Days 71 through 80
Day Seventy-one: Humility
This morning I joined the Temple and began the Pilgrimage of the Seven Graces. Tuls Valen, the senior priest at the temple in Ald-ruhn accepted me warmly. Hopefully I can impress him and build enough of a reputation in the temple to get past the ill will in Balmora. I don't know how good a start today was.
The first of the seven graces is humility. There is a shrine at a place called the Fields of Kummu. Kummu was a farmer. Upon the death of his guar he could not work his fields, and without the harvest he could not afford a replacement for the guar. Kummu and his family were facing starvation when Vivec, the warrior poet, happened upon them. Kummu believed that his plea to his ancestors had somehow been answered, and Vivec, to honor the ancestors resolved to help the farmer. Rather than just buying a new guar, which he obviously could have done, Vivec humbled himself and joined the farmer in his fields to take in the harvest. I personally suspect the farmer would rather have had a new guar, but that is neither here nor there.
The Shrine of Vivec's Humility turns out to be on the shore of lake Amaya, not far from Pelagiad. I thought that was an excellent turn, and was planning to use my recall spell to come home when Tuls Valen pointed out that the truly humble would not shortcut the pilgrimage by magically flitting about. I wanted to point out that the Ald-ruhn temple is a lot further from Lake Amaya than Vivec City or Balmora, and I could just as easily have started my pilgrimage from either of those much handier temples, but...humility. I trudged up the dusty hill to the southeast of Ald-ruhn muttering to myself.
The first thing I learned from being a pilgrim is that a straight line might be the shortest distance, but not necessarily the quickest path. There is a road from Ald-ruhn to Caldera, and on to Balmora. The road heads west from Ald-ruhn before winding south, skirting the foothills of Red Mountain. I am a Journeyman in the Blades exploring Vvardenfell, I will not be confined to the roads. I am a Conjurer in the Mage's Guild, I can levitate over otherwise impassable ridges. Humility was clearly lacking.
By noon I was hot and miserable in my heavy armor. Despite floating over the steepest and rockiest passages I had climbed numerous hills, raising clouds of dusty ash that inevitably found their way inside my armor. The grey landscape, barren except for the thorny trama vines that writhe across the gritty surface, depressed my spirits. In the distance to the east I could see the shimmer of the towering ghostfence. The blight contained behind it added to the oppression. As I crossed yet another ridge a shear drop yawned at my feet, and I recognized the mighty Foyada Mamaca. I abandoned the straight line approach to pilgrimages. The bottom of the deep foyada would offer shade, and would take me down the slopes of Red Mountain into the lush greens of the Ascadian Isles without further climbing. Arrogance had given way to convenience. Humility was still distant, but waiting.
The path along the bottom of the Foyada was all that I had hoped it would be, though I was beset by swarms of cliff racers. These rapacious predators diving from the walls kept me alert, until I reached a huge Daedric ruin that clots the foyada. There my alertness failed me. It wasn't a diving cliff racer that escaped my notice, but something far worse.
As I approached the ruins I couldn't miss the glow of a flame atronach. The elemental monster stalked the ruins, trailing smoke as bits of grass and trama vine smoldered in its wake. I activated my amulet, blending into the chaotic patterns etched into the stone. The powerful chameleon spell and the atronach's sense of its own power made it easy to sneak up behind it with my conjured spear at the ready. I put everything I had behind a mighty thrust, squarely into the mass of flames between the broad shoulders. The atronach pitched forward into a mass of trama vine, which instantly burst into flame. I struck swiftly to finish the beast before it could launch the blistering jets of flame that are the favorite weapon of these visitors from the elemental planes.
That was when my lack of alertness nearly finished me. Having just speared the atronach in the back I cannot complain of the tactics. The thin whistle of a blade through the air came a split second before the blow, but gave no useful warning. The mighty Daedric axe shattered steel and bone, crushing my shoulder and ribs and driving me headlong into the arms of the atronach writhing on my spear. The stench of burning flesh invaded my senses as agony blackened my vision.
Long ago in High Rock my father took me to an alchemist's shop and bought a potion. The potion binds the mystical energy of a recall spell. He told me to always keep the small vial handy on my belt, for quick escapes. I picked up a vial in Balmora shortly after my arrival. In my arrogance lately I have considered many times giving up the habit of carrying it. My skills have grown, I can cast a recall spell reliably enough. My spear has slain innumerable horrors. I thought I was beyond the need for quick escapes, but I kept the vial; my father's voice haunting me over the vast distance and time. I thank him tonight for my life.
Thankfully my mate has the abilities and demeanor to have reached a high rank in the theive's guild. She was certainly startled when I appeared in the hall shattered and afire, but with feline grace she swept a blanket over me to put out the flames, then doused me with water from the mop bucket to cool the glowing oven of my steel breastplate. Whether she used spells or poured magical restoratives down my throat I don't know, but she pulled me back from the brink of death far enough for me to activate my own healing magic. Soon the wounds were reduced to angry scars, and the burned off hair will grow back, but the memory of that shattering blow will be with me always. Tomorrow I will complete the pilgrimage to the Shrine of Humility. I may not have walked the entire distance, but I will have traveled a long course.
Day Seventy-two: Fields of Kummu
I completed the pilgrimage today. The shrine stands in a beautiful area along the north shore of Lake Amaya. One of the local farm products is muck, harvested from the muck sponges along the shore. Though it does not look very appealing, and the name is certainly not appetizing, it is a staple and properly prepared adds to many dishes. Since the harvest that Vivec assisted Kummu with was the muck harvest it was appropriate to leave an offering of muck at the base of the shrine. The blessing of the shrine left me feeling lightened of my burdens all day. My return trip to Ald-ruhn was completed with a bouncing step.
Tuls Valen welcomed me back at the temple. "The pilgrimage has served you well Arvil Bren. The blessing of Vivec eases your burdens, and the virtue of humility enfolds you. You have learned well." I told him about the Daedric shrine, and my experiences in the Foyada Mamaca. He says I will have to pass that ruin on my pilgrimage to the Ghostfence Shrine, and suggested that it would be a service to other pilgrims if I sent the Daedric guardians back to their own planes. While vengeance is not a virtue, in this case it may serve a purpose.
My next pilgrimage is to the Shrine of Stop the Moon. Sheogorath of the bad Daedra, in battle with Lord Vivec, hurled the moon Baar Dau from its orbit to crush Vivec's palace. Vivec stopped the moon in its fall, and it hovers still over the city it would have destroyed, serving the Ordinators as the Ministry of Truth, the temple prison. I must journey to the shrine and offer a potion of levitation in honor of this feat. My new learned humility is already under test. I will walk to Vivec from Ald-ruhn, without consideration that had I taken on this quest from the Temple in the High Fane of Vivec the pilgrimage would be nothing more than walking outside to the shrine.
As I was about to leave the temple Tuls Valen stopped me. He didn't use magica or grab me, but his words rooted me to the floor. "I've asked around a little about you. There is more to you than meets the eye. What do you know about the Nerevarine prophecies?" I turned slowly to face him, considering how best to make my escape should he consign me to prison or execution. No Ordinators were in evidence, and I wondered if I could overpower him. As the temple's ranking member in one of Vvardenfell's largest cities I suspect he would be a powerful foe.
Fortunately I said the right thing, which was nothing, and he proceeded to sketch out the basics of the prophecy, all of which I already knew. "I am telling you all of this since I don't consider you a mere layman, in fact you would be better called a novice of the temple, and I have a task that suits your...unique skills. A false incarnate of Nerevar has appeared in Suran. With the attention that the Empire is turning on the prophecies we are hesitant to have the Ordinators seize this pretender. From what I've heard from Edwinna over at the Mage's Guild you have some experience in handling...delicate matters. On your way to Vivec I want you to visit Suran and find this 'Nerevarine' and convince him that he is not what he claims."
My reputation for handling 'delicate matters' in the Mage's Guild had to come from Ranis in Balmora, so I hesitated before asking the obvious question. I didn't want to hear the obvious answer. "How would I go about convincing him that he isn't who he thinks he is?"
"Well, you are a persuasive and resourceful fellow Arvil Bren. I'm sure you'll think of something. If nothing else, the Nerevarine can't die, so you could prove him false by just killing him." How did I know that was coming?
Day Seventy-three: Ghostgate surprise
Well, this is certainly not where I expected to be tonight; in a Redoran run hostel in the Tower of Dusk at Ghostgate. Ghostgate, which is the only passage through the ghostfence around Red Mountain, is flanked by two towers; this one and the Tower of Dawn. The Redorans provide services in this tower, which houses a branch of temple soldiers called the Buoyant Armigers, while Ordinators and temple functionaries throng the opposite tower. Temple functionaries, including my current traveling companion.
I met Viatrix Petilia this morning. She was waiting for me in the entry room of the guild hall. Without courtesy or preamble she said "I understand you know a path into the Foyada Mamaca. I need to be in Ghostgate in two days. Urgent temple business." She reached down and hefted her light pack onto her shoulder.
She had to have come from Tuls Valen. Clearly he would not have sent her if it wasn't important to him that she reach Ghostgate. I could reach Ghostgate in a day. Could this foppishly dressed lady keep the pace? I had no way of knowing. Could I protect her from the gauntlet of cliff racers and other monsters we would have to run? I had no way to know that either. Little did I know that the biggest challenge would be not abandoning the acid tongued, arrogant agent to be taken to mate by some free ranging kagouti. I might have done it, but I am too sympathetic to the dumb animals.
Throughout the day, at every pause to let her catch up, she would greet me with "Hurry up! I told you I don't have time to waste." Every battle with cliff racer, kagouti, wild guar, or shalk beetle I would have to heal her wounds, as she refused to stay out of the way. "You were taking too long and I'm in a hurry," she would say to my suggestions that she let me handle the creatures. She had time to complain, but never time to say thank you as I expended my magica healing her. Of course she never noticed how the battles slowed down once she came within range and I had to concentrate on protecting her as well as myself. By the time we reached the steep wall of the foyada my commitment to whatever urgent temple business she carried was stretched thin.
"Listen!" I said. "I've protected you all morning, and put up with your complaints. The business of the temple is your passport, and I'm willing to be your guide, but I could honestly report that I did my part even if you slide down this slope and break your neck. I could even say I had done my part if the slide started with me pitching you over the edge. Who's to know? Now either shut up or say thank you, your choice, but whichever you choose make it a choice that lasts out the day." I don't know how I will look in her reports, but at least the rest of the day was passed in sullen but blessed silence.
When we arrived we entered the Tower of Dawn. She is settled in quarters maintained for visiting temple members and pilgrims. In the morning I will escort her to the Ghostgate shrine, which is inside the Ghostfence, and then thankfully take my leave of her. I opted to stay in the Redoran hostel. Neither tower seemed big enough for both the agent and myself. It turned out to be a good choice.
