The Story of Trey- Chapter 11 Options

[treydog]

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.

Frank Herbert, Dune, "Litany Against Fear", 1965

Chapter 11

As I stared into the slowly moving waters of the Odai, thinking about fathers and sons, and the price we pay to be part of a family, I was reminded of a promise I had made seemingly long ago. When I had gone to Hassour Zainsubani to learn all I could of the customs and culture of the Ashlanders, he had mentioned his son, Hannat. He had asked me, if I saw Hannat, to remind him to send word that he was still well and to remember that his father worried about him. And he had told me that, the last he knew, his son intended to map the cavern complex known as Mamaea, west of Red Mountain. If I could not bring myself to speak with my own “family,” at least I could bring reassurance and comfort to someone else’s And I owed much to Hassour- without his guidance I might have made serious, perhaps fatal, mistakes when I first approached the Urshilaku. Although it had nothing to do with the path of prophecy, this was a debt of honor. If, as I believed, I was going to my death at Red Mountain, I would not leave this task undone. In truth, I should have done so long ago, and it troubled me that I had allowed my self-absorption to make me forgetful. As I packed up my possessions and cast a last pebble into the river, I thought what a wonderful thing it must be to have a father who was concerned for you. And then I thought what a great burden it is to have children, who must be allowed to go out into the world and risk their lives.

Despite their name, the Mamaea caverns were not particularly close to the Foyada Mamaea, which ran past Fort Moonmoth near Balmora. Instead, the caverns were in a hilly area about halfway between Gnisis and Caldera. Almost as soon as I had entered the water-smoothed passages, I was attacked by one of the Sixth House cultists known as a “Dreamer.” If these caverns were being used as a base by the Dagoth-worshippers, I feared greatly for Hannat’s safety. That initial attack had warned me, though, so I was able to make use of my bow and my stealth to wage a single-handed war on the Sixth House minions within the outer caverns. In one side chamber, I came upon a sight which almost caused me to despair- a skeletal corpse, with knife marks on the bones that made it clear that the unfortunate had become a meal for the insane cultists. Still, there was no proof that this was Hannat, and so I forged ahead. Besides the Sixth House madmen, I found little of interest in the outer cavern complex. One unexplained mystery did present itself and I will note what I saw, though I still have no explanation. In one chamber there rose a great stone column, surrounded by a pool of water. This edifice seemed to be entirely natural, without tool marks or inscriptions of any kind. Although I levitated to the top, I could not discern any purpose that it might serve. My only thought was that it had been intended to become a great sculpture of some god or demon, such as those that were still scattered about the island. If that were the case, something had prevented the builders from even beginning their work. Regardless, the solution to such mysteries was not the goal I sought in these dim passages, so I attached a fresh bow-string and moved on.

There is little to say of the remaining hours that I spent in those dark tunnels. I slew the followers of the Sixth House wherever I found them, without mercy and without remorse. They attempted to do the same to me, and I accumulated a number of new scars to go with the old ones. My arrows were running low as I picked the lock on one of the seemingly endless slatted gates that divided the passages and spied a figure moving in the shadows. I had nocked an arrow and drawn the bow when I paused. Although the half-naked Dunmer looked much like the Dreamers, there was something about the way he held himself that stayed my hand. Too, he was not armed, not even with one of the clubs those crazed fanatics seemed to prefer. Easing the tension on the bow-string, I called out to him,

“Step forward into the light, dark elf, and give me a reason that I should not kill you.”

He complied and said in a weary voice,

“Death would be a relief to me after having been captive here for so long. And it would be an end to the terrible dreams I have been having since those madmen grabbed me and stole my gear. But do me one favor- after you kill me, seek my father at the Ald Skar Inn in Ald’ruhn and tell him that Hannat died well.”

With a relieved laugh, I lowered the bow and replied,

“I would rather tell my good friend Hassour that his son lives, if it is all the same to you.”

I then explained that I had come to Mamaea specifically for this purpose, and that I would be glad to take Hannat wherever he wished to go. For his part, the young Dunmer explained that he would be satisfied if I could simply escort him safely from the caves. He could offer me no reward, having been robbed of all he owned, but he promised me that his father would honor the debt. We were soon breathing the fresh air of the West Gash and Hannat thanked me again and reminded me to see Hassour. He shook my hand and said,

“Tell him that I am well, and I will come to him as soon as I can. I have no token you might show him, but tell him that I ‘blossom anew beneath tomorrow’s sun’—he will know who has sent you.”

