Dagoth Gares, the current underground minister of the Sixth House Base, gloated before one of the most-venerated pieces of tabernacle ever to represent the original (now defunct) Great House Chimer organization: the Shrine of Ilunibi.The shrine he’d become appointed to after much pilgrimage and guidance from the unseen was much feared, yet also the stuff of legends and rumors. –
Does such a sanctuary actually exist? - Truly it does, right under the feet of those who dwell along the Bitter Coast, and Gares was its faithful underground tender. Ilunibi was indeed worshiped by those who revered the inscrutably-fabulous Dagoth Ur, and Dagoth Gares, whose mind had long become corrupted by forces he did not entirely understand, was the shrine’s proud, indisputably-predominant priest.
“Someone… is alerting to our presence,” the priest mumbled in front of the shrine’s altar, which glowed suddenly with pale bluish translucencies (rather like magical snowflakes), as if portending and confirming.
“A neophyte maverick? Another fool? Come to reclaim the fraudulence portrayed by the much-vaunted tales of ancient history? Another imbecile, being led along the path of falsehoods and decadence which shall direct him STRAIGHT
into this den, like so many others before him? So many false bearers of our true, long-ago Lord Nerevar. Watch over me. I pray for the forthcoming moment when we shall place upon him our true infections if need be, as has befallen so many others. Or... shall we welcome this newcomer together in peace, my stupendous overlord...?”But then… something was not right. The Shrine of Ilunibi, always alert and aware of its keeper’s mindsets, suddenly went dim.
Because something concerning Gares’s current insights seemed a bit off. A bit… skewed
and tainted. As though his visions were being muddled. The priest scratched at the snout which had (over time) replaced what was once a handsome, ordinary Dunmer face, pondering. Whatever could be amiss?Dagoth Gares had once been like so many youths of contemporary late-Third Era Vvardenfell: eager for learning, eager to claim whatever in life was hopefully to manifest: children, a family, a home of sturdy adobe, a fruitful life, a garden of pretty plants: anthers and stoneflowers and golden kanets, and perhaps the courtship of some lucky Dunmer lass, whenever she’d happen to come along.
He’d been quite the bookworm during his long teenage years; studying under direct tutelage of a history teacher in Balmora’s Drenlyn Academy, a teacher who had a habit of emphasizing certain WORDS like SO, dazzling students with effervescent passion, yet also guiding them for the future with premier, imaginative storytelling. During this period of his life there was one other student, a girl nearly his age, whom he felt attracted to. She was also a bookworm; it seemed she was always walking around with some publication in hand, reading between classes, reading after school, assuming she wasn't going round with one of others in her limited social circle.
Not only was she a reader, but this particular young lady owned a pair of glasses! Extremely rare, ocular implements such as these were worth a lot of money, almost never to be seen in Vvardenfell, even among those with drakes. But Dagoth was too shy. And she happened to be of the wrong race, anyway.
After graduating, Gares became a member of House Hlaalu. He also entered a sort of seminary; a preparatory school for the Tribunal Temple. He was planning to become an ordained minister of the temple, while his Balmorian family proudly looked on.
But somewhere along, it’d all gone wrong.
Somewhere along, Gares’s nightly dreams began flooding with praiseworthy images, yes, not sinister in the least (at first), but more like inspirational sights: promises and pixies and untainted pastures. This caused the young elf to question his current status in life, without him even knowing he was doing so. One day in the month of Rain's Hand he’d left the seminary, and then simply vanished. Left his family and Balmora behind. The once-so-ordinary mer had become drawn toward darkness before he even knew he was caught within its vortex…
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Chapter LV -- Dagoth Gares
30 Second Seed (Day 288), noon The Crusader from Cyrodiil entered the cave for the second time. There would be this second attempt to penetrate Ilunibi’s blackened passages, and days later, a third try. Between the second and the third attempts, the crusader, a ‘she’, not a ‘he’, needed to make a round trip back to Balmora and Caldera, so she could stock up supplies, and persuade another Imperial soldier to follow her.
