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, March 18, 2005

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.


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