I suppose I could have left it at that- gone to Ald’ruhn and given Hassour the good news. That had been my intent, after all. But I had not checked every part of this Sixth House outpost and I could not leave without doing so. A part of me has always rebelled at the idea of leaving a job unfinished, even if it is unpleasant. Too, it seemed to me that part of my destiny was to cleanse these foul warrens and drive the minions of Dagoth Ur out from every hole in which they lurked. So it was that I turned back into Mamaea to finish the job. The worst encounter I had was with the “keeper” of the shrine deep inside the cave. Not worst because she was a fierce warrior, but because she was there voluntarily. Unlike the Dreamers and the ash slaves, Zula was a “normal” Dunmer. She was there not because of the Dreams, but because she had made a conscious decision to join the cause of Dagoth Ur. I searched the area of the shrine and found several interesting items, including a Daedric helm inscribed “The Face of Inspiration.” I wasn’t sure what the demonic visage was intended to inspire, other than nightmares, but it was a valuable piece of armor, so I packed it away. There were also some filthy boots that I almost let go; some fortunate impulse made me wipe away the grime- underneath it, they were made of ebony. Finally, there was a dagger which fairly vibrated with magicka. Recalling the seductive song of the sword Fury, I examined the dagger with great care before picking it up. At last, I knew that I would have to take the chance of touching the blade if I were to “read” the magicka. As I closed my fingers around the hilt, the weapon seemed to almost leap into my hand. For a long moment I seemed to be seeing through the eyes of others, who moved through shadows and struck in alleyways and audience chambers, then slipped away. As my vision cleared, I knew what I held. This was the legendary blade of assassins, the Fang of Haynekhtnamet. As I had done with Fury, I wrapped the Fang carefully and put it away securely. A weapon like that was a drug, the more one used it, the more he would want to. I had no desire to lose my soul in that way.

I cast Recall, leaving nothing in Mamaea but the corpses of the Sixth House minions and the sighing of the wind. When I reached Ald’ruhn, I walked with a light step, knowing that I carried good news. I soon found Hassour at his accustomed table in the Ald Skar, where I told him of my encounter with his son. When I quoted the bit of verse, he jumped up from his chair and grasped both my arms. Then he spoke with quiet emotion,

“You have spoken with my son? Indeed? He blossoms 'anew beneath tomorrow's sun'? That is my son. And you have rescued him from a terrible fate, if that is his message. He owes you a debt of gratitude, and I am proud to pay that debt. Who can place a value on life? But please accept these five pieces of raw ebony, rare and valuable. And from me personally, accept this, my own personal blade, and this, the ring from my own finger. May these gifts bless you, as you have blessed my son.”

It was then that I understood far more about what it was to be a father. And I knew that, no matter what might become of me, Athyn Sarethi would never turn his back on me. A true father loved his children, always.

This post has been edited by treydog: Aug 29 2010, 10:32 PM

[Dantrag]

That part of wanting to use the fang more and more was true....even in game!

Great new addition, treydog!

[Elongar]

Treydog is mothering this father-son relationship between Athyn Sarethi and Trey again! I want to see what's going to come of it eventually.

[Soulseeker3.0]

wow great part with the fang!

[davion]

dude i love your setting for the story. i like that recolection style of writing. my story would be that format if it wasn't taken already lol

[Magefire]

Lovely start to Chapter 11.

BTW, davion, the style of writing isn't 'taken', if you write something, it will be your own, whatever the style. Just be true to yourself!

Trey - I've said it all before but nevermind; this story keeps on entertaining and enthralling us, you maintain the high standard which we have come to recognise as your hallmark.

Oh, and I love the quote from Dune, which is one of my favourite all-time sci fi novels.

[treydog]

Once again resolved to see the madness of the Nerevarine Prophecies through to the end, I made my way back to the eastern side of the island and into the Grazelands. Although I did not find the country as pleasing as my native High Rock, it still had much to recommend it. Perhaps I was just pleased to see relatively healthy plants growing, instead of the usual stunted and ash-blighted examples that covered much of Vvardenfell. It was enough to make me forget that I was in an untamed land- a frontier. And forgetfulness can be fatal. As I crested a low rise and started down the slope, I noticed a humanoid figure in the distance. It did not appear to be a Dunmer, but I couldn’t discern more than that. Still, I was not concerned- the day was pleasant and the scent of growing things filled my nostrils. When the figure began running silently toward me, I felt a twinge of concern, but simply put it down to nerves. There was none of the usual shouting of, “You will die,” or “Fetcher,” that usually accompanied murderous attacks, so I still was not alarmed. Then when it was almost too late, I realized an important fact- Golden Saints don’t scream epithets- they just try to kill you. As I grappled with the question of what a Golden Saint was doing out here where there were no Daedric shrines, the creature provided an answer. What it was doing was trying to extract me from my armor by the simple expedient of slicing it, and me, into very small pieces with a wickedly sharp sword. By the time I got my wits back and began to defend myself and counterattack, I was bleeding profusely from numerous wounds. I had never seen speed or precision of that sort before, and I very nearly didn’t live to see anything else ever again. With no time to even take a healing potion, I began using my dai-katana’s superior length to keep the Daedric creature at bay, landing blows when I could, then backing away. That strategy succeeded and I was victorious. Since I was also watering the terrain with my blood, I quickly downed some healing potions and then bent to examine the body. The Daedric tower shield and ebony short sword seemed little enough payment for my wounds- but the fact that I had managed to soul-trap the creature was some comfort. After that encounter, I proceeded with greater caution and stopped acting as if I were strolling in a park.