This time, she would lead her new follower nowhere near any sort of coastal waters.
Beyond the initial cave system called 'Carcass of the Saint' was a second system (Tainted Morrow). Tainted Morrow contained a few more enemies, mostly ash zombies, which Joan learned about after consulting a field manual on fauna and flora. Tainted Morrow also held another three-way intersection, which led to two more doors. Joan chose to go straight (the leftward of the two doors), where she arrived at a third cave system: Marowak's Spine.
As she made her way deeper and further, she was using what was known as the Gibbeous Method, presumably named after a long-ago dungeoneer named Gibbeous. She’d learned this method in one of the semi-martial courses offered back in Cheydinhal. The idea was simple: strike a pattern, and then continue to follow this pattern. If the delver had two directions to choose, and chose left, and then arrived at two
more directions, the next direction to choose should be another left. And this pattern continues until all leftward directions have been exhausted; the idea here being consistency.
Eventually, delvers would go as far as they could in their chosen direction, whether it'd be left or right. As they backtracked, they should then follow all of the paths
not chosen, again using a consistent pattern. If all the remaining directions were rightward ones, these should be chosen until all options to go right were exhausted.
Followers of Gibbeous claimed to boast greater success avoiding what every dungeoneer feared: getting lost.
"Stendarr, guide mine path."
Still, as pathways sometimes crisscrossed and she (hours later) found herself returning to the initial Carcass system, Joan of Arkay eventually found herself disoriented and confused, Gibbeous or no Gibbeous. To truly learn the ways all these corridors and chambers connected she’d need to draw a map. Which she did not have the patience to accomplish. Because remember, she was still needing to sight and defend herself from monsters and adversaries all the while.
“‘Tis why some delvers specify in such things as cartography,” she muttered at one point.
Occasionally, she’d encounter men, mostly dark elves, who'd be wearing next-to-no clothing. It seemed these men (there were no women or children down here) were mostly uninfected by corprus. None of them were disfigured, for instance; yet they had made a decision to dwell within Ilunibi of their own free will. But why had they chosen to do so in such an exposed manner? – It was as if they'd given up all of their worldly possessions, even their clothes, so they could lurk deep within their master's glow without any further chance of reversing their despicable decisions. These were folks who'd freely chosen to bask in the glory of Dagoth Ur, according to what they babbled as Joan entered their dens, eschewing even such simple matters as protection and modesty, as they hastily flipped their former lives for...
this.
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5 Mid-Year (Day 294)By now, Joan had returned from Caldera with her new soldier companion, because Ilunibi's underground passages yielded a variety of underground dwellers, many of them requiring more resources and patience to fight than she’d been accustomed to. In addition to the men disfigured by corprus were horrible ash creatures, skeletons who’d been former champion types during their long-ago lives, atronachs, and daedra. This delve was becoming exhausting! And Joan of Arkay was not adverse to requesting some help.
During her nightly dreams, she'd occasionally envision herself at the helm of others, great gatherings of folks of all types, following her toward conclusions which she'd never recall upon waking. As though she was some sort of leader in these dreams.
But this was no dream. This horrid environment she was now penetrating, was much more of a nightmare, brought to wakeful reality.
Finally, it seemed she was on the right track. In a cave-section called Blackened Heart she found an area in which the path raised a sudden incline. There was one final door to cross, which led into a final system: Soul’s Rattle.
“Remain standing here,” she advised her guard before entering the door. Wouldn’t want the man to rush blindly ahead, as Legionnaires sometimes did, causing a ruckus when such might not be needed at all. “If assistance is needed I shall return.”
“As you wish, Joan of Cyrodiil.”
