pronounced the shrine cleansed. Our journey back to the surface was conducted in silence and was blessedly uneventful. Gavas Drin was pleased (and surprised, I think) by our success. He thanked me and gave me something he called a “Blessed Spear,” supposedly a gift direct from the hands of Almalexia herself. I did not bother to point out that a spear was of no use to me, but silently resolved to have nothing more to do with the Temple in Mournhold. There was power there, great power. But it was the kind of power that would likely get me killed.

Here ends Chapter 4

This post has been edited by treydog: Apr 11 2006, 02:46 PM

[Kiln]

Whoa! What is the deal, the end of chapter 4 has been up this long without any replies? Probably because not many people are on lately. Anyways great end to chapter 4 Trey, please continue soon.

[Elidor]

Very nice updates, sorry i havent commented sooner but i havent been free for a while

[Magefire]

Finally I've brought myself up to date with this remarkable story. RL has intervened for too long.

This deserves to be in book form - not many published writers can produce such consistently fine writing.

Encore! Bravissimo!!!

[minque]

This deserves to be in book form - not many published writers can produce such consistently fine writing.

Encore! Bravissimo!!!

I thing our Magefire just said it all. If any story should be published it should be the complete story of Trey. The great inspiration to many of us.

Now we wait eagerly for chapter 5, which will be as outstanding as the previous ones....

Hail treydog!

[Konji]

Ha, it is complicated what Trey's writing does for me. It both inspires me, yet scares me somewhat - while attempting to write my own piece in this genre I cannot help but think of the minimal impact it would create when realeased next to Trey's work.

I can quite easily imagine that if a fanfic was released just a second before Trey released a new chapter trey's thread could be 20 posts up before the view count on the former had reached 10.

-Although I suppose it is a testament to Trey's abilities.

Enough rambling, Great story Trey.

[Soulseeker3.0]

Wow, sorry Trey, i'm pulling the "i've been playing Oblivion" excuse great end to Chapter 4 and I await the next instalmnet.

[McBadgere]

*Coughs politely*...

...Perhaps I could save myself the trouble and just run up to a sleeping dragon and give it a sharp rap on the snout. Assuming I could find a dragon, sleeping or otherwise. It was worth thinking about. After all, searching for a dragon could take years...

...

[treydog]

*Coughs politely*...

...Perhaps I could save myself the trouble and just run up to a sleeping dragon and give it a sharp rap on the snout. Assuming I could find a dragon, sleeping or otherwise. It was worth thinking about. After all, searching for a dragon could take years...

...

Yes I know. But- well... see... when this was being written, Oblivion wasn't out yet and there was rampant lobbying for dragons in "the next Elder Scrolls game."

And beyond that- itisn'tastoryit'sjustsomerandomscribbles