Shortly after that nearly fatal encounter, I found the semi-permanent camp of the Zainab. It was located in a pleasant hollow, shaded by a number of trees that looked almost normal to my Breton eyes. The first person I spoke to, an Ashlander named Zaba, seemed to know about me already. She greeted me and asked if I was the outlander who claimed to be the Nerevarine. When I agreed, she told me that I should speak with the ashkhan, Kaushad. She boasted that he was the “mightiest champion and greatest ashkhan of all the tribes.” Zaba also noted that Kaushad was curious about the news of the world and would be glad to speak with me, particularly if I could provide interesting information. As long as I was courteous, I did not need to go through the elaborate rituals normally required to set up a meeting with an ashkhan. Wishing to gauge how I might be received, I asked Zaba what she had heard of me. She explained that there were rumors circulating among the tribes and asked me to tell my side of the story. When I explained how I had come to believe that I fulfilled the prophecies and showed her the Moon-and-Star ring, she listened politely, but I don’t think she was convinced. It wasn’t that she disbelieved, either, just that she was skeptical. I could respect that- I had taken a fair amount of convincing, myself. Although Zaba had indicated that I could go directly to the ashkhan, I recalled the lessons of Hassour Zainsubani and Nibani Maesa. So it was that I first sought the tent of the Zainab wise woman.

Sonummu Zabamat was one of the oldest Dunmer I had ever met outside a Telvanni tower. After exchanging ritual greetings, she asked if I had come to barter or to seek her counsel. When I explained my purpose, the wise woman repeated Zaba’s advice, that I should speak to the ashkhan. Carefully, I asked Sonummu if she had any advice about how I might approach Kaushad, at which she described him as a great man, proud of his accomplishments and his position. She added that he was also clever enough to pay attention to the advice of his wise woman. Since there seemed to be no other course, I made my way to the ashkhan’s tent and requested permission to enter. A voice that sounded courteous and yet commanding bade me enter and be welcome. The Zainab ashkhan’s face was lined with the passage of years, and a clever pair of eyes watched me closely as I approached. Although he was old, even as the elves reckon such things, Kaushad was still a powerful figure, clearly able to use strength when wisdom would not avail. When I introduced myself, he smiled slightly and said,

“So. You are Trey. The outlander who claims to fulfill the Nerevarine prophecies. You are welcome to out hospitality. But you must tell me, how can an outlander be the Nerevarine?”

When I asked him what he knew of the prophecies, Kaushad explained that his wise woman had told him the words and provided an interpretation of them. He demonstrated considerable knowledge of the prophecies and then snorted,

“Standard prophet-talk. Voices and verses. Very interesting. But…true? Who can tell? And where do you fit into this?”

When I told him bluntly that I believed myself to be the Nerevarine, the ashkhan remained doubtful.

“We heard the rumors. But how could an outlander be the Nerevarine? You must admit…that just sounds silly. You seem pleasant enough, and strong and healthy for an outlander. But excuse me if I am not disposed to take your demands seriously.”

And he would say no more on the subject. Now I needed to move carefully. I knew that I should offer the ashkhan a gift, but must be wary lest I insult him. With a proud Ashlander such as Kaushad, offering a bribe would probably be offensive. That would just prove that I was an “ignorant outlander,” and confirm his doubts. As I thought over my options, I decided that I would try the wise woman again. If anyone would know how to improve Kaushad’s attitude it would be Sonummu. Whether she would share that information was a different issue.

[Soulseeker3.0]

good job Treydog!

[Oozae]

I just read it, great stuff there Treydog! [img]http://instagiber.net/smiliesdotcom/kao/otn/pcheers1.gif[/img]

[Elongar]

Very nice! A close fight there!