Rather than getting quietly drunk in the bar I ended up enjoying the company. This tower, as I said, is the base of the Buoyant Armigers. I went to the bar expecting to find stuffy temple bureaucrats and even stuffier Ordinators, but the armigers are not at all like their opposing branch. They face the constant pressure of Red Mountain with a quick wit and a hearty laugh, and enjoy their off duty time to the fullest. It was a pleasant evening, and tomorrow I will have my full wits about me for the sojourn inside the Ghostfence rather than dragging the hangover I expected. Dragging Viatrix will be bad enough.
Day Seventy-four: Fooled only once
Once again my pilgrimage has been augmented by my recall spell. With the extra errands assigned along the way I don't feel bad about that. This time it wasn't due to a near death experience, I was just so laden down that I could barely walk. I don't feel bad about that either.
This morning I was enjoying breakfast at the Redoran hostel, picking up what I could as some Buoyant Armigers swapped stories, when the shrill voice of Viatrix Petilia rang through the room. "Arvil Bren! What are you doing! I need to get to the shrine!" I took a last sorrowful look at my half eaten omelet, grabbed a slice of toast laden with scrib jelly and followed her out.
"You told me you wanted to get here in two days, I got you here in one. I don't expect gratitude, but you could have let me finish my breakfast in peace," I grumbled around a mouthful.
"You and your breakfast are not my concern," she snapped, but thankfully after that she resumed yesterday's sullen silence.
We passed through the ghostgate and followed the short path to the shrine. I stood guard as she made her offerings and led her back. She received a blessing from Vivec's shrine, I got mine at the gate when we parted company. I wonder if Tuls inflicted this shrew on me as a test of my newfound humility. More likely he was just glad someone could escort her to a place far away, and hopes she will not find escort back.
Free of my traveling companion I sped down the bottom of the foyada. The cliff racers gave me numerous opportunities to practice with my shortsword and shield. While I have gotten very adept at spearing them out of the air, the lack of reach of the shortsword calls for entirely different stratagems. Blocking the lancing tail as it strikes, while slicing at the buffeting wings with the blade eventually wears the beasts down. Enough rips in the membrane of the wings and they settle slowly into range of the sword. Not as efficient, but if I am to shed my reputation as a spearman first, mage second, I will need to get used to the less obtrusive weaponry.
I made no pretense when I reached the Daedric ruins. I conjured a spear and held it at the ready as I activated my amulet and melted into the shadows. This time I intended to get a full lay of the land before charging into battle, but if I got caught it would not be without my most lethal weapon in hand.
The vast ruin sprawls up the southeast side of the foyada, but I confined my initial search to the lower pavilions. In my previous encounter I apparently did severe damage to the flame atronach. In his place an even more powerful storm atronach paced, sparks crackling along the surface of the thick cloud that gives substance to its humanoid form. I skirted the area carefully, and spotted the dremora leaning in the shadows. The daedric armor blended well with the swirling engraving of the ruin. Its flat black color suited the shadows almost as well as my own powerful chameleon spell.
The dremora are without substance in our plane; basically appearing as an animated suit of Daedric armor. When slain, the armor dematerializes back to the plane of the Daedra, but the spirit of the Dremora is frequently bound into their weapons, leaving them trapped in this solid inanimate form. Daedric weapons are highly prized for their keen edges, durability, and their capacity for enchantment. They are heavy, but extraordinarily valuable. If I could find someone who could afford them I could be hugely wealthy as I have gathered quite a collection, much of it today. I don't know if this dremora was the same one that struck me down, armed with a different weapon, or if the axe wielder had retired to his own plane to be replaced by this figure, which stood stock still with a mighty warhammer at port arms across its chest. Same one or different, this one would pay the price.
I again struck from behind. An atronach has no sense of honor, or mercy, or anything else. They are a conjuration embodying the elemental violence of their plane of origin, and to assign them any human values is to court death. Before striking I cast my most powerful defensive spells, and conjured a fresh spear, then gulped down most of a jug of sujamma. Though it dulled my wits, the potent liquor swelled the strength of my arms, and I drove the spear through the monster in one shattering blow that scattered wisps of cloud onto the hot wind blowing down from Red Mountain. This time I did not pause to survey my handiwork.
I did pause, but only for the carefully timed moment I had planned. I stepped forward into the swirl of dissipating cloud, holding my spear loosely in one hand and unlimbering my shield with the other. I did not put my arm through its straps, just pulled it off of my back. I knew the dremora would be closing on the now even less protected target, but the gleaming steel of my shield served a better purpose in my hand. I appeared to be looking down into the remains of the shattered elemental. I was actually watching the dremora's stealthy approach, reflected in the shield.
The great circular swing of the Daedric hammer would have ended the battle, crumpling my steel armor like paper. Would have, but once that great weight was committed to its arc I dropped to my knees and pitched forward, rolling into my own swiping blow. There was not much behind it, but with the dremora being dragged around by its own attack it was enough to knock it off its feet, the hammer thudding into the sandy floor of the foyada. As the spirit scrambled to regain its footing and its weapon I disrupted it further by flinging my shield as I rose. When I was first learning how to fight the drillmaster would scream at us 'first afoot carries the day'. He would repeatedly knock us down as we tried to stumble to our feet. I hated that old man then, but I would thank him today. I was first afoot, and pinned the thrashing dremora to the ground with a mighty thrust through its middle. Two powerful foes defeated, and I was unscathed.
I gathered my shield and turned at the sound of claws scrabbling over stone. In light of what I had just done the appearance of the scamp struck me as more comical than threatening. Perhaps it was the sujamma still clouding my senses. The small Daedric servant did catch me a nasty scratch with its claws before my shortsword sent it into a panicked frenzy, but after the atronach and dremora the battle was an anticlimax. Afterward I explored the rest of the ruins, finding the door to the shrine and no additional guardians. I half dragged and half carried the mighty hammer to the door. I have no idea what I will do with it, but it is far to valuable to have been left to be buried in the blowing sands.
Inside the shrine my spells served well. A brief area of silence and a vicious spear thrust from the concealment of my amulet's chameleon spell felled the guard without raising alarm. The cult's leader, taken by surprise, fell quickly, her netch leather armor shredded by the conjured spear before their other guardian dremora could reach the fray. The creature stood over its fallen master scanning the surroundings, but my amulet kept me hidden long enough to strike again. The dremora was quickly reduced to a mighty Daedric two handed sword, which clanged to the stone floor.
My appearance in her hallway was no less surprising to Ahnassi this time, but the awesome treasures I clutched in my hands did not have exactly the same effect as my former blazing arrival. The cult had accumulated quite the arsenal; hugely valuable, but mostly of no use to me. The exception being an ebony shortsword. Though not on a par with Daedric weaponry it is vastly superior to steel. I will have to think of some suitable enchantments for it.
Day Seventy-five: The false incarnate
This morning I completed the short remaining pilgrimage to the Shrine of Daring. It was the last walking of the day. The blessing of the shrine is a very powerful spell, similar to my own levitation spell but allowing for much faster flight. It lasted the rest of the day, all the way back to Ald-ruhn, and served me well in my mission to Suran.
Having made my offering and received my blessing I set off to Suran, a small city on the shore of Lake Amaya, not far from the Shrine of Humility. I had considered taking a silt strider, as the caravaners have a direct route from the strider port in Vivec City, but flying was even more direct; and exhilarating! The rolling hills, bays and inlets, and lush plantations of the Ascadian Isles unrolled beneath me. I found the city easily, and floated down into the courtyard of the local temple. I'm sure my obvious arrival was noted, and immediately gossiped all over town.
Before I became the rumor topic I needed to get information about the previous sensation of the moment; the latest Nerevarine. In some ways I actually hoped he would be the real thing; solve the problem of me possibly being the Nerevarine once and for all. Elynu Seren at the temple gave me little cause for hope as she expressed complete disdain for Elvil Vedron. She directed me to the public square in the northern end of town. I went to see for myself, though I left Elynu no reason to think I was not in complete agreement with the official temple position that this common man could not be the reincarnation of Nerevar.
Leaving the temple I soared into the air once more. As I cleared the buildings ringing the square I could hear the strident shouting. "Red Mountain spews ash and blight! Sleepers return to gather at the house! The time of the Incarnate is at hand!" Passers by mostly seemed to be ignoring him, and the Hlaalu guard who stood in the shade nearby looked on impassively. House Hlaalu are not the most devout followers of temple doctrine, to say the least. The very ordinary looking Dunmer stopped his tirade abruptly as I settled in front of him. "Outlander!" he hissed. "When I have reunited my people you and your kind will be cast from our shores forever!"
"Elvil, be reasonable. Your people do not look to be thronging around you. It takes more than a loud voice and the right birthday to be the Nerevarine."
"What do you know of the prophecy, outlander?"
"I know enough that the temple sent me for you instead of a squad of Ordinators to toss you into a fire."
"The temple sent me an outlander so I can begin driving them from our lands." His hand went to the hilt of his dagger. "Slaying you will draw the believers to me."
"Slaying me will draw that guard over here to throw you in prison. That would be the end of you as the Nerevarine, if you managed to slay me. Much more likely you would be proven to be a false incarnate when I painted this square with your blood." The gleaming ebony blade of my shortsword sparkled in the sunlight. "I could gut you and fly away before the guard even drew his weapon. The leader of a Daedric cult owned this sword yesterday, until she died at my hand. She seemed far more deadly than you. Are you really so sure you are the incarnate that you will put your life on the line? Hand off your dagger Elvil, I don't want to kill you, but have no doubt that I will."
Since arriving in Vvardenfell I have lost count of the number that I've slain. Warriors and witches, undead spirits, Daedric servants; it has left me marked. It shows in my eyes. The professed incarnate looked deep, and saw the truth. His hand fell away from the dagger. "The time of the incarnate is at hand outlander, but you have shown that it is not me. I will be chastened, but I will return to the temple." He walked away; a broken young man. I was not proud of what I had done, but I had spared his life. The Ordinators would not have I'm sure.
I flew on to Ald-ruhn. The Ascadian Isles quickly gave way to the wasted Ashlands, and my flight was beset with cliff racers. Soaring through their own element brought them in droves, and I vented my anger on the hapless beasts. Their vicious nature and command of the air makes them the bane of travelers throughout Vvardenfell, especially in the vastness of the Ashlands where they swarm, but they were ill prepared for a stout sword that could be brought to bear directly at their own level. With the delays it took me far into the night before I arrived over Ald-ruhn to settle exhausted in front of the guild hall. Tomorrow will be soon enough to report to Tuls Valen at the temple.