She could see the zest within the man's eyes:
you wish for me to stand down NOW? those eyes pleaded. But procedure was to be honored at a time like this, no question. You wish to badger your way past the latest kagouti or road-bandit in the overworld? Go right ahead. But in a place Ilunibi, there was a way to approach these menaces and monsters, and there were times when the overhanded way a soldier made his or her attempts did not match the finesse Joan wanted to espouse. Plus, she was starting to feel as though finally, she was getting near to whatever truth was about to unfold.
She entered Soul’s Rattle. And here finally, a rational voice called to her. "I have you!" it said.
Yet another adversary, at first she assumed. She grabbed for her mace and gulped a fortifying potion. Cast some of the magic held within her Septim Ring, which increased possible damage she could bash with her weapon. “Show thyself, for ye too shalt perish at my baton,” she threatened whomever had spoken.
But all of this was unnecessary, it seemed.
"The Sixth House greets you, Lord Nerevar," an individual said as he rounded a blind turn. “I… am Dagoth Gares, and I welcome you to my home.”
The man before her was one of many who’d been affected by corprus. His back and shoulders weren’t hunched, but his face was completely mangled. Despite this, he hadn’t caused an immediate affront. And it seemed he was attempting to insert some warmth into his voice. "I am known as Dagoth Gares, priest of Ilunibi Shrine, and minister to the Sixth House servants."
Gares paused, confused for a moment. The figure before him, a
woman, rather than the man he'd expected according to his former twisted visions, stood still, and said nothing. The woman, interestingly enough, was also not Dunmer, as so many Nerevarine purportees had been in the past. Could this be the difference between all those false claimants, and what many had imagined to be the One True Prophet, come to reclaim His Glory?
"Hmm, not much to say?” Gares began in his phlegm-occluded voice. “Well then, I must tell you: my Lord, Dagoth Ur, has informed me of your coming, although I must admit your pale skin and feminine gender are not as I’d envisioned. Anyhow, I must start by saying that I hope you have come to honor your Lord's friendship," he said. "Not betray it."
The woman, wearing golden Imperial armor, was bathed in some sort of magical effect. "It behooves me," she finally spoke. "Such heinousness. How such misdirections keep occurring, regarding who I am.” She sighed. “For hear this, sire: I am
not the Lord Nerevar. I deign to accept such a lofty title, which oddly keeps being slung toward me. My name is Joan Marie, and I hail from Cheydinhal under the beloved benevolence of Arkay. This is it, and that is all. I must hope that these words shall now be gathered with measured prudence, Dagoth Gares.”
Joan halted her speech just then, suddenly realizing: here was a chance to finally take a moment of respite. Evil before her or not, she found herself somewhat glad to be having this break of conversation. To reach this inner sanctum of Ilunibi she'd had to fight a series of enemies, each one seemingly tougher than the next. Not all of them required assistance from her guard; she’d chosen to duel with roughly half these menaces on her own. The toughest, she realized, was a daedroth. She’d taken down actual daedroth!
But now it was time for the foul-faced man before her to retort. Would he continue to use words rather than warfare?
"Dagoth Ur is the Awakened Lord of the Sixth House," he explained patiently, as if trying to educate. "Come to cast down false gods, drive foreigners from the land, and restore the ancient glory of Morrowind."
The former meek student of Drenlyn allowed a moment for her to reply, but Joan of Arkay said nothing.
"He bids you come to the Red Mountain, saint. For the friendship and honor that once you shared, he would grant you counsel and power, if only you would pledge that friendship anew."
The crusader shook her head. "I am
not Lord Nerevar, what must we do to come and comprehend this…?"
"And I must counter this argument. For the path to Red Mountain is long, and filled with danger, but if you are worthy, you will find there wisdom. There is a firm friend, and all the power you shall need to set the world a-right."
As implacably stubborn as she found Gares to be, Joan couldn’t help but let her inquisitive nature take control. She became curious.
Firstly, she was still not under attack. Secondly, the deformed man before her was at least trying to be cordial. She found herself wanting to hear more. – According to some of the lessons she had absorbed as she’d learned how to fight, questing and adventuring across the lands was not always about brawls, combat, and strife; occasionally there'd be moments like this one, when intelligence could be gathered, even if it did come from nefarious sources.