And as for you, Mr. Oozae, you seem to be very fond of using exotic smilies! [img]http://instagiber.net/smiliesdotcom/contrib/blackeye/Eyecrazy.gif[/img]

[treydog]

Sonummu listened to my story and agreed to tell me something about the ashkhan- it seemed that he liked fine outlander clothing. Her advice was that I present him with a pair of exquisite shoes as a way to improve his disposition. I gravely thanked the wise woman and left her tent. Although I kept my face impassive, inside I was fuming. Shoes! I was supposed to go and fetch a pair of shoes for this petty tyrant? Who did Kaushad think he was, to send the Nerevarine off on a silly errand? Didn’t he know who I was, what I had faced to even get here? I was…. And then a cold wind of sanity blew through my raging brain. I was Trey. The same Trey who had groomed horses and mucked out stalls and been glad when the straw I slept on was dry and relatively clean. That was who I was. Who I was not, and would never be, was a king or lord. Azura and her manipulation of the prophecies and of my life had robbed me of much, but I would not let it steal the essence of who I was. If a pair of shoes was required to get Kaushad to listen, then I would bring him a pair of shoes. It was a matter of power. Power is usually related to need. If you need something, the person who has it has power over you. I could wear a crown and a robe and declare myself emperor of Vvardenfell, but that wouldn’t give me any power over Kaushad- because he didn’t need anything from me. But I certainly needed him to name me Zainab Nerevarine. Every now and then, a lesson in humility is a valuable thing. And if humility truly was a virtue, I was one of the most virtuous people in the world. And if my pride was hurt, what did that really cost me? Bringing someone a pair of shoes as a gift was certainly more acceptable than being treated as a hired sword and told to go kill some poor fellow that I had never met. Of course, I had no doubt that Kaushad would want something else before he named me Nerevarine. That was simply the way the world worked- nothing was free. The only real issue was whether I would be willing to pay the price. It was still difficult for me to remember that Azura had chosen me as the unlikely vehicle for the salvation of the Dunmer. But I did remember, and that meant that my personal feelings didn’t carry much weight.

Of course, none of this philosophical musing was getting me any closer to obtaining a pair of shoes. With a resigned shrug, I set a magical beacon in the center of the Zainab camp, and then used Almsivi Intervention to take me across the island to Ald’ruhn. Not all of the queasiness I felt was a result of the teleport spell- some came from the thought of what the Temple would do if they knew who had just materialized outside their door. I had done a couple of small favors for Bivale Teneran, the fine clothier whose shop was “Under Skar.” I thought that she would be likely to have a pair of shoes of sufficient quality and to give me a good deal. Both thoughts turned out to be correct, and the deal was quickly closed. Although it was difficult, I decided not to visit Athyn Sarethi while I was there. It would only cause him unnecessary pain if I explained all that had happened since we last spoke. I knew that I would eventually have to come back to him for guidance on being named Hortator of Redoran, but I planned to put that off as long as possible. Still, as I made my way up the boardwalk leading out from Skar, I cast a wistful glance at the entrance to Sarethi Manor. As I did so, I thought that I saw the Imperial woman from the Ahemmusa camp entering the Manor. But it was only for an instant, a glimpse of someone in Redoran colors, there and then gone. There was no reason to believe it was the same person- what could be more natural than a Redoran entering Sarethi Manor? Still, I wondered… With a mental shake, I put the distraction aside and cast Recall to carry myself and the shoes back to the Zainab.

When I presented the shoes to the proud ashkhan, he was momentarily speechless. Then he unsuccessfully fought a broad grin as he ran his hands over the stitching, turning the shoes over in his hands. Finally, he regained his usual haughty demeanor and said,

“These remarkable shoes are…very fancy. Too fancy for a simple Ashlander like myself. But I thank you for the gift. It was very thoughtful.”

Despite his words, Kaushad slipped the shoes onto his feet and stood there, silently admiring them. As the ashkhan seemed to be in a better mood, I again raised the subject of being named Nerevarine. His response was not promising, as he broke into a grating laugh that he seemed unable to restrain. When his mirth had run out, Kaushad asked me,

“Do you believe this story yourself? I mean no offense, but you must admit, you are an outlander, ignorant of our ways. How could you ever be our war leader? What sensible ashkhan would ever choose you to lead the tribes?”

I had no real answer to that- I had not yet been named Nerevarine by the Urshilaku, and I knew that Kaushad would not accept the Ahemmusa wise woman’s judgment. Therefore, bridling my anger, I replied,

“Very well, mighty ashkhan, set me a task to prove my worthiness. I will complete any reasonable quest.”

I added that last to prevent the wily Dunmer from telling me to do something impossible, such as draining the Sea of Ghosts or bringing him one of the moons of Nirn. With a smirk, Kaushad told me of a vampire named Calvario who had taken over the Nerano Ancestral Tomb. He instructed me to dispatch this undead menace to prove my ability. He then followed with some condescending directions on how to find the tomb- adding with false concern that he hoped I wouldn’t get lost. Piling insult on top of insult, he included some unsolicited advice on dealing with vampires, closing with a sneer,

“Of course, since you are the Nerevarine, you have no need to fear disease.”

