This is the autobiographical journal of Arvil Bren, a somewhat reluctant hero who has been placed on an unknown quest by powers that he barely knows exist. Follow his journey as it is updated daily, Monday through Friday, and enjoy! These are the most recent entries in Arvil Bren's third journal; Politics of the Redoran. His first journal can be found in its entirety here. His second journal, Trail of the Archmage can be found here.

Friday, January 28, 2005

Day Forty: Good deeds

My conscience is eased. I did good deeds today, without thought of reward. My former life, and the sympathy it engenders for banditry is another step further behind me. Sent glimmering into the past by a fiery haired Dunmer woman.

I set out this morning in the pre-dawn mists, headed west from Ald-ruhn. I was told there was no marked path to the coast, so I entrusted myself to direction by the sun and followed my shadow. The Ashland wastes provide few obstacles, and the occasional rocky ridge I could levitate over if need be. My objective was to get clear of the Ashlands, perhaps reach the coast, by days end. The first opportunity to do good presented itself as the sun still climbed through mid-morning.

I topped a small rise, not so steep that I had to levitate, and came upon one of the many trails that seem to run haphazardly through the wastes. Standing at the trail's edge was a Nord, who immediately boomed a less than friendly greeting. "Speak to me now, or when this enchantment ends I will bathe in your blood." I have almost had my fill of boorish Nords, and must admit that sticking an arrow or two into the broad bare chest crossed my mind, but my temper was stayed by the obvious predicament the fool was in. The Nord was paralyzed, frozen in place, wearing only a loincloth between boot clad feet and fur trimmed helm. Rather than kill the great oaf I stood on the hilltop and roared with laughter.

When I had gotten my breath, and calmed the stricken warrior enough to converse, I heard the whole sad tale. Hisin Deep-Raed it turns out had taken on employment as a bodyguard guide to a woman, who apparently has some skill in witchcraft and reportedly is quite attractive. The big Nord was loathe to admit the attractive part though, since he fairly boiled at every mention of his erstwhile employer. My own guess is that he was a little too attracted, and his state of undress speaks volumes of his intentions. For his part he claims no idea why she would do such a thing, but the witch woman opted to paralyze him and leave him on display when she moved on this morning. I made it a point not to laugh any further at this turn of events, and was forgiven my previous outburst when my spell cured Hisin's ailment and set him free to move.

Much to my surprise he rewarded me with his enchanted helm, Icecap, which has a permanent protection from frost cast upon it. I thanked him with a hearty clap on his bare shoulder and continued merrily on my way, leaving him fairly raving about how he would be dashing the witches brains out on the first handy rock when he found her. I did not ask how he thought he was going to avoid her magic the second time around. He did not seem in the mood for questions.

With that good deed behind me I continued on, crossing out of the ashlands into the green hills of the West Gash region. I was welcomed by an angry nix-hound. This grayish green waist high carnivore runs rapidly on four legs which end in broad three toed feet. They are ill-tempered, but not overly dangerous or durable. I made a very satisfying lunch of him.

With a full belly and a spring in my step I was in perfect shape for my next encounter. In a lush little valley stood my red haired vision, surrounded by her guar herd. Drulene Falen is a Dunmer, native born though not on Vvardenfell. She is not fond of the ruling house in her native Tear, and is quite happy with the lax governance of the Redorans. Of course their laxity is magnified because she is in a fairly remote area, which lead to my second good deed of the day.

Although the Redorans are a very martial house, they do not regularly get out to this far flung corner of their district, and Drulene and her neighbors have been being preyed upon without defense. Early this morning she lost one of her guar to a pair of marauding mudcrabs. I could not imagine mudcrabs taking down a guar, or facing a spirited herder, even if she wielded nothing more than a broom, but these were not the ordinary mudcrabs. I followed the bloody trail through a nearby pass into the bracing salt air of the bitter coast. The crabs had stopped at the first bit of swampy ground, and were lolling about gorged on guar meat. I marveled again that they had gone so far afield, but dispatched them without mercy. I butchered what was left of the guar and returned to Drulene.

We feasted on crabmeat and hackle-lo leaf and talked far into the evening. She is boldly independent, living here on the fringe of settled Morrowind, but very good company. Though she did not ask directly and I did not portray myself as some sort of assassin, I will take some time tomorrow to seek out a group of bandits she says have been operating in the area and dissuade them from disrupting this beautiful woman's idyllic farm.


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