Day Seventy-six: What does it all mean?
I am again overwhelmed with assignments. I am spending the night at Surane Leoriane's house in Caldera. She tells me word is out among the Blades; Caius wants to see me. I considered taking the guild guide to Balmora tonight, but opted to take the opportunity to catch up with Surane. The ring of smugglers and Cammona Tong thugs that I broke up near Hla Oad do seem to tie back to House Hlaalu and the Caldera Mining Company, but the connections are still not clear. I wish I could repay Surane's hospitality by doing some investigating. My amulet of shadows and relative anonymity in Caldera would allow me some latitude that Surane does not have. I have no time right now though. Even without knowing what Caius has in mind I can guess it will have me busy. Busier than I am already.
My newfound interest in the temple is not sitting well with everyone in the Mage's Guild. Ranis sent word to Ald-ruhn, saying that if I had time to take the pilgrimages I had time for more duties. I will need to check in with her in Balmora tomorrow also. Edwinna gave me that bit of news, and threw in a task of her own besides. An expedition doing research in a Dwemer ruin is supposed to send her regular reports, and they are overdue. She gave me brief directions to the ruin and went back to her research before I could swallow the bite of kwama egg I was chewing. I wouldn't refuse her anyway, but it would be nice to be allowed to accept. Whatever task Ranis has, I'm sure refusing her isn't an option either. Having delivered numerous 'or die' messages for her I'm sure turning down her assignments would be considered high treason punishable by death. I will have to balance my guild duties with the pilgrimages. I am learning valuable information about the temple, so I don't want to quit them.
Tuls Valen was very pleased with my report from Suran. While he is the ranking temple priest in Ald-ruhn, the remoteness of the posting indicates he is not a loud voice in the temple hierarchy. The virtues exemplified in the pilgrimages seem to operate very powerfully in his life. At the same time, he does follow orders. It was precisely the remoteness of Ald-ruhn that saddled him with the task of dealing with Elvil Vedron, the false incarnate, without attracting Imperial attention. He was glad to have that business handled, but did not seem to really understand why the temple is making such a big deal about the Nerevarine Prophecies. He was very glad no blood had been spilled, though I get the impression those above him would have cared less. The simple virtues of the local temples are certainly good, but I wonder how far they extend upwards into the leadership of the temple as a whole. My next pilgrimage is again to Vivec City, to the Shrine of Generosity, at the doors of the Palace of Vivec himself. I think that as part of this trip I will make a visit to the High Fane, the governing center for the temple throughout Vvardenfell.
I took my time on the road sorting all this through today. It was noon before I was ready to leave Ald-ruhn anyway, so I made it a leisurely march to Caldera rather than trying to rush the pilgrimage, or my other tasks. I will depart early in the morning and should reach Balmora by noon. I could take the guild guide, but I'm still not ready to hurry. My various task masters will just have to be patient. If I am the reincarnation of Nerevar, how could there be so many people in positions to tell me what to do?
Day Seventy-seven: The Altmer scholar
I rose this morning and hurried to Balmora. I opted against using the guild guide for transport, because I wanted to meet with Caius before seeing Ranis at the guild hall. He appreciated the effort, but agreed that I should keep up with my duties to maintain my cover. My other tasks will carry me back to Ald-ruhn in due time, and that is where my next mission for Caius lies.
That settled, I went to the guild hall, arriving in time for lunch. As it turns out my arrival was perfectly timed for Ranis, who immediately pulled me into her office. "Arvil! Well met, conjurer! I'm glad you got here when you did. It gives me a chance to talk to you privately. Itermerel will be returning shortly though, so we need to be quick!." I didn't ask any questions, figuring that was the quickest way to get all the information. I was right. Itermerel is an Altmer, and a scholar. He was having lunch at the Eight Plates. He needed an escort to Pelagiad. That was the basics. Nothing there that had to be said before he got back. Then came the key piece of Ranis' assignment. "He has notes on his research. I want them. I don't care if he makes it to Pelagiad or not, but I want those notes."
I met Itermerel when he got back from lunch. Like all Altmer he is tall and very thin, with a yellow tinge to his skin and a connection to magica that gives him a ready command of spellcraft but leaves him vulnerable to it in turn. Unlike many Altmer he is very personable. Before we had passed the city gates we were chatting amiably about the wildlife of Vvardenfell and the road ahead. A small corner of my mind was already cursing Ranis and her assignment, then things got worse.
We weren't more than a hundred yards from the gate when a nix hound charged up the bank from the Odai River. I fired a quick shot from my bow that struck home, but was not really necessary. Itermerel had launched a fireball that reduced the rampaging monster to a charred hulk. Just letting him die from the challenges of travel in Vvardenfell disappeared into the dustbin of forgotten ideas. Clearly, if he was going to have to die for me to get his notes it would have to be me that killed him. Having seen the devastating effect of that fireball I wasn't really sure I could, even if I wanted to.
I began digging through my mind for an alternative. Pelagiad is my home ground. He plans to stay for at least some time at the Halfway Tavern. Ahnassi could steal the notes. That seemed workable. Then an even better plan fell into place. Actually it was well along before I even recognized that it was working.
After the scorching of the nix hound we resumed the trek. I commented on the effectiveness of his spell, and that opened a floodgate. Five minutes later the scholar paused to apologize. "I'm sorry for lecturing my friend. It is just that so few people are interested in my work. I took your simple question about my enhanced fireball and was off racing you through a full analysis of oblivion flows in void space. Forgive me."
I told him there was no need to apologize, and that in fact I was very interested in his work. It started out as a way to keep him talking while I thought about ways to get the notes. It took much of the afternoon before I recognized that it was the way to get his notes; a direct appeal to his scholarly ego! The march took most of the afternoon. We went the long way; down the Odai and around the badlands at the end of the Foyada Mamaca rather than cutting across. Every passing cliff racer, and even a charging Kagouti, provided laboratory demonstrations of his theories. In between he explained. Almost everything he said went far over my head, but I caught enough words that I could ask a question whenever he started to wind down. By the time we reached Pelagiad he offered to let me copy his notes as a way to improve my understanding of his theories.
We had dinner at the Halfway. Ahnassi was charming, Itermerel urbane and personable, and very complimentary to his newfound student. I brought his notes home and spent the rest of the evening copying rapidly so I can return them in the morning. For all his compliments I must admit that the whole subject is far beyond my grasp. If Ranis actually gets anything from these notes I will be impressed, and surprised.
Day Seventy-eight: The Shrine of Generosity
I enjoyed the walk into Vivec City this morning. Ahnassi was up early, and sent me off with a hearty breakfast and a stack of crab salad sandwiches for the road. The rising sun glittering off the surface of the many lakes and bays of the Ascadian Isles was glorious. Netch floated on the clear air, and light breezes ruffled through the trees. It was the kind of morning that makes me glad to be in Morrowind, just for the beauty of it. I sat on the shore near the bridge into the foreign quarter and ate my lunch, contemplating the Seven Graces that my pilgrimages represent; so far humility, daring, generosity. I even tossed some crumbs of crab meat to a passing slaughterfish.
In the High Fane, the greatest Temple in all of Vvardenfell, I did not see much of the graces. The priests, dressed in their finery and bustling about, seemed to have little time for me. The air was filled with politics; the behind the scenes maneuvering for position, the finding of the safe path to a tolerable end, the commitment to what will be accepted rather than what seems right. I asked a couple of functionaries if they would be interested in taking the climb up the steps of the palace to the Shrine of Generosity, and was told they had made their donations and I should get on with my pilgrimage. The average Dunmer is ever aware of the watchful eye of their departed ancestors. The priests of the High Fane do not seem very concerned with the virtues of their living god in his palace. I climbed the long stair and made my offering.
As I descended the long staircase I looked at my own relationship to the Tribunal Temple. I joined to find out about what is bound to become my enemy if I am the Nerevarine, and the more I see of the Temple leadership the more it seems that they will have no remorse about that. For my part though I am seeing a lot of good in the temple. I followed through on my plan today, and left another offering at the Shrine of Daring that gave me another round of the powerful levitation blessing and sped me on my way. I think that is the last time. Something about reducing the shrines to the level of a simple vendor selling blessings doesn't sit well.
It certainly came in handy though. I am sleeping tonight in a hammock within the Dwemer ruin of Nehuleftingth, a guest of Senilius Cadiusus, leader of the expedition. The ruin is deep in the region known as Molag Mar, and I cannot even guess how long it would have taken to walk here. I also have to say that the atronachs roaming the hills would have presented much more of a danger had I been on foot. Hovering in the air knocking them down with arrows may not have been fair, but dispatching these elemental constructs back to the planes from which they sprang is a service to all travelers.
Senilius says that the excavation report is overdue because it was lost with his colleague, Anes Vendu. Anes had been working in a chamber called the Hall of Pattern, and Senilius thinks he found an access to the lower levels. In the morning I will examine this Hall of Pattern and see if I can find a way to follow.
Day Seventy-nine: Depths of Nehuleftingth
Senilius Cadiusus is a fine scholar, but I would not choose him to lead an expedition. The traits that make a good scholar do not necessarily make a good leader. This morning he showed me the great hall known as 'Test of Pattern'. You would never have guessed that his colleague and friend was lost, or that he felt in any way responsible as the leader of the expedition.
Great machinery groaned throughout the hall, steam wisping from joints in the intricate piping. Three alcoves spaced along the left side of the hall held great boilers, heated by some unknown process. On the end of each boiler was a large handcrank.
"What happens if you turn these cranks?" I asked.
"I don't know. We have been trying to decipher these runes, but haven't had much luck," he replied.
"Well, Anes was in this room when he disappeared. These cranks are just like the one at the entrance to Arkngthand. He must have used one of them to open a passage to the lower levels, and now he is stuck there. Why haven't you gone after him?" I must admit, my voice was rising. I could not imagine why no one had tried to help the lost Anes Vendu.
"This is complex machinery," he said with disdain. "One cannot just start turning cranks and making adjustments."
"A man's life is at stake! You are the leader of this expedition! You can't just sit on your hands!" I was wrong. That is exactly what he had been doing, and planned to continue doing. With a great huffing sigh he turned to stalk back to his camp. I quickly grabbed the nearest crank and spun it violently. The cloud of steam that burst forth burnt me severely, but at least the edge of it scalded that pompous fool as well. "Well, that didn't work," I said as I activated the healing enchantment in my shield. Senilius sputtered with rage, but I really had no use for anything he had to say.