My face fixed in a frozen smile as I ground my teeth, I resolutely kept my hands away from the hilt of my sword. I also refrained from offering the arrogant ashkhan a lesson on the taste of his new footwear. Perhaps I really WAS Nerevar reincarnated. After all, didn’t the Temple refer to him as SAINT Nerevar?

[Oozae]

[quote=Elongar]Very nice! A close fight there!

And as for you, Mr. Oozae, you seem to be very fond of using exotic smilies! [img]http://instagiber.net/smiliesdotcom/contrib/blackeye/Eyecrazy.gif[/img][/quote]Yes I am, they come from http://mysmilies.com/?cat=aliens

Oh and Treydog my old son, great stuff there, it's like going to another world[img]http://instagiber.net/smiliesdotcom/contrib/edoom/very_first_smiley.gif[/img]

[Soulseeker3.0]

good job Treydog!

[treydog]

It was fortunate that the Nerano Tomb was some distance away from the Zainab camp and its smirking ashkhan. I am not sure what might have happened if I had gone blundering into a vampire’s lair thinking dire thoughts about Kaushad. But the reality was that the long walk gave me a chance to calm down and to think, both of which were rather remarkable feats for me. Although he didn’t know it, Kaushad’s sneering reference to the fact that I did not need to fear disease was actually correct. Of course, as the encounter with the Golden Saint had proved, there were ways to die besides disease- and dead was dead. There was little I could do to prepare myself for this encounter besides making sure that I was rested and that my equipment was in good shape- I just didn’t know that much about the creatures called “vampires.” What little I had heard that seemed credible amounted to this: the vampire retained many of the characteristics it had possessed before becoming undead- so a warrior remained a warrior, a mage a mage, and so forth. All sources agreed that the creatures were stronger and more agile than normal and could exert mental influence over those of weaker will. Whether or not they could actually shape-shift was open to question. Although I understood that some books on vampires were available, I had never bothered to read them. After all, I had no intention of going into tombs and seeking out the vile undead. And that illustrated the deeper issue- what none of that scholarship could account for was the fact that undead scared me. I could face Daedric summonings or growling Orcs and remain calm, at least as calm as anyone could when faced with a creature that wished to kill them. But my fear of the undead had been with me for as long as I could remember. Many was the cold night when I lay in the stable, hearing the wind moaning in the trees and the creaking of the branches, with nothing between me and the night but the thin walls. The graveyard was not that far away, and I fancied that not all who were interred there slept peacefully. There were whispered rumors that my “master” had assisted with the demise of the former owner of the inn so that he could inherit; it would be unsurprising if the murdered man’s spirit should come around at night. The people in the inn were secure behind locks and wards, but I was practically outdoors. If it was true that the undead could sense the blood of the living, then I would be an easy target. At least so ran my thoughts as I was growing up in High Rock. And now I was supposed to be the hunter, to seek out a vampire in his den. Sometimes, I missed the stable and the straw.

The Nerano Tomb was in a picturesque location, between two large trees, and set into a hillside, as was usual. The entry chamber was fairly standard, a narrow, torch-lit set of steps leading down into the ground. I dried my palms and moved quietly down to the door at the foot of the stairs. When I opened the door, I surprised a Greater Bonewalker standing over what was left of the corpse of a Breton man. The Bonewalker was no match for my sword, and I was able to examine the remains of my countryman. Except for a belt embroidered with the name “Danders,” there was nothing to be learned, other than the fact that the Bonewalker had killed the poor fellow. The chamber contained nothing more, so I made my way to the next door. I paused to listen, and fancied that I heard a dry click and rattle, as of bones. When I flung the door open, that proved to be correct, as two animated skeletons rushed at me. Although blunt weapons are usually preferred against skeletal opponents, the weight and destructive capability of the Daedric sword proved quite effective. Bones exploded in all directions as I hammered aside their swords and shields. This room appeared to have been a bandit hideout, with crates and sacks spread around. More to the point, there were two dead bodies, bearing the marks of swords and some telltale punctures in their necks. Although the crates appeared to have been emptied before my arrival, I did find an interesting book, called “The Ransom of Zarek,” which purported to be a Dwemer tale. Even more interesting was a note on the table, which seemed to explain what I had found.