"The Sixth House was not dead," Gares stated, "but only sleeping. Now it wakes from its long dream, and with its Lord, Dagoth Ur, it comes forth to free Morrowind of foreign rules and divine pretenders. When the land is swept clean of false friends and greedy thieves, the children of Veloth will build anew a garden of plenty in this blighted wasteland.”
“I see,” Joan replied. “I have taken notice, Dagoth Gares, that occasionally you’ve been speaking of I, Joan of Arkay, becoming some sort of friend, have you not? But take awareness, that I've just been attacked and blighted by these very Sixth House minions you’ve chosen to surround yourself with, hmm? How can I be whom you’ve then expected?"
"Forgive the rude welcome," Gares answered with a diplomatic gesture. "But until you have declared for us your intentions, we must treat you as our enemy."
Gares explained that the Sleepers and the Dreamers (those who had been seriously infected with corprus, and those who hadn't, respectively) were indeed called to service by the Sixth House, but hadn't yet been 'blessed' by Ur's power. Which meant: they could not glean her so-called importance just yet. He then explained a few things about his past, how he’d once been a student and then a priest-in-training, along with so many others in the town of Balmora, until he’d heeded Ur’s calling. Since then, his life had never been the same. It had seemingly improved, according to his mannerisms and the way he spoke. As if skulking around in underground cavities surrounded by deformed devotees was any sort of improvement, only he could judge for himself.
But the crusader was not convinced. After many minutes of listening to the man ramble about servants and minions and his Lord Dagoth Ur and his faithfulness to the Sixth House and the bloody meaning of the Red Volcano, Joan decided she’d heard enough. All of this was headed toward either one conclusion or the other. Either the man would continue his sermon until he was satisfied Joan was on his side, or he'd drop the whole matter, and she’d possibly then be under a bit of peril.
"Lord Dagoth gives me these words to say to you, so you may give them thought," Gares pontificated for the umpteenth time. "Once we were friends and brothers, Lord Nerevar, in peace and in war…"
"Alright," Joan answered.
Let us see where these words are headed. "Yet beneath Red Mountain, you struck me down as I guarded the treasure you bound me by oath to defend." Gares said, his voice rising a bit. "Remembering our old friendship, I would forgive you, and raise you high in my service!"
This again. "Must it be, that we continue to deny to whom ye speaketh?” Joan asked, palming the heft of her magical mace. “For again, I must explain that I am not this Lord."
Again, Gares ignored, although by now he was becoming visibly upset. "But... my Lord Dagoth bids you come to Red Mountain! For the friendship and honor that once you shared, he would grant you counsel and power, if only you would pledge that friendship anew," he suggested. "I am not your Lord Dagoth...."
"Aye. These are the first words of truth spoken during this diatribe, graced upon my ears..."
"...yet I, too, would say to you... Do you come with weapons to strike me down? Or would you put away your weapon, and join me in friendship?"
Ah. Quite the conundrum. Because what if this so-called 'friendship' involved an actual era of peacetime? Could it be possible that Joan Marie might actually leave the caverns of Ilunibi, so she could return to Caius with news of good tidings?
But then she remembered what he'd done to the soldiers of Buckmoth. All those troops, murdered, with only one left standing so he could return to civilization a dying abomination!
"Lord Dagoth would far rather have you as a friend than an enemy," Dagoth grumbled. "But until you submit to him, Sixth House servants will treat you as an enemy, and try to destroy you. If you wish to be our friend, first you must go to Lord Dagoth in his citadel on Red Mountain, and make your submission."
“The temerity!” cried the Breton. “Are these the words spoken by thee being chosen to somehow
persuade me into submission?" Seeing where this could possibly be headed, she readied a spell of magic within her mind. "I cannot and
will not allow myself to submit to
any deity, or the threats of heathens who allow themselves to become betrothed to such non-amicable personages," Joan seethed, her voice rising to match his.
