Day Sixty-nine: Enough of the sewers
My sleep last night was tormented by dreams, hopefully a last vestige of my encounter with the dreamer prophet rather than a portent of things to come. The prophet herself looked small and unassuming in death when I led the Ordinators to her body this morning. As they carried her up out of the sewers I resolved to search for her lair. I seem to be spending more time in the sewers of Vivec than the sewer rats.
I did not find her lair, but did run afoul of another evil nest. The Orcs of the Wrothgarian mountains have been legally adopted into the Empire. They have all the rights of any other citizens, and many have channeled their innate ferocity into rewarding careers in the Imperial Legions. Legally they are like any other citizens, but they are set apart by their green skins, coarse language, and barbaric ways; and by their widespread devotion to what civilized folk regard as the bad Daedra. Unsurprisingly the orcs of the foreign quarter of Vivec have founded a shrine, hidden in the sewers beneath the city.
Normally I try to be tolerant of the beliefs of others, and so does the Empire. The ancestor worship of the Dunmer is accepted, and the Orcish followers of their Daedra are as well. But my recent experience has shown me that the bad Daedra are exerting their influence on current events; exerting it in favor of Dagoth Ur and the blight. I felt compelled to investigate the Orc's shrine. They did not accept my intrusion gracefully.
The guard at the door was drunk, lolling on a bench. Rather than providing security he fairly announced the presence of the shrine. I used my amulet of shadows to slip past him and through the door. Two Orcs where inside making their offerings to a figure of a Daedra carved of red stone. In the short guttural phrases of their kind they promised their fealty, and reported their successes in spreading death and destruction through the city. Once again an opportunity to combine a public service with satisfying my own avarice presented itself. The woman wore the simple robes of a shaman, but the male was clad in Orcish mail. Orcish armorers are considered to be among the finest in the Empire.
I emerged from the shadows. They could have fled, or greeted me even with hostile suspicion, and lived. But they chose to fight and die. As fast as the barbarian was in drawing his mighty ebony longsword, my conjured spear leapt to hand even faster, and I lanced him through the leg to limit his mobility. The shaman took her opportunity to strike with venomous magic, but the strength of her spell was not sufficient to lay me low, so I let it run its course while I buffeted her with blows from my spear. She was well versed in unarmed combat, nimble and quick, and she blocked or dodged many of my attacks, but soon enough she lay on the floor of the shrine in a spreading pool of blood.
As I turned to face the armored barbarian he roared, "You strike leg in surprise. You kill she with no weapon. Come to sword pinkskin. Your bones will be my dinner." The longsword sliced through the air with a hiss. He had great strength and a sharp heavy blade, and courage of the insanely foolhardy sort. On one leg against the longer reach of my spear he stood no chance. Where it not for the things I had heard him boast to his lord, about women and children whose bones had made his dinners before, I would have felt remorse. I slew him without a second thought.
I have no regrets for the guard at the door either. I did not slay him. I emerged from the shrine with my water walking spell activated, struck him a bare handed blow that roused him from his stupor, and ran onto the surface of the canal. The Orcs have generations of ferocity, strength, and stupidity behind them. They are citizens of the Empire now, and will need to have other qualities of their race emerge. I felt like I was contributing to that as the swirling muck sucked the armor clad warrior down to his death. I strode back onto the deck, looted the shrine, and transported home. I have had enough of the sewers.
I did not find her lair, but did run afoul of another evil nest. The Orcs of the Wrothgarian mountains have been legally adopted into the Empire. They have all the rights of any other citizens, and many have channeled their innate ferocity into rewarding careers in the Imperial Legions. Legally they are like any other citizens, but they are set apart by their green skins, coarse language, and barbaric ways; and by their widespread devotion to what civilized folk regard as the bad Daedra. Unsurprisingly the orcs of the foreign quarter of Vivec have founded a shrine, hidden in the sewers beneath the city.
Normally I try to be tolerant of the beliefs of others, and so does the Empire. The ancestor worship of the Dunmer is accepted, and the Orcish followers of their Daedra are as well. But my recent experience has shown me that the bad Daedra are exerting their influence on current events; exerting it in favor of Dagoth Ur and the blight. I felt compelled to investigate the Orc's shrine. They did not accept my intrusion gracefully.
The guard at the door was drunk, lolling on a bench. Rather than providing security he fairly announced the presence of the shrine. I used my amulet of shadows to slip past him and through the door. Two Orcs where inside making their offerings to a figure of a Daedra carved of red stone. In the short guttural phrases of their kind they promised their fealty, and reported their successes in spreading death and destruction through the city. Once again an opportunity to combine a public service with satisfying my own avarice presented itself. The woman wore the simple robes of a shaman, but the male was clad in Orcish mail. Orcish armorers are considered to be among the finest in the Empire.
I emerged from the shadows. They could have fled, or greeted me even with hostile suspicion, and lived. But they chose to fight and die. As fast as the barbarian was in drawing his mighty ebony longsword, my conjured spear leapt to hand even faster, and I lanced him through the leg to limit his mobility. The shaman took her opportunity to strike with venomous magic, but the strength of her spell was not sufficient to lay me low, so I let it run its course while I buffeted her with blows from my spear. She was well versed in unarmed combat, nimble and quick, and she blocked or dodged many of my attacks, but soon enough she lay on the floor of the shrine in a spreading pool of blood.
As I turned to face the armored barbarian he roared, "You strike leg in surprise. You kill she with no weapon. Come to sword pinkskin. Your bones will be my dinner." The longsword sliced through the air with a hiss. He had great strength and a sharp heavy blade, and courage of the insanely foolhardy sort. On one leg against the longer reach of my spear he stood no chance. Where it not for the things I had heard him boast to his lord, about women and children whose bones had made his dinners before, I would have felt remorse. I slew him without a second thought.
I have no regrets for the guard at the door either. I did not slay him. I emerged from the shrine with my water walking spell activated, struck him a bare handed blow that roused him from his stupor, and ran onto the surface of the canal. The Orcs have generations of ferocity, strength, and stupidity behind them. They are citizens of the Empire now, and will need to have other qualities of their race emerge. I felt like I was contributing to that as the swirling muck sucked the armor clad warrior down to his death. I strode back onto the deck, looted the shrine, and transported home. I have had enough of the sewers.
posted by Tim | 4:25 PM
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