The note was addressed to someone named “Moris,” and warned him to leave, as some other members of the gang had been attacked by an apparent necromancer named Goris. This necromancer had sent a group of undead and wiped out all but one of this other band of smugglers at a place known as Dralas. In conclusion, the writer stated that he was sending a key to “the rendezvous point.” When I looked at the bodies, it seemed apparent that the note had arrived too late. One was an Imperial, most likely the leader, based on his age and clothing. The other was a Nord woman, probably the “Ursine” who had carried the warning. It was a stark reminder of the perils of turning outlaw- every hand would be against you, and your only defense was your own strength and cunning. And there would always be someone stronger, smarter, more ruthless waiting for a chance to take your place… and your life. And now, there was another door, one that somehow felt cold to the touch. And an odor emanated from under that door, too- a smell of freshly turned earth and things best left buried. Because of the Dunmer practice of burning their dead, that odor was out of place in this tomb. I knew I was close to the one I sought- Calvario the vampire. The door was trapped, of course, a little “present” for anyone foolish enough to disturb the vampire’s rest. That proved no obstacle to one with my particular talents, and I eased the door open. The first thing I saw was the spectral shape of an ancestor ghost, either summoned by Calvario or else drawn to all the activity in the tomb. The second was what at first appeared to be an Imperial, standing on the raised altar at the far end of the room. The unnaturally pale skin, the hypnotic eyes, and the elongated canines quickly dispelled the notion that this creature was human, however. With an ululating cry of elation, Calvario seemed to fly across the room. His speed contributed to his downfall, as his momentum carried him onto the point of my sword. Thwarted in his efforts to reach me, he nevertheless swore that he would drink my blood. I withdrew the sword and recovered to a guard position, then watched in horror as the wound seemed to close before my eyes. Calvario bared his fangs and began chanting a spell. I responded with a downward slash across his chest, which I then turned into a horizontal cut across the abdomen. His spell fizzled and I smiled in turn,

“I am a Breton, Imperial leech. Your spells will not affect me. It is time for you to complete your journey to Oblivion.”

Two more cuts of the Daedric blade, and the vampire collapsed at my feet. With him fell the last vestige of my fear of the undead. They could be beaten, if one was resolute. To make sure, I hauled his corpse, as well as those of the unfortunate smugglers, out into the sunlight and beheaded them. The body of Calvario dissipated, leaving nothing but a pile of dust. Fleetingly, I wondered if that would be a problem- after all, what proof had I to show Kaushad? As I cleaned and sheathed my sword, I decided that I had other arguments at my disposal if the ashkhan proved difficult.

[minque]

[quote]Oh and Treydog my old son, great stuff there, it's like going to another world [/quote]

Right on the spot!!!

[Elongar]

[quote=Oozae]
Oh and Treydog my old son, great stuff there, it's like going to another world[/quote]

You mean, "Oh and Treydog, my skilful and wise master, I like your tone and particularly admire your adventurely sense and dramatic feel. It is indeed, like visiting another world"

[treydog]

In truth, I was surprised by the ease with which I defeated Calvario. Vampires were supposed to be fearsome opponents, difficult to overcome. Of course, it was also said that they hunted in packs, making them far more deadly. Perhaps this creature had been an outcast- even Kaushad had mentioned that Calvario was “young.” So it would not do to assume that all vampires would be so easily dispatched. Not that I had any intention of turning vampire-hunter- that struck me as a remarkably foolish occupation. Vampires were frighteningly clever and they communicated with each other. Anyone who declared war on those “princes of the undead” might find himself to be the quarry rather than the hunter. I already had enough enemies- human, elven, and supernatural- who desired my death. At least I had completed the quest for the Zainab ashkhan and could move on to the Erabenimsun. After all that had happened, I should have known that it wouldn’t be that simple.

When I returned to the Zainab camp, I was ready for Kaushad to be skeptical, but nothing could have prepared me for what actually happened. He did not doubt my report in the least. All he said was,

“Dead. Well, then. Perhaps I was mistaken. Perhaps you should be the Nerevarine.”

Just as I was beginning to feel better though, waiting for him to say the words and perhaps give me a token of my position, Kaushad surprised me. He shuffled his feet a bit, cleared his throat, and looked everywhere but at me. If I had thought it possible for someone with such a bloated ego, I would have believed that the ashkhan was embarrassed. Finally, he spoke,

“Well. So you killed the vampire Calvario? Well. I will be happy to acknowledge you as Zainab Nerevarine. But... it is customary for one seeking an honor from the Ashkhan to offer the Ashkhan a generous gift as a mark of respect. Because you are an outlander, and do not know our customs, I will do you the great favor of naming the gift I wish to receive -- a high-born Telvanni bride -- a pretty one, plump, with big hips to bring me many sons.”

Before I could even start to frame a reply to such an outrageous request, Kaushad pushed on. It seemed that once he had gotten over his hesitation, he couldn’t talk about his idea fast enough. He continued,

“Where will you find a high-born Telvanni bride? That is simple. You should visit high-born Telvanni lords and inform them that Ashkhan Kaushad of the Lordly Zainab would do them the honor of making their daughter his bride. Surely many Telvanni lords would be honored to receive such an offer. Consider carefully the many daughters offered and choose for me the finest. Take counsel with my wise woman, Sonummu Zabamat. She knows my mind well in such matters.”