Suddenly, the match began. Joan stepped quickly backwards, using the moment to gulp a potion and cast Dragon Skin, one of the spells she’d inherited just for being Breton-born. The fighting between priest and crusader was fast and furious!
Joan
vaunted forward, bashing her opponent with her magical mace, causing
flashes of fire to burn his skin as she fought. Dagoth countered without any weapon at all; flailing her with ungauntleted palms, although Joan quickly noticed his attack did cause some of her health to drain. She smashed the man again and again, remembering as the melee ensued to retreat at least once, so she could revive her quickly-ailing health!
Thank the Gods for Restoration! The pair continued dashing and smashing, Joan’s Blessed Shield taking some of the brunt of Gares’s barehanded attacks. –
Thoughts and fears and flashes flying all about! – Joan’s arm was bleeding… as the magic within her weapon waned (so that now she was merely attacking with bronze upon skin) her heaps of strength training,
hours spent tempering at the forge, also began to wane. Her breaths began to gasp. Would she need to place an ultimate retreat into the cave’s former section so she could retrieve the services of her guard?
Thankfully, that’s when it ended. Dagoth Gares fell to the ground, his arms and body dented and bleeding, obviously wasted for good. Despite this, with his dying breath the Sixth House priest smiled and gestured in a peculiar kind of way, after which Joan immediately knew something was now amiss.
Sortilege! thought she.
The Crusader from Cyrodiil knew right then she'd been cursed.
"Even as my Master wills," he said, laying upon the cave's floor, "you shall come to him. In his flesh, and of his flesh."
"We shall see about that. May Arkay guide thy forthcoming path, Dagoth Gares, should it be that you should find thyself with such fortune."
Joan swung her mace with all her remaining might, connecting one final time upon Gares's shoulder, dislocating it for good, causing the formerly handsome elf to expel his last gasp. Because when it came to moments of combat like this one, the aim wasn’t just to win, it was also to let your opponent
know he had lost, even as he gazed upon his remains from the afterlife.
Her mission seemingly done, Joan of Arkay dropped her mace and her shield, overcome with fatigue. She then began the habitual process of sussing about, looking for anything she could gather and use, or sell for profit.
On Gares's body she found a scroll which had been seemingly addressed to her, or at least, to whomever’d been claiming to be the Nerevarine as of late. Again, this note rambled about matters which so desperately wanted to grab her attention: the Sixth House, Dagoth Ur, the Red Volcano, and blah-de-blah and neigh-neigh, and so forth.
Joan of Arkay, lightly-feverish and yet empowered full of dying adrenaline, read the demon's note, and then crumpled it. Dropped it upon the ground next to the minion she'd just felled.
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Joan's Animal Camp -- (This was total luck, all these critters showing up outside of Ilunibi, yet all of them being non-hostile. Awhile back I added peaceful versions of all the non-blighted/diseased creatures, and then slipped them into Leveled Lists along with the meanies. So there's a chance of encountering cliff races, nix hounds, rats, mudcrabs, etc. as peaceful. But there's usually at least one hostile in a group such as this).
Fighting a Daedroth Dagoth Gares's pwning Shrine of IlunibiDagoth Ur's personal note to the NerevarineSunset Lopov'd------------------------
Notes: The list of magical effects shown in Joan's Magic menu after being cursed is long!
1). Fortify Maximum Magicka (Breton Birthsign)
2). Resist Magicka (Breton Birthsign)
3). Drain Intelligence, Willpower, Personality, and Speed (all of these are due to her being infected by corprus).
4). Fortify Strength, and Endurance (corprus disease again).
Thankfully, all these corprus effects are weak, and Joan’s two-dimensionally pallid face has not been distorted by the disease.
This post has been edited by Renee: Nov 13 2023, 09:24 PM