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, April 15, 2005

Day Ninety-five:Mzuleft

The ship docked at Dagon Fel as I rose this morning. I had heard nothing very good about this tiny village, but as always one has to see for themselves. I found the people friendly and the village sturdy. The location is obviously highly desirable as it has been occupied, and fought over, for millennia. Beneath the foundations of the present village lie the remains of Nord fishermen who settled here in a time long beyond reckoning. They were driven out by the Dunmer or the Dwemer, and the site changed hands between them frequently until the disappearance of the Dwemer left it to the administration of the Temple. The Empire has brought new life to the fallow site, and in the cycle of time the modern village is home to fishermen; mostly Nords.

I was warned to not be fooled by the beauty of the surrounding wilderness or the peacefulness of the village. Sheogorad is untamed and even the roads must be traveled with caution. When I asked a guard, a member of the Imperial Legion, for directions to Mzuleft he gave them grudgingly. The island is dotted with ancient ruins and other sites of interest. In his opinion many of them are much safer to visit. When I insisted that my task called for Mzuleft and no other site would do he sent me on my way with a reminder that outside the confines of the village I should expect no rescue from the Legion.

It did not take long for his pessimism to prove to be warranted. There is a beast that roams the plane of the Daedra called a hunger. They feed on metals and have a strong taste for enchanted metals particularly, so they are sometimes summoned for use in war and other conflict. A group of them driven into the enemy formations can wreck havoc, disintegrating weapons right out of their hands and the armor off of their backs. I have no idea how one of these voracious creatures came to be wandering loose on this mortal plane, but there he was.

The hunger had set itself up at a crossroads, and was obviously well fed. The litter of straps, scabbards, and other bits and pieces indicated that many unwary travelers had left prize possessions to be consumed. Occasional bones marked those who had not given up on some rapidly deteriorated weapon and been struck down by the sharp claws for their efforts. I slipped into the shadow of a jumble of boulders and watched the pacing monster to get a feel for its movements.

It had a definite lair. Off the road a bit, but with easy access. If someone came along it could lurk there unseen until they were well within its range. With no one in sight the creature shuffled about, walking on two legs though hunched far over, shuffling through the fallen remnants for tidbits left from previous meals. I made a slow stealthy approach, and struck the hunger from behind before it could weaken my spear. Though it did do some damage before it thrashed out the last of its life, I suffered no loss or damage that a few minutes at the forge can't repair. Fearsome creatures from the Daedric and elemental planes just wandering the countryside. I may never complain about cliff racers again.

When I reached the ruins I found them taken over by Orcs; warriors and barbarians, heavily armed. I was very glad that the hunger had not badly damaged the Dwemer metal of my spear, and that I had enchanted it with the frost spell that I did. A minor wound or even a thrust completely blocked by armor left my foes stricken with a piercing cold that numbed the limbs and cracked the heavy green skin. Fortunately the Orcs were stupid in their lust for battle and charged recklessly as fast as they arrived at the scene. Had they just tried to hold me at bay and defend themselves until they could all strike together after the first bellowing war cry alerted them I would have been in serious trouble. As it happened they fell in ones and twos as my spear caked with their frozen blood.

I feel much better about the fortune in silver weapons that I abandoned in the burial caverns. Orcish smiths make some of the most prized armor and weapons, and I teleported home so heavily laden that I couldn't move a step. I even made a necklace out of great gears of Dwemer metal. They were on the floor, not really supported by the cord around my neck, but that was sufficient for my recall spell to catch them in its field. Ahnassi was amused, but Mebestian will be very pleased with my ingenuity. Five hundred pounds of raw Dwemer metal will fetch a good price. The plans and an ancient Dwemer book were probably the greatest treasures in the ruin, but of course they had been passed over by the stupid Orcs.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

Brilliant descriptions as usual, but I especially loved the comment about the clif racers, after facing a "hunger" which sounds fearsome - I haven't met one -yet !

- Angela

3:18 AM  

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