The results at the second crank were very much like the first, and again my healing shield restored me, but the third and final crank turned with effect. A large section of the opposite stone wall pivoted inward, revealing a stair. Footprints in the thick dust revealed that this was indeed the direction taken by the lost researcher. They led down. None came back up. At the bottom of the stair stood a typical Dwemer round steel door. It was shut. "Follow those tracks and I'm sure you will find your friend," I said coldly.
"That level is unexplored. We need a support team. You will have to report to Edwinna..." He saw my face and his voice trailed off.
"I will be reporting to Edwinna, but I wouldn't count on her assigning you any more men. You haven't shown the slightest interest in taking care of the team you have. Case in point, it is clear as glass that I'm going to have to go down there and find out if Anes Vendu is alive, and keep him that way if he is. You would leave him there to starve with a sprained ankle." I stomped down the stairs without bothering to see if he was following. He didn't.
I seriously doubted that Anes would be lying around with something as minor as a sprained ankle, but I was hoping. The faint hope expired as I slipped through the steel door. The hallway on the other side of the door was free of dust. I suppose the Dwemer centurions keep things tidy when they don't have interlopers to kill. The passage opened into a chamber lined with a double row of columns. Between the columns I could see that the hall continued on the other side. The ruddy glow of a lava pit shone in the distance, illuminating two pacing centurions. I crouched in the shadowy corner and watched.
These centurions were neither spider like nor rolling spheres. They walked like men, but where there would have been a right hand there hung a huge ball of gleaming Dwemer metal, studded with spikes. That metal ball was bigger than a man's head, and I estimated it to weigh hundreds of pounds. They paced back and forth, each turning its great metal head to look down the passage as they passed. Steam oozed from their joints. Occasionally one would pause to raise its great mace, like a flexing of great metallic muscles. The mighty ball would spring outward on some sort of extension of the arm, then retract; like a punching fist. I crept down the hall, trying to ignore the shakiness in my knees.
One of the centurions spotted me, and turned ponderously to thunder down the hall, his companion close behind. I raced into the chamber, a conjured spear leaping into my hands. The awesome constructs were more agile than one would expect, but still somewhat limited by their great bulk. The heavy Dwemer metal shells were proof against even the magically keen edges of my spear. I jabbed at the joints of their legs, and danced away through the columns. The wisps of steam turned into spurts and streams, and oily liquid gleamed as it flowed down the metal limbs.
The damage began taking a toll on them, slowing them further, but I knew the battle would turn with one strike from their giant weapons. I raised my point, and added the massive shoulder and neck joints to my targets. Finally, with a last gushing of steam, one of the giant machines ground to a halt. Its metal face almost seemed to express puzzlement. The arm slowly extended, lowering the great weight of the mace, and the stilled form swayed slowly, rocking on its motionless feet. Then, with an immense crash, the metal carcass fell face first to the stone floor. Seeing its companion fall had no effect on the second behemoth. It continued to slash at me, the huge mace whistling through the air. Eventually it too ran out of steam and collapsed. Oil pooled around them as the great shells cooled, their internal fires extinguished.
I found Anes Vendu, dead. His dagger and magic had wrecked a sphere centurion, but he had been smashed lifeless by a bonecrushing blow. The chamber in which he lay held barrels, chests, and shelves laden with artifacts, but it appeared that his only interest had been a heavy book, bound in green cloth covers. I took the book, and the rolled excavation report from his pack, and returned to the upper levels.
Senilius demanded the book. "That is the key. That's what we were seeking. The Hanging Garden. Look, it is written in the language of the Dwemer, but translated into old Aldmeris. With this a scholar versed in Aldmeris could translate other Dwemer works."
I did not give it to him. Anes Vendu earned it. The expedition's leader did not. I hefted a Dwemer axe which will bring a good price from Mebestian, and clutched the book as I cast my recall spell. I'm sure I will find a more suitable scholar.
Day Eighty: Literate Ashlander
I left early this morning, though leaving Ahnassi is difficult. Too many loose ends to be wrapped up, and my next assignment from Caius was pressing. I used an intervention spell and teleported to the temple in Balmora as dawn was breaking over the city.
Ranis was not up and about when I passed through the guild hall, which was fine. I left the notes she wanted with Ajira and hurried to Caius' house to share breakfast. He filled me in on the Ashlander he wanted found. Hassour Zainsubani was born in the Ashlands, but left to become a trader. A wealthy trader, as it turns out. When I got to Ald-ruhn I started asking around among the local merchants. Zainsubani gets products from the Ashlands that most traders cannot get, or at least have to pay premium prices for. He is a fair man, and does not exploit them, but he is able to deal effectively with the Ashlanders where no one else can. The more I heard about him the more I looked forward to meeting him.
I had taken the guild guide transport to Ald-ruhn, so my first stops were in the guild hall. The Ashlanders who are learning to read at the school there were a great help. I asked them about Ashlander customs, and how I as a stranger should approach the trader. They told me about the Ashlander gift customs. When a stranger wants to do business, he shows the depth of his interest by bringing a gift. The quality and effectiveness of the gift is not measured by its value. It depends on how the gift fits the recipient. A stranger who is willing to research his subject and learn their likes and dislikes and what would suit their needs will be well received.
Before setting out into the city I gave the excavation report from Nehuleftingth to Edwinna. I also told her about my own impressions of Senilius Cadiusus. She was saddened by the news of Anes Vendu's death, but excited about the book and the possibilities of translation that it represents. The book is safe in my room until a suitable scholar can be found.
To present the right gift the first thing I wanted to know about Zainsubani was where to find him. Caius had suggested he would probably be known around the Ald Skar Inn, and as usual he was right. The trader not only frequents the inn, he actually has a permanent room there. The proprietor was happy to talk to me, being as there was little business at the early hour. "A fine man, Zainsubani," he said. "Picked his own self up, right out of the Ashlands. Taught himself to read before the Mage's Guild set up their fancy school, then taught himself all about business. Since he speaks their language and knows their ways he does a lot of business with the Ashlanders. And he takes care of his own. Truth be told he provides most of the provisions for the kitchen here at great prices, and never sniffs for a break on the fair rent I charge."
The lone morning patron chuckled aloud. "Old Hassour wouldn't pay the rent if it wasn't fair Boderi. He'd be back in an Ashland yurt before he'd pay more than fair for a room. Now if ya charged him special for that chair he sits in readin', that he'd pay for." At that the proprietor chuckled as well. I gave the brief laugh of the outsider that sees the humor but only secondhand. I also took note to myself. A reader.
Satisfied that I would be able to find the man I was looking for once I had the gift I set out again into the streets. Various merchants confirmed what I already had heard. A hard trader, but fair; self made, with little concern for the affairs of the great houses; and an avid reader. It was hard to get them to talk about Zainsubani though. It seemed they were mostly interested in talking about Ienas Sarandas.
The Sarandas family, I learned, has been a pillar of the Ald-ruhn community for a long time. Their solid reputation and accumulated estate had fallen into the care of Ienas, a charming and likeable lad by all accounts, upon the recent death of his parents. By all accounts...not the ideal phrase to use when speaking about young Ienas. More than a couple of the local merchants openly asked if I would be willing, for a fee, to collect from Ienas monies that he had failed to pay for goods purchased on account. I noticed that the goods were all of the finest quality. If he had just spent the money he put as down payment he could have bought usable items outright. As one merchant put it 'dresses like a lord and not a drake for a meal'. I felt sorry for the young man, but agreed to help the merchants recover their goods.
I found Ienas at home. The house was a bit disheveled, but he welcomed me warmly. He is a good hearted sort, but not wise. He didn't even seem to be holding a grudge as he told me the sad tale of the sure thing tips he had gotten that led him to betting heavily on the guar races. Sure things that had, for the most part, gone wrong. he had no cash to pay his debts, to the merchants or the local gambling agents. The gamblers had made their fortune from him already, and I had no sympathy for them, but the merchants had delivered their finest in good faith. Moved by my recent pilgrimage to the Shrine of Generosity I suggested to Ienas that I would be willing to buy his expensive clothing from him, paying what he had put down on it so he could have food, and I would provide him a more suitable wardrobe. He was surprised by this offer.
"An outlander, just joined in the temple, and you have the virtue of generosity so clearly," he said. "While I, who was raised in the temple, have been nothing but a fool and a drunkard." His eyes were sad, but strangely peaceful. "Arvil Bren I thank you. Keep your money, and return these fine things to the merchants with my apologies. Any money you gave me the gambling syndicate would only try to claim, or swindle me out of. I am going to donate my house to the temple and devote myself to their good works."
If we had been in Vivec City I would have doubted that the Temple was any more deserving than the gambling syndicate, but I have confidence in Tuls Valen. I am sure he will put the house to good use and set Ienas on a solid path. I returned the goods, collecting some finders fees, and went to the temple. Tuls Valen was pleased with my completion of the third pilgrimage, and the demonstrable results. I gave him the fees I had collected and told him to hold them in trust for Ienas. We talked about the next pilgrimage, but I told him it would be a while as I had Mage Guild duties to take care of.
While making the rounds of merchants I made one all important stop. The local book seller. Codus Callonus stood surrounded by books. If I were a merchant that is how I would want to do it. No stacks of hides and slabs of meat, no sweating over a blazing forge, just piles of books, leisurely reading until a customer came along. Anyway, Codus was very helpful. Apparently Zainsubani is one of his best customers. "He reads everything, fast as he can get his hands on it. He says the written word is magic and it is a sad lament that his people have turned their backs to it. Every book has magic in it to him, but what he really enjoys reading is poetry, particularly the spare poetry that speaks to the harshness of the Ashlands and the hardiness of its people."
I told him I wanted to buy a gift, and he made some recommendations. As it happens the book I chose Zainsubani already had, but he graciously pointed out the worn bindings of his old copy. "The gift was well thought out Arvil Bren," he said. "Very well thought out since you could not be expected to know Ashlander customs. What is it that I can do for you that would have you come to me this way?"
Hassour Zainsubani and I talked far into the night. He told me Ashlander customs, how they live in the harsh wastes, what I could expect from them and how I could approach them. He told me all about the Nerevarine Cult, which is actually very small and only really active in one of the four tribes. He gave me names of the leaders of the cult and told me how to find them. Whether Caius sends me or not I will be following this path. But first I have a favor to do for my new friend and benefactor.
Hassour not only told me more than I could retain about the Ashlanders, he agreed to write an outline for me. I left him to that with the impression that the notes were for me to keep everything straight, which they are. They are also to share with Caius. While he is doing this writing, I will go to Mamaca, an abandoned underground complex in the West Gash. Hassour's son went there some time ago to explore, proposing that it may be a source of ebony and other goods. It has been a while since he has sent word home, too long a while for a father. There is no reason to think Mamaca dangerous or that anything bad has befallen the very capable young man, but I will check just to ease his father's mind.