That I didn’t respond immediately and negatively had far less to do with restraint than with the fact that I was completely stunned. Mumbling something polite, I managed to get myself out of Kaushad’s presence. Standing in the center of the Zainab camp, I tried to think what I could have possibly done to the gods to make them hate me so. Go to the Telvanni lords and ask them to parade their daughters before me like cattle at an auction? Tell them that one of their pampered princesses was going to have the “honor” of becoming the bride of an Ashlander? I could save myself a lot of time, not to mention suffering, if I just fell on my sword right now. The only Telvanni lord I had met was Divayth Fyr, and he was actually fairly reasonable. In a 4000-year-old wizard who created his own wives sort of way. The thought of asking him or any other Telvanni such a thing was more than I could imagine. I envisioned spending the rest of my life as a small frog in a pond full of hungry slaughterfish. As the surprise wore off, the anger started to bubble up. I was aware of the concept of “arranged marriages,” and thought of them as little better than slavery by another name. Besides my feelings about slavery, I was no procurer for vain, jumped-up petty lordlings. This was just too much. I wouldn’t do it. I would tell Kaushad he would have to come up with something else. I would…. As I thought all of those things, I knew that none would avail. I turned unerringly to the place where I knew Red Mountain glowered at the center of Vvardenfell and thought about the true meaning of evil. What Kaushad asked was stupid, selfish, and even arrogant- but it wasn’t evil. If I failed in my quest to be named Nerevarine, the prophecies would also fail. I would live out whatever time was left to me as a Failed Incarnate, hunted by the Temple, shunned by my House, eventually to die and hold vigil as a shade in the Cavern of the Incarnate. All because I refused to try, because I was afraid. I was a clever fellow, with a glib tongue. I had talked my way out of trouble before. Of course, that was different than talking a Telvanni lord out of a daughter…. But I had to try. And then I remembered that the ashkhan had said one intelligent thing- he had advised me to take counsel of Sonummu. The wise woman struck me as someone who might have a plan for handling this foolishness in a way that wouldn’t get me killed or turned into something that hopped and ate flies.

The wise woman had a plan, all right. Unfortunately, the plan presented problems of its own. Sometimes it seemed that I would never get out of the camp of the Zainab. It had been a foolish moment when I believed that craft and cunning would be easier to deal with than treachery. At least treachery was susceptible to a simple solution. The words “Zainab” and “simple” didn’t belong in the same sentence. Sonummu’s answer to my problem was this:

“Kaushad wants a Telvanni bride, eh? No high-born Telvanni would wed an Ashlander. But I have a plan. Go to my friend, Savile Imayn, slavemistress of the Festival Slave Market in Tel Aruhn, and tell her you need a pretty Dunmer slave to pose as a Telvanni lady. Then Savile Imayn will tell you what clothes to buy, and will dress her like a high-born Telvanni. Then escort the pretty slave to Zainab camp and present her to Ashkhan Kaushad as a high-born Telvanni bride. He won't know the difference.”

I didn’t really see how the change from procurer to trader in slaves was an improvement. I didn’t mind lying to Kaushad- gods knew, the arrogant boat deserved it. But I greatly minded having any business with slavers that did not involve my blade and their necks. Still, I thanked Sonummu for her counsel and left her tent. When you don’t have very many strongly-held principles, it is more difficult to bend or break the few you do have. Every part of me cried out against the practice of slavery- how could I face myself if I encouraged it by buying a person as if she were no more than a piece of furniture? As I debated with myself, I seemed to feel a cold pair of hands grasp my shoulders and firmly turn me again in the direction of Red Mountain. The message was clear- if I did not face the greatest evil, there would be no one left to fight the smaller evils.

[minque]

[quote] I didn’t mind lying to Kaushad- gods knew, the arrogant boat deserved it[/quote]

Oh my dear.....autocensors are hilarious! Arrogant boat huh???? Yeah right!!....(sorry, couldn´t resist)

[treydog]

