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.