This morning I joined the Temple and began the Pilgrimage of the Seven Graces. Tuls Valen, the senior priest at the temple in Ald-ruhn accepted me warmly. Hopefully I can impress him and build enough of a reputation in the temple to get past the ill will in Balmora. I don't know how good a start today was.
The first of the seven graces is humility. There is a shrine at a place called the Fields of Kummu. Kummu was a farmer. Upon the death of his guar he could not work his fields, and without the harvest he could not afford a replacement for the guar. Kummu and his family were facing starvation when Vivec, the warrior poet, happened upon them. Kummu believed that his plea to his ancestors had somehow been answered, and Vivec, to honor the ancestors resolved to help the farmer. Rather than just buying a new guar, which he obviously could have done, Vivec humbled himself and joined the farmer in his fields to take in the harvest. I personally suspect the farmer would rather have had a new guar, but that is neither here nor there.
The Shrine of Vivec's Humility turns out to be on the shore of lake Amaya, not far from Pelagiad. I thought that was an excellent turn, and was planning to use my recall spell to come home when Tuls Valen pointed out that the truly humble would not shortcut the pilgrimage by magically flitting about. I wanted to point out that the Ald-ruhn temple is a lot further from Lake Amaya than Vivec City or Balmora, and I could just as easily have started my pilgrimage from either of those much handier temples, but...humility. I trudged up the dusty hill to the southeast of Ald-ruhn muttering to myself.
The first thing I learned from being a pilgrim is that a straight line might be the shortest distance, but not necessarily the quickest path. There is a road from Ald-ruhn to Caldera, and on to Balmora. The road heads west from Ald-ruhn before winding south, skirting the foothills of Red Mountain. I am a Journeyman in the Blades exploring Vvardenfell, I will not be confined to the roads. I am a Conjurer in the Mage's Guild, I can levitate over otherwise impassable ridges. Humility was clearly lacking.
By noon I was hot and miserable in my heavy armor. Despite floating over the steepest and rockiest passages I had climbed numerous hills, raising clouds of dusty ash that inevitably found their way inside my armor. The grey landscape, barren except for the thorny trama vines that writhe across the gritty surface, depressed my spirits. In the distance to the east I could see the shimmer of the towering ghostfence. The blight contained behind it added to the oppression. As I crossed yet another ridge a shear drop yawned at my feet, and I recognized the mighty Foyada Mamaca. I abandoned the straight line approach to pilgrimages. The bottom of the deep foyada would offer shade, and would take me down the slopes of Red Mountain into the lush greens of the Ascadian Isles without further climbing. Arrogance had given way to convenience. Humility was still distant, but waiting.
The path along the bottom of the Foyada was all that I had hoped it would be, though I was beset by swarms of cliff racers. These rapacious predators diving from the walls kept me alert, until I reached a huge Daedric ruin that clots the foyada. There my alertness failed me. It wasn't a diving cliff racer that escaped my notice, but something far worse.
As I approached the ruins I couldn't miss the glow of a flame atronach. The elemental monster stalked the ruins, trailing smoke as bits of grass and trama vine smoldered in its wake. I activated my amulet, blending into the chaotic patterns etched into the stone. The powerful chameleon spell and the atronach's sense of its own power made it easy to sneak up behind it with my conjured spear at the ready. I put everything I had behind a mighty thrust, squarely into the mass of flames between the broad shoulders. The atronach pitched forward into a mass of trama vine, which instantly burst into flame. I struck swiftly to finish the beast before it could launch the blistering jets of flame that are the favorite weapon of these visitors from the elemental planes.
That was when my lack of alertness nearly finished me. Having just speared the atronach in the back I cannot complain of the tactics. The thin whistle of a blade through the air came a split second before the blow, but gave no useful warning. The mighty Daedric axe shattered steel and bone, crushing my shoulder and ribs and driving me headlong into the arms of the atronach writhing on my spear. The stench of burning flesh invaded my senses as agony blackened my vision.
Long ago in High Rock my father took me to an alchemist's shop and bought a potion. The potion binds the mystical energy of a recall spell. He told me to always keep the small vial handy on my belt, for quick escapes. I picked up a vial in Balmora shortly after my arrival. In my arrogance lately I have considered many times giving up the habit of carrying it. My skills have grown, I can cast a recall spell reliably enough. My spear has slain innumerable horrors. I thought I was beyond the need for quick escapes, but I kept the vial; my father's voice haunting me over the vast distance and time. I thank him tonight for my life.
Thankfully my mate has the abilities and demeanor to have reached a high rank in the theive's guild. She was certainly startled when I appeared in the hall shattered and afire, but with feline grace she swept a blanket over me to put out the flames, then doused me with water from the mop bucket to cool the glowing oven of my steel breastplate. Whether she used spells or poured magical restoratives down my throat I don't know, but she pulled me back from the brink of death far enough for me to activate my own healing magic. Soon the wounds were reduced to angry scars, and the burned off hair will grow back, but the memory of that shattering blow will be with me always. Tomorrow I will complete the pilgrimage to the Shrine of Humility. I may not have walked the entire distance, but I will have traveled a long course.
Day Seventy-two: Fields of Kummu
I completed the pilgrimage today. The shrine stands in a beautiful area along the north shore of Lake Amaya. One of the local farm products is muck, harvested from the muck sponges along the shore. Though it does not look very appealing, and the name is certainly not appetizing, it is a staple and properly prepared adds to many dishes. Since the harvest that Vivec assisted Kummu with was the muck harvest it was appropriate to leave an offering of muck at the base of the shrine. The blessing of the shrine left me feeling lightened of my burdens all day. My return trip to Ald-ruhn was completed with a bouncing step.
Tuls Valen welcomed me back at the temple. "The pilgrimage has served you well Arvil Bren. The blessing of Vivec eases your burdens, and the virtue of humility enfolds you. You have learned well." I told him about the Daedric shrine, and my experiences in the Foyada Mamaca. He says I will have to pass that ruin on my pilgrimage to the Ghostfence Shrine, and suggested that it would be a service to other pilgrims if I sent the Daedric guardians back to their own planes. While vengeance is not a virtue, in this case it may serve a purpose.
My next pilgrimage is to the Shrine of Stop the Moon. Sheogorath of the bad Daedra, in battle with Lord Vivec, hurled the moon Baar Dau from its orbit to crush Vivec's palace. Vivec stopped the moon in its fall, and it hovers still over the city it would have destroyed, serving the Ordinators as the Ministry of Truth, the temple prison. I must journey to the shrine and offer a potion of levitation in honor of this feat. My new learned humility is already under test. I will walk to Vivec from Ald-ruhn, without consideration that had I taken on this quest from the Temple in the High Fane of Vivec the pilgrimage would be nothing more than walking outside to the shrine.
As I was about to leave the temple Tuls Valen stopped me. He didn't use magica or grab me, but his words rooted me to the floor. "I've asked around a little about you. There is more to you than meets the eye. What do you know about the Nerevarine prophecies?" I turned slowly to face him, considering how best to make my escape should he consign me to prison or execution. No Ordinators were in evidence, and I wondered if I could overpower him. As the temple's ranking member in one of Vvardenfell's largest cities I suspect he would be a powerful foe.
Fortunately I said the right thing, which was nothing, and he proceeded to sketch out the basics of the prophecy, all of which I already knew. "I am telling you all of this since I don't consider you a mere layman, in fact you would be better called a novice of the temple, and I have a task that suits your...unique skills. A false incarnate of Nerevar has appeared in Suran. With the attention that the Empire is turning on the prophecies we are hesitant to have the Ordinators seize this pretender. From what I've heard from Edwinna over at the Mage's Guild you have some experience in handling...delicate matters. On your way to Vivec I want you to visit Suran and find this 'Nerevarine' and convince him that he is not what he claims."
My reputation for handling 'delicate matters' in the Mage's Guild had to come from Ranis in Balmora, so I hesitated before asking the obvious question. I didn't want to hear the obvious answer. "How would I go about convincing him that he isn't who he thinks he is?"
"Well, you are a persuasive and resourceful fellow Arvil Bren. I'm sure you'll think of something. If nothing else, the Nerevarine can't die, so you could prove him false by just killing him." How did I know that was coming?
Day Seventy-three: Ghostgate surprise
Well, this is certainly not where I expected to be tonight; in a Redoran run hostel in the Tower of Dusk at Ghostgate. Ghostgate, which is the only passage through the ghostfence around Red Mountain, is flanked by two towers; this one and the Tower of Dawn. The Redorans provide services in this tower, which houses a branch of temple soldiers called the Buoyant Armigers, while Ordinators and temple functionaries throng the opposite tower. Temple functionaries, including my current traveling companion.
I met Viatrix Petilia this morning. She was waiting for me in the entry room of the guild hall. Without courtesy or preamble she said "I understand you know a path into the Foyada Mamaca. I need to be in Ghostgate in two days. Urgent temple business." She reached down and hefted her light pack onto her shoulder.
She had to have come from Tuls Valen. Clearly he would not have sent her if it wasn't important to him that she reach Ghostgate. I could reach Ghostgate in a day. Could this foppishly dressed lady keep the pace? I had no way of knowing. Could I protect her from the gauntlet of cliff racers and other monsters we would have to run? I had no way to know that either. Little did I know that the biggest challenge would be not abandoning the acid tongued, arrogant agent to be taken to mate by some free ranging kagouti. I might have done it, but I am too sympathetic to the dumb animals.
Throughout the day, at every pause to let her catch up, she would greet me with "Hurry up! I told you I don't have time to waste." Every battle with cliff racer, kagouti, wild guar, or shalk beetle I would have to heal her wounds, as she refused to stay out of the way. "You were taking too long and I'm in a hurry," she would say to my suggestions that she let me handle the creatures. She had time to complain, but never time to say thank you as I expended my magica healing her. Of course she never noticed how the battles slowed down once she came within range and I had to concentrate on protecting her as well as myself. By the time we reached the steep wall of the foyada my commitment to whatever urgent temple business she carried was stretched thin.
"Listen!" I said. "I've protected you all morning, and put up with your complaints. The business of the temple is your passport, and I'm willing to be your guide, but I could honestly report that I did my part even if you slide down this slope and break your neck. I could even say I had done my part if the slide started with me pitching you over the edge. Who's to know? Now either shut up or say thank you, your choice, but whichever you choose make it a choice that lasts out the day." I don't know how I will look in her reports, but at least the rest of the day was passed in sullen but blessed silence.
When we arrived we entered the Tower of Dawn. She is settled in quarters maintained for visiting temple members and pilgrims. In the morning I will escort her to the Ghostgate shrine, which is inside the Ghostfence, and then thankfully take my leave of her. I opted to stay in the Redoran hostel. Neither tower seemed big enough for both the agent and myself. It turned out to be a good choice.