Although I had resigned myself to the necessity of engaging in the slave trade, I was not happy about it. All the way to Tel Aruhn, I grumbled about the problem of living by the idea that the ends justified the means. Where did that sort of logic stop? Did it justify killing a child because of the adult he might grow up to become? Of all the things I had to give up to Azura, my stand against slavery was the hardest. Of course, what did a goddess care for a mortal’s delicate sensibilities? As far as she was concerned, we were all slaves in one way or another. It was in a decidedly dark frame of mind that I entered Tel Aruhn and made my way to Savile Imayn’s slave mart. The sight of the Khajiit and others locked in suspended open-work cages was almost enough to crumble my shaky resolve. Yet even as I thought to turn away, I could feel the malignant heat of Red Mountain like a furnace at the heart of Vvardenfell. So, with a grimace rather than as smile, I turned back to face the slave-trader. Savile Imayn was a richly dressed Dunmer woman who cast a calculating eye over my glass armor and Daedric sword and upped the intensity of her merchant’s smile significantly. I had the feeling that I had just been put on a scale and had my worth calculated to within a half-copper. Evidently the calculations were to Savile’s liking, as she asked me if I was interested in a simple household slave or “something special.” That last was accompanied by a finely arched eye-brow that promised a great deal without actually coming out and saying anything. Firmly suppressing an image of “something special” that involved suspending the slaver in one of her own cages over a fire, I explained that I had come at the advice of Sonummu Zabamat. Once the scheme was explained, a conspiratorial gleam came to Savile’s eyes as she told me that she had the perfect choice, a pretty Dunmer named Falura Llervu. As with most of my experiences involving the Zainab, nothing was simple or straightforward, though.

In order for the deception to work, Savile informed me, I would need to purchase some expensive clothing for the “high-born Telvanni.” And it just happened that Savile knew of a shop in Tel Mora that should be able to supply my needs. While I was gone, she would instruct Falura in the mannerisms of an aristocratic Telvanni heiress. So, a couple of short boat trips later and a few hundred drakes poorer, I again stood in front of the Tel Aruhn slave-trader. She cast a judicious eye over the clothing I had bought and pronounced herself satisfied. Still, she need more time to coach Falura on how to play the role. Struck by a sudden inspiration, Savile urged me to purchase a bottle of Telvanni Bug Musk from an apothecary. The fabled perfume’s magical qualities were such that it could make even an Orc appear attractive and personable. It was also frightfully expensive. Fortunately, Bildren Areleth, whose shop was in Tel Aruhn, carried a supply of the concoction. All this fetching and carrying of clothing and perfume was beginning to make me feel as though I was the one who was getting married. But at last the time came when Savile agreed that all was ready. All that was left now was for me to buy another human being.

True to her merchant’s nature, Savile launched into a speech that would have made a used guar trader proud. She listed Falura’s merits, her own efforts in coaching the girl, the risk she was taking in participating in the scheme, and on and on. It was a wonderful performance, but one that was lost on me. I knew I would pay whatever price she set. And I knew that all the gold in the world would never pay for the way I felt about being trapped into this situation. At last, seeing that I really wasn’t listening, Savile hesitantly named a price of 1200 septims. Her hesitation might have had something to do with the moody expression on my face, or perhaps with the way my hand kept involuntarily clenching my sword hilt. Of course, she had no idea that the reason for my moodiness had nothing to do with the price- it was the principle that burned in my conscience. The price seemed so little for a human being, especially for a Dunmer, who could be expected to live for several hundred years. But then I recalled that what I was buying was a life. Although I had never engaged in the practice of bounty-hunting, I knew that a death could be purchased for less than 50 drakes. How much better it was to save a life rather than to end one. As that thought came to me, I realized that I might be able to do even more. I had been saving my gold, because my needs were simple. I resolved that I would buy more lives, as soon as this business with the Zainab was done.

Shaking off my reverie, I paid Savile the 1200 drakes, and she went inside to fetch the key. She explained that she had already removed Falura’s slave bracers, and that I could release the Dunmer from the cage and give her the fine clothing. I approached the person who I had “bought” for the first time. I had no idea how to deal with this situation, so I fell back on my knowledge of dealing with skittish horses. Moving slowly, with my hands empty, I went to the cage where Falura Llervu stood with her eyes cast down and her hands clasped demurely in front of her. I spoke her name in a low, soothing voice. I needn’t have bothered to be so concerned, for she immediately raised her eyes and responded in the measured tone of one accustomed to moving in aristocratic circles,

“Yes, sera. Falura Llervu of Velothis Haven, daughter of Andrano Llervu, pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Then the mask of the “Telvanni lady” slipped a bit and the young woman behind it peeped out. With an urchin grin, she said,

“See? Savile Imayn has taught me well. I shall BE a high-born Telvanni lady, and no one will know the difference. Just like a lady.”

Growing a bit more subdued, she continued,

“I admit I am a little anxious about marrying an Ashlander, even an Ashland chief, but anything is better than being a slave, and I am very tough and smart, and determined to make the best of my chances.”

Then the serious look passed from her features and was replaced with that endearing grin,

“Now, Savile said you would have some presents for me…?”

[Soulseeker3.0]

[quote=treydog]All this fetching and carrying of clothing and perfume was beginning to make me feel as though I was the one who was getting married. But at last the time came when Savile agreed that all was ready. All that was left now was for me to buy another human being. [/quote] reminds me of the first (?) chapter were Trey was playing messenger boy. great story Trey! i like how you fadded out in the end.