Rather than getting quietly drunk in the bar I ended up enjoying the company. This tower, as I said, is the base of the Buoyant Armigers. I went to the bar expecting to find stuffy temple bureaucrats and even stuffier Ordinators, but the armigers are not at all like their opposing branch. They face the constant pressure of Red Mountain with a quick wit and a hearty laugh, and enjoy their off duty time to the fullest. It was a pleasant evening, and tomorrow I will have my full wits about me for the sojourn inside the Ghostfence rather than dragging the hangover I expected. Dragging Viatrix will be bad enough.
Day Seventy-four: Fooled only once
Once again my pilgrimage has been augmented by my recall spell. With the extra errands assigned along the way I don't feel bad about that. This time it wasn't due to a near death experience, I was just so laden down that I could barely walk. I don't feel bad about that either.
This morning I was enjoying breakfast at the Redoran hostel, picking up what I could as some Buoyant Armigers swapped stories, when the shrill voice of Viatrix Petilia rang through the room. "Arvil Bren! What are you doing! I need to get to the shrine!" I took a last sorrowful look at my half eaten omelet, grabbed a slice of toast laden with scrib jelly and followed her out.
"You told me you wanted to get here in two days, I got you here in one. I don't expect gratitude, but you could have let me finish my breakfast in peace," I grumbled around a mouthful.
"You and your breakfast are not my concern," she snapped, but thankfully after that she resumed yesterday's sullen silence.
We passed through the ghostgate and followed the short path to the shrine. I stood guard as she made her offerings and led her back. She received a blessing from Vivec's shrine, I got mine at the gate when we parted company. I wonder if Tuls inflicted this shrew on me as a test of my newfound humility. More likely he was just glad someone could escort her to a place far away, and hopes she will not find escort back.
Free of my traveling companion I sped down the bottom of the foyada. The cliff racers gave me numerous opportunities to practice with my shortsword and shield. While I have gotten very adept at spearing them out of the air, the lack of reach of the shortsword calls for entirely different stratagems. Blocking the lancing tail as it strikes, while slicing at the buffeting wings with the blade eventually wears the beasts down. Enough rips in the membrane of the wings and they settle slowly into range of the sword. Not as efficient, but if I am to shed my reputation as a spearman first, mage second, I will need to get used to the less obtrusive weaponry.
I made no pretense when I reached the Daedric ruins. I conjured a spear and held it at the ready as I activated my amulet and melted into the shadows. This time I intended to get a full lay of the land before charging into battle, but if I got caught it would not be without my most lethal weapon in hand.
The vast ruin sprawls up the southeast side of the foyada, but I confined my initial search to the lower pavilions. In my previous encounter I apparently did severe damage to the flame atronach. In his place an even more powerful storm atronach paced, sparks crackling along the surface of the thick cloud that gives substance to its humanoid form. I skirted the area carefully, and spotted the dremora leaning in the shadows. The daedric armor blended well with the swirling engraving of the ruin. Its flat black color suited the shadows almost as well as my own powerful chameleon spell.
The dremora are without substance in our plane; basically appearing as an animated suit of Daedric armor. When slain, the armor dematerializes back to the plane of the Daedra, but the spirit of the Dremora is frequently bound into their weapons, leaving them trapped in this solid inanimate form. Daedric weapons are highly prized for their keen edges, durability, and their capacity for enchantment. They are heavy, but extraordinarily valuable. If I could find someone who could afford them I could be hugely wealthy as I have gathered quite a collection, much of it today. I don't know if this dremora was the same one that struck me down, armed with a different weapon, or if the axe wielder had retired to his own plane to be replaced by this figure, which stood stock still with a mighty warhammer at port arms across its chest. Same one or different, this one would pay the price.
I again struck from behind. An atronach has no sense of honor, or mercy, or anything else. They are a conjuration embodying the elemental violence of their plane of origin, and to assign them any human values is to court death. Before striking I cast my most powerful defensive spells, and conjured a fresh spear, then gulped down most of a jug of sujamma. Though it dulled my wits, the potent liquor swelled the strength of my arms, and I drove the spear through the monster in one shattering blow that scattered wisps of cloud onto the hot wind blowing down from Red Mountain. This time I did not pause to survey my handiwork.
I did pause, but only for the carefully timed moment I had planned. I stepped forward into the swirl of dissipating cloud, holding my spear loosely in one hand and unlimbering my shield with the other. I did not put my arm through its straps, just pulled it off of my back. I knew the dremora would be closing on the now even less protected target, but the gleaming steel of my shield served a better purpose in my hand. I appeared to be looking down into the remains of the shattered elemental. I was actually watching the dremora's stealthy approach, reflected in the shield.
The great circular swing of the Daedric hammer would have ended the battle, crumpling my steel armor like paper. Would have, but once that great weight was committed to its arc I dropped to my knees and pitched forward, rolling into my own swiping blow. There was not much behind it, but with the dremora being dragged around by its own attack it was enough to knock it off its feet, the hammer thudding into the sandy floor of the foyada. As the spirit scrambled to regain its footing and its weapon I disrupted it further by flinging my shield as I rose. When I was first learning how to fight the drillmaster would scream at us 'first afoot carries the day'. He would repeatedly knock us down as we tried to stumble to our feet. I hated that old man then, but I would thank him today. I was first afoot, and pinned the thrashing dremora to the ground with a mighty thrust through its middle. Two powerful foes defeated, and I was unscathed.
I gathered my shield and turned at the sound of claws scrabbling over stone. In light of what I had just done the appearance of the scamp struck me as more comical than threatening. Perhaps it was the sujamma still clouding my senses. The small Daedric servant did catch me a nasty scratch with its claws before my shortsword sent it into a panicked frenzy, but after the atronach and dremora the battle was an anticlimax. Afterward I explored the rest of the ruins, finding the door to the shrine and no additional guardians. I half dragged and half carried the mighty hammer to the door. I have no idea what I will do with it, but it is far to valuable to have been left to be buried in the blowing sands.
Inside the shrine my spells served well. A brief area of silence and a vicious spear thrust from the concealment of my amulet's chameleon spell felled the guard without raising alarm. The cult's leader, taken by surprise, fell quickly, her netch leather armor shredded by the conjured spear before their other guardian dremora could reach the fray. The creature stood over its fallen master scanning the surroundings, but my amulet kept me hidden long enough to strike again. The dremora was quickly reduced to a mighty Daedric two handed sword, which clanged to the stone floor.
My appearance in her hallway was no less surprising to Ahnassi this time, but the awesome treasures I clutched in my hands did not have exactly the same effect as my former blazing arrival. The cult had accumulated quite the arsenal; hugely valuable, but mostly of no use to me. The exception being an ebony shortsword. Though not on a par with Daedric weaponry it is vastly superior to steel. I will have to think of some suitable enchantments for it.
Day Seventy-five: The false incarnate
This morning I completed the short remaining pilgrimage to the Shrine of Daring. It was the last walking of the day. The blessing of the shrine is a very powerful spell, similar to my own levitation spell but allowing for much faster flight. It lasted the rest of the day, all the way back to Ald-ruhn, and served me well in my mission to Suran.
Having made my offering and received my blessing I set off to Suran, a small city on the shore of Lake Amaya, not far from the Shrine of Humility. I had considered taking a silt strider, as the caravaners have a direct route from the strider port in Vivec City, but flying was even more direct; and exhilarating! The rolling hills, bays and inlets, and lush plantations of the Ascadian Isles unrolled beneath me. I found the city easily, and floated down into the courtyard of the local temple. I'm sure my obvious arrival was noted, and immediately gossiped all over town.
Before I became the rumor topic I needed to get information about the previous sensation of the moment; the latest Nerevarine. In some ways I actually hoped he would be the real thing; solve the problem of me possibly being the Nerevarine once and for all. Elynu Seren at the temple gave me little cause for hope as she expressed complete disdain for Elvil Vedron. She directed me to the public square in the northern end of town. I went to see for myself, though I left Elynu no reason to think I was not in complete agreement with the official temple position that this common man could not be the reincarnation of Nerevar.
Leaving the temple I soared into the air once more. As I cleared the buildings ringing the square I could hear the strident shouting. "Red Mountain spews ash and blight! Sleepers return to gather at the house! The time of the Incarnate is at hand!" Passers by mostly seemed to be ignoring him, and the Hlaalu guard who stood in the shade nearby looked on impassively. House Hlaalu are not the most devout followers of temple doctrine, to say the least. The very ordinary looking Dunmer stopped his tirade abruptly as I settled in front of him. "Outlander!" he hissed. "When I have reunited my people you and your kind will be cast from our shores forever!"
"Elvil, be reasonable. Your people do not look to be thronging around you. It takes more than a loud voice and the right birthday to be the Nerevarine."
"What do you know of the prophecy, outlander?"
"I know enough that the temple sent me for you instead of a squad of Ordinators to toss you into a fire."
"The temple sent me an outlander so I can begin driving them from our lands." His hand went to the hilt of his dagger. "Slaying you will draw the believers to me."
"Slaying me will draw that guard over here to throw you in prison. That would be the end of you as the Nerevarine, if you managed to slay me. Much more likely you would be proven to be a false incarnate when I painted this square with your blood." The gleaming ebony blade of my shortsword sparkled in the sunlight. "I could gut you and fly away before the guard even drew his weapon. The leader of a Daedric cult owned this sword yesterday, until she died at my hand. She seemed far more deadly than you. Are you really so sure you are the incarnate that you will put your life on the line? Hand off your dagger Elvil, I don't want to kill you, but have no doubt that I will."
Since arriving in Vvardenfell I have lost count of the number that I've slain. Warriors and witches, undead spirits, Daedric servants; it has left me marked. It shows in my eyes. The professed incarnate looked deep, and saw the truth. His hand fell away from the dagger. "The time of the incarnate is at hand outlander, but you have shown that it is not me. I will be chastened, but I will return to the temple." He walked away; a broken young man. I was not proud of what I had done, but I had spared his life. The Ordinators would not have I'm sure.
I flew on to Ald-ruhn. The Ascadian Isles quickly gave way to the wasted Ashlands, and my flight was beset with cliff racers. Soaring through their own element brought them in droves, and I vented my anger on the hapless beasts. Their vicious nature and command of the air makes them the bane of travelers throughout Vvardenfell, especially in the vastness of the Ashlands where they swarm, but they were ill prepared for a stout sword that could be brought to bear directly at their own level. With the delays it took me far into the night before I arrived over Ald-ruhn to settle exhausted in front of the guild hall. Tomorrow will be soon enough to report to Tuls Valen at the temple.
Day Seventy-six: What does it all mean?
I am again overwhelmed with assignments. I am spending the night at Surane Leoriane's house in Caldera. She tells me word is out among the Blades; Caius wants to see me. I considered taking the guild guide to Balmora tonight, but opted to take the opportunity to catch up with Surane. The ring of smugglers and Cammona Tong thugs that I broke up near Hla Oad do seem to tie back to House Hlaalu and the Caldera Mining Company, but the connections are still not clear. I wish I could repay Surane's hospitality by doing some investigating. My amulet of shadows and relative anonymity in Caldera would allow me some latitude that Surane does not have. I have no time right now though. Even without knowing what Caius has in mind I can guess it will have me busy. Busier than I am already.
My newfound interest in the temple is not sitting well with everyone in the Mage's Guild. Ranis sent word to Ald-ruhn, saying that if I had time to take the pilgrimages I had time for more duties. I will need to check in with her in Balmora tomorrow also. Edwinna gave me that bit of news, and threw in a task of her own besides. An expedition doing research in a Dwemer ruin is supposed to send her regular reports, and they are overdue. She gave me brief directions to the ruin and went back to her research before I could swallow the bite of kwama egg I was chewing. I wouldn't refuse her anyway, but it would be nice to be allowed to accept. Whatever task Ranis has, I'm sure refusing her isn't an option either. Having delivered numerous 'or die' messages for her I'm sure turning down her assignments would be considered high treason punishable by death. I will have to balance my guild duties with the pilgrimages. I am learning valuable information about the temple, so I don't want to quit them.
Tuls Valen was very pleased with my report from Suran. While he is the ranking temple priest in Ald-ruhn, the remoteness of the posting indicates he is not a loud voice in the temple hierarchy. The virtues exemplified in the pilgrimages seem to operate very powerfully in his life. At the same time, he does follow orders. It was precisely the remoteness of Ald-ruhn that saddled him with the task of dealing with Elvil Vedron, the false incarnate, without attracting Imperial attention. He was glad to have that business handled, but did not seem to really understand why the temple is making such a big deal about the Nerevarine Prophecies. He was very glad no blood had been spilled, though I get the impression those above him would have cared less. The simple virtues of the local temples are certainly good, but I wonder how far they extend upwards into the leadership of the temple as a whole. My next pilgrimage is again to Vivec City, to the Shrine of Generosity, at the doors of the Palace of Vivec himself. I think that as part of this trip I will make a visit to the High Fane, the governing center for the temple throughout Vvardenfell.
I took my time on the road sorting all this through today. It was noon before I was ready to leave Ald-ruhn anyway, so I made it a leisurely march to Caldera rather than trying to rush the pilgrimage, or my other tasks. I will depart early in the morning and should reach Balmora by noon. I could take the guild guide, but I'm still not ready to hurry. My various task masters will just have to be patient. If I am the reincarnation of Nerevar, how could there be so many people in positions to tell me what to do?
Day Seventy-seven: The Altmer scholar
I rose this morning and hurried to Balmora. I opted against using the guild guide for transport, because I wanted to meet with Caius before seeing Ranis at the guild hall. He appreciated the effort, but agreed that I should keep up with my duties to maintain my cover. My other tasks will carry me back to Ald-ruhn in due time, and that is where my next mission for Caius lies.
That settled, I went to the guild hall, arriving in time for lunch. As it turns out my arrival was perfectly timed for Ranis, who immediately pulled me into her office. "Arvil! Well met, conjurer! I'm glad you got here when you did. It gives me a chance to talk to you privately. Itermerel will be returning shortly though, so we need to be quick!." I didn't ask any questions, figuring that was the quickest way to get all the information. I was right. Itermerel is an Altmer, and a scholar. He was having lunch at the Eight Plates. He needed an escort to Pelagiad. That was the basics. Nothing there that had to be said before he got back. Then came the key piece of Ranis' assignment. "He has notes on his research. I want them. I don't care if he makes it to Pelagiad or not, but I want those notes."
I met Itermerel when he got back from lunch. Like all Altmer he is tall and very thin, with a yellow tinge to his skin and a connection to magica that gives him a ready command of spellcraft but leaves him vulnerable to it in turn. Unlike many Altmer he is very personable. Before we had passed the city gates we were chatting amiably about the wildlife of Vvardenfell and the road ahead. A small corner of my mind was already cursing Ranis and her assignment, then things got worse.
We weren't more than a hundred yards from the gate when a nix hound charged up the bank from the Odai River. I fired a quick shot from my bow that struck home, but was not really necessary. Itermerel had launched a fireball that reduced the rampaging monster to a charred hulk. Just letting him die from the challenges of travel in Vvardenfell disappeared into the dustbin of forgotten ideas. Clearly, if he was going to have to die for me to get his notes it would have to be me that killed him. Having seen the devastating effect of that fireball I wasn't really sure I could, even if I wanted to.
I began digging through my mind for an alternative. Pelagiad is my home ground. He plans to stay for at least some time at the Halfway Tavern. Ahnassi could steal the notes. That seemed workable. Then an even better plan fell into place. Actually it was well along before I even recognized that it was working.
After the scorching of the nix hound we resumed the trek. I commented on the effectiveness of his spell, and that opened a floodgate. Five minutes later the scholar paused to apologize. "I'm sorry for lecturing my friend. It is just that so few people are interested in my work. I took your simple question about my enhanced fireball and was off racing you through a full analysis of oblivion flows in void space. Forgive me."
I told him there was no need to apologize, and that in fact I was very interested in his work. It started out as a way to keep him talking while I thought about ways to get the notes. It took much of the afternoon before I recognized that it was the way to get his notes; a direct appeal to his scholarly ego! The march took most of the afternoon. We went the long way; down the Odai and around the badlands at the end of the Foyada Mamaca rather than cutting across. Every passing cliff racer, and even a charging Kagouti, provided laboratory demonstrations of his theories. In between he explained. Almost everything he said went far over my head, but I caught enough words that I could ask a question whenever he started to wind down. By the time we reached Pelagiad he offered to let me copy his notes as a way to improve my understanding of his theories.
We had dinner at the Halfway. Ahnassi was charming, Itermerel urbane and personable, and very complimentary to his newfound student. I brought his notes home and spent the rest of the evening copying rapidly so I can return them in the morning. For all his compliments I must admit that the whole subject is far beyond my grasp. If Ranis actually gets anything from these notes I will be impressed, and surprised.
Day Seventy-eight: The Shrine of Generosity
I enjoyed the walk into Vivec City this morning. Ahnassi was up early, and sent me off with a hearty breakfast and a stack of crab salad sandwiches for the road. The rising sun glittering off the surface of the many lakes and bays of the Ascadian Isles was glorious. Netch floated on the clear air, and light breezes ruffled through the trees. It was the kind of morning that makes me glad to be in Morrowind, just for the beauty of it. I sat on the shore near the bridge into the foreign quarter and ate my lunch, contemplating the Seven Graces that my pilgrimages represent; so far humility, daring, generosity. I even tossed some crumbs of crab meat to a passing slaughterfish.
In the High Fane, the greatest Temple in all of Vvardenfell, I did not see much of the graces. The priests, dressed in their finery and bustling about, seemed to have little time for me. The air was filled with politics; the behind the scenes maneuvering for position, the finding of the safe path to a tolerable end, the commitment to what will be accepted rather than what seems right. I asked a couple of functionaries if they would be interested in taking the climb up the steps of the palace to the Shrine of Generosity, and was told they had made their donations and I should get on with my pilgrimage. The average Dunmer is ever aware of the watchful eye of their departed ancestors. The priests of the High Fane do not seem very concerned with the virtues of their living god in his palace. I climbed the long stair and made my offering.
As I descended the long staircase I looked at my own relationship to the Tribunal Temple. I joined to find out about what is bound to become my enemy if I am the Nerevarine, and the more I see of the Temple leadership the more it seems that they will have no remorse about that. For my part though I am seeing a lot of good in the temple. I followed through on my plan today, and left another offering at the Shrine of Daring that gave me another round of the powerful levitation blessing and sped me on my way. I think that is the last time. Something about reducing the shrines to the level of a simple vendor selling blessings doesn't sit well.
It certainly came in handy though. I am sleeping tonight in a hammock within the Dwemer ruin of Nehuleftingth, a guest of Senilius Cadiusus, leader of the expedition. The ruin is deep in the region known as Molag Mar, and I cannot even guess how long it would have taken to walk here. I also have to say that the atronachs roaming the hills would have presented much more of a danger had I been on foot. Hovering in the air knocking them down with arrows may not have been fair, but dispatching these elemental constructs back to the planes from which they sprang is a service to all travelers.
Senilius says that the excavation report is overdue because it was lost with his colleague, Anes Vendu. Anes had been working in a chamber called the Hall of Pattern, and Senilius thinks he found an access to the lower levels. In the morning I will examine this Hall of Pattern and see if I can find a way to follow.
Day Seventy-nine: Depths of Nehuleftingth
Senilius Cadiusus is a fine scholar, but I would not choose him to lead an expedition. The traits that make a good scholar do not necessarily make a good leader. This morning he showed me the great hall known as 'Test of Pattern'. You would never have guessed that his colleague and friend was lost, or that he felt in any way responsible as the leader of the expedition.
Great machinery groaned throughout the hall, steam wisping from joints in the intricate piping. Three alcoves spaced along the left side of the hall held great boilers, heated by some unknown process. On the end of each boiler was a large handcrank.
"What happens if you turn these cranks?" I asked.
"I don't know. We have been trying to decipher these runes, but haven't had much luck," he replied.
"Well, Anes was in this room when he disappeared. These cranks are just like the one at the entrance to Arkngthand. He must have used one of them to open a passage to the lower levels, and now he is stuck there. Why haven't you gone after him?" I must admit, my voice was rising. I could not imagine why no one had tried to help the lost Anes Vendu.
"This is complex machinery," he said with disdain. "One cannot just start turning cranks and making adjustments."
"A man's life is at stake! You are the leader of this expedition! You can't just sit on your hands!" I was wrong. That is exactly what he had been doing, and planned to continue doing. With a great huffing sigh he turned to stalk back to his camp. I quickly grabbed the nearest crank and spun it violently. The cloud of steam that burst forth burnt me severely, but at least the edge of it scalded that pompous fool as well. "Well, that didn't work," I said as I activated the healing enchantment in my shield. Senilius sputtered with rage, but I really had no use for anything he had to say.
The results at the second crank were very much like the first, and again my healing shield restored me, but the third and final crank turned with effect. A large section of the opposite stone wall pivoted inward, revealing a stair. Footprints in the thick dust revealed that this was indeed the direction taken by the lost researcher. They led down. None came back up. At the bottom of the stair stood a typical Dwemer round steel door. It was shut. "Follow those tracks and I'm sure you will find your friend," I said coldly.
"That level is unexplored. We need a support team. You will have to report to Edwinna..." He saw my face and his voice trailed off.
"I will be reporting to Edwinna, but I wouldn't count on her assigning you any more men. You haven't shown the slightest interest in taking care of the team you have. Case in point, it is clear as glass that I'm going to have to go down there and find out if Anes Vendu is alive, and keep him that way if he is. You would leave him there to starve with a sprained ankle." I stomped down the stairs without bothering to see if he was following. He didn't.
I seriously doubted that Anes would be lying around with something as minor as a sprained ankle, but I was hoping. The faint hope expired as I slipped through the steel door. The hallway on the other side of the door was free of dust. I suppose the Dwemer centurions keep things tidy when they don't have interlopers to kill. The passage opened into a chamber lined with a double row of columns. Between the columns I could see that the hall continued on the other side. The ruddy glow of a lava pit shone in the distance, illuminating two pacing centurions. I crouched in the shadowy corner and watched.
These centurions were neither spider like nor rolling spheres. They walked like men, but where there would have been a right hand there hung a huge ball of gleaming Dwemer metal, studded with spikes. That metal ball was bigger than a man's head, and I estimated it to weigh hundreds of pounds. They paced back and forth, each turning its great metal head to look down the passage as they passed. Steam oozed from their joints. Occasionally one would pause to raise its great mace, like a flexing of great metallic muscles. The mighty ball would spring outward on some sort of extension of the arm, then retract; like a punching fist. I crept down the hall, trying to ignore the shakiness in my knees.
One of the centurions spotted me, and turned ponderously to thunder down the hall, his companion close behind. I raced into the chamber, a conjured spear leaping into my hands. The awesome constructs were more agile than one would expect, but still somewhat limited by their great bulk. The heavy Dwemer metal shells were proof against even the magically keen edges of my spear. I jabbed at the joints of their legs, and danced away through the columns. The wisps of steam turned into spurts and streams, and oily liquid gleamed as it flowed down the metal limbs.
The damage began taking a toll on them, slowing them further, but I knew the battle would turn with one strike from their giant weapons. I raised my point, and added the massive shoulder and neck joints to my targets. Finally, with a last gushing of steam, one of the giant machines ground to a halt. Its metal face almost seemed to express puzzlement. The arm slowly extended, lowering the great weight of the mace, and the stilled form swayed slowly, rocking on its motionless feet. Then, with an immense crash, the metal carcass fell face first to the stone floor. Seeing its companion fall had no effect on the second behemoth. It continued to slash at me, the huge mace whistling through the air. Eventually it too ran out of steam and collapsed. Oil pooled around them as the great shells cooled, their internal fires extinguished.
I found Anes Vendu, dead. His dagger and magic had wrecked a sphere centurion, but he had been smashed lifeless by a bonecrushing blow. The chamber in which he lay held barrels, chests, and shelves laden with artifacts, but it appeared that his only interest had been a heavy book, bound in green cloth covers. I took the book, and the rolled excavation report from his pack, and returned to the upper levels.
Senilius demanded the book. "That is the key. That's what we were seeking. The Hanging Garden. Look, it is written in the language of the Dwemer, but translated into old Aldmeris. With this a scholar versed in Aldmeris could translate other Dwemer works."
I did not give it to him. Anes Vendu earned it. The expedition's leader did not. I hefted a Dwemer axe which will bring a good price from Mebestian, and clutched the book as I cast my recall spell. I'm sure I will find a more suitable scholar.
Day Eighty: Literate Ashlander
I left early this morning, though leaving Ahnassi is difficult. Too many loose ends to be wrapped up, and my next assignment from Caius was pressing. I used an intervention spell and teleported to the temple in Balmora as dawn was breaking over the city.
Ranis was not up and about when I passed through the guild hall, which was fine. I left the notes she wanted with Ajira and hurried to Caius' house to share breakfast. He filled me in on the Ashlander he wanted found. Hassour Zainsubani was born in the Ashlands, but left to become a trader. A wealthy trader, as it turns out. When I got to Ald-ruhn I started asking around among the local merchants. Zainsubani gets products from the Ashlands that most traders cannot get, or at least have to pay premium prices for. He is a fair man, and does not exploit them, but he is able to deal effectively with the Ashlanders where no one else can. The more I heard about him the more I looked forward to meeting him.
I had taken the guild guide transport to Ald-ruhn, so my first stops were in the guild hall. The Ashlanders who are learning to read at the school there were a great help. I asked them about Ashlander customs, and how I as a stranger should approach the trader. They told me about the Ashlander gift customs. When a stranger wants to do business, he shows the depth of his interest by bringing a gift. The quality and effectiveness of the gift is not measured by its value. It depends on how the gift fits the recipient. A stranger who is willing to research his subject and learn their likes and dislikes and what would suit their needs will be well received.
Before setting out into the city I gave the excavation report from Nehuleftingth to Edwinna. I also told her about my own impressions of Senilius Cadiusus. She was saddened by the news of Anes Vendu's death, but excited about the book and the possibilities of translation that it represents. The book is safe in my room until a suitable scholar can be found.
To present the right gift the first thing I wanted to know about Zainsubani was where to find him. Caius had suggested he would probably be known around the Ald Skar Inn, and as usual he was right. The trader not only frequents the inn, he actually has a permanent room there. The proprietor was happy to talk to me, being as there was little business at the early hour. "A fine man, Zainsubani," he said. "Picked his own self up, right out of the Ashlands. Taught himself to read before the Mage's Guild set up their fancy school, then taught himself all about business. Since he speaks their language and knows their ways he does a lot of business with the Ashlanders. And he takes care of his own. Truth be told he provides most of the provisions for the kitchen here at great prices, and never sniffs for a break on the fair rent I charge."
The lone morning patron chuckled aloud. "Old Hassour wouldn't pay the rent if it wasn't fair Boderi. He'd be back in an Ashland yurt before he'd pay more than fair for a room. Now if ya charged him special for that chair he sits in readin', that he'd pay for." At that the proprietor chuckled as well. I gave the brief laugh of the outsider that sees the humor but only secondhand. I also took note to myself. A reader.
Satisfied that I would be able to find the man I was looking for once I had the gift I set out again into the streets. Various merchants confirmed what I already had heard. A hard trader, but fair; self made, with little concern for the affairs of the great houses; and an avid reader. It was hard to get them to talk about Zainsubani though. It seemed they were mostly interested in talking about Ienas Sarandas.
The Sarandas family, I learned, has been a pillar of the Ald-ruhn community for a long time. Their solid reputation and accumulated estate had fallen into the care of Ienas, a charming and likeable lad by all accounts, upon the recent death of his parents. By all accounts...not the ideal phrase to use when speaking about young Ienas. More than a couple of the local merchants openly asked if I would be willing, for a fee, to collect from Ienas monies that he had failed to pay for goods purchased on account. I noticed that the goods were all of the finest quality. If he had just spent the money he put as down payment he could have bought usable items outright. As one merchant put it 'dresses like a lord and not a drake for a meal'. I felt sorry for the young man, but agreed to help the merchants recover their goods.
I found Ienas at home. The house was a bit disheveled, but he welcomed me warmly. He is a good hearted sort, but not wise. He didn't even seem to be holding a grudge as he told me the sad tale of the sure thing tips he had gotten that led him to betting heavily on the guar races. Sure things that had, for the most part, gone wrong. he had no cash to pay his debts, to the merchants or the local gambling agents. The gamblers had made their fortune from him already, and I had no sympathy for them, but the merchants had delivered their finest in good faith. Moved by my recent pilgrimage to the Shrine of Generosity I suggested to Ienas that I would be willing to buy his expensive clothing from him, paying what he had put down on it so he could have food, and I would provide him a more suitable wardrobe. He was surprised by this offer.
"An outlander, just joined in the temple, and you have the virtue of generosity so clearly," he said. "While I, who was raised in the temple, have been nothing but a fool and a drunkard." His eyes were sad, but strangely peaceful. "Arvil Bren I thank you. Keep your money, and return these fine things to the merchants with my apologies. Any money you gave me the gambling syndicate would only try to claim, or swindle me out of. I am going to donate my house to the temple and devote myself to their good works."
If we had been in Vivec City I would have doubted that the Temple was any more deserving than the gambling syndicate, but I have confidence in Tuls Valen. I am sure he will put the house to good use and set Ienas on a solid path. I returned the goods, collecting some finders fees, and went to the temple. Tuls Valen was pleased with my completion of the third pilgrimage, and the demonstrable results. I gave him the fees I had collected and told him to hold them in trust for Ienas. We talked about the next pilgrimage, but I told him it would be a while as I had Mage Guild duties to take care of.
While making the rounds of merchants I made one all important stop. The local book seller. Codus Callonus stood surrounded by books. If I were a merchant that is how I would want to do it. No stacks of hides and slabs of meat, no sweating over a blazing forge, just piles of books, leisurely reading until a customer came along. Anyway, Codus was very helpful. Apparently Zainsubani is one of his best customers. "He reads everything, fast as he can get his hands on it. He says the written word is magic and it is a sad lament that his people have turned their backs to it. Every book has magic in it to him, but what he really enjoys reading is poetry, particularly the spare poetry that speaks to the harshness of the Ashlands and the hardiness of its people."
I told him I wanted to buy a gift, and he made some recommendations. As it happens the book I chose Zainsubani already had, but he graciously pointed out the worn bindings of his old copy. "The gift was well thought out Arvil Bren," he said. "Very well thought out since you could not be expected to know Ashlander customs. What is it that I can do for you that would have you come to me this way?"
Hassour Zainsubani and I talked far into the night. He told me Ashlander customs, how they live in the harsh wastes, what I could expect from them and how I could approach them. He told me all about the Nerevarine Cult, which is actually very small and only really active in one of the four tribes. He gave me names of the leaders of the cult and told me how to find them. Whether Caius sends me or not I will be following this path. But first I have a favor to do for my new friend and benefactor.
Hassour not only told me more than I could retain about the Ashlanders, he agreed to write an outline for me. I left him to that with the impression that the notes were for me to keep everything straight, which they are. They are also to share with Caius. While he is doing this writing, I will go to Mamaca, an abandoned underground complex in the West Gash. Hassour's son went there some time ago to explore, proposing that it may be a source of ebony and other goods. It has been a while since he has sent word home, too long a while for a father. There is no reason to think Mamaca dangerous or that anything bad has befallen the very capable young man, but I will check just to ease his father's mind.
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