Day 122: A message for Dagoth Ur
Months ago, while on a mission for Ranis, I took shelter in a cavern. Inside that cavern I encountered what I now know was a corprus stalker. The corprus stalker, the red candles; clear signs of a Sixth House base that I did not recognize then. Now I know. This time I am here for more than just shelter.
I left Caius' house under cover of darkness, with my chameleon amulet blending me into the hillside as I climbed the ridge east of Balmora. I paused to look back from the top, then slowly descended; my pace dragged down by a heavy heart. If I do not find a cure I will likely never see Balmora again.
The corprus disease is affecting my thoughts. Throughout the day images distracted me from my journey, rising unbidden to my mind. Most of them were scenes from my time in Balmora; with Ajira, Galbedir, Ranis; at the Southwall Cornerclub; wreaking havoc at the Council Club. Amongst the familiar memories though there floated occasional glimpses that I know are from dreams. Dreams that speak for Dagoth Ur.
I crossed the Foyada Mamaca and toiled up the the trail that winds around the ruins of Arkngthand. The trek was uneventful. My skills with the bow are thus far unaffected, and I felled the wild creatures that chose to attack me before they could reach me for the most part. My goal was this base, and I reached it well before nightfall.
Dagoth Gares said that unless I travel to Red Mountain and bow before Dagoth Ur I will be treated as an enemy. I expected to be met and challenged as I entered, and the minions of Dagoth Ur did not disappoint me. Great showers of sparks cast an eerie illumination over the entry cavern and the walls dripped with venomous green magica as ash ghouls and zombies charged to the defense of the base. I dodged the greater concentrations of their magical attacks, but I noted a slight awkwardness, a hesitation. Knowing I have contracted the corprus is perhaps slowing me down more than the symptoms of the disease. My every move gets replayed in my mind, looking for the hints of the transformation that is bound to overtake me. The arrows sped true from my bow despite my concerns. The evil creatures of House Dagoth fell in showers of ash. They seem to have no blood.
It appeared as if most of the creatures of the base fell defending the entry chamber, but I was cautious as I continued into the depths. A healing potion coursed through me repairing the damage done by shock and poison from the spells, as well as cuts and scratches from the claws of the ash zombies. The passages tightened and I drew my sword. I slowed and slipped into the shadows as I neared a branching of tunnels marked by a raised platform.
On the dais stood two great iron coffers flanking a three sided obelisk. Tapered red candles burned in gracefully carved candlesticks set in ornate niches on all three faces of the triolith, which stood as tall as me. In one of the lidless coffers the abandoned goods of sleepers gathered dust. A gleaming axe, a sharp chitin spear; no longer of use to those who allowed themselves to be consumed into the cult; consumed quite literally. The other coffer held slabs and chunks of flesh; undoubtedly the freely given flesh of those who chose the corprus not as a curse, but as a welcome relief from pain and injury. I hurried onward.
In a deeper chamber I found the bells, and the mighty hammer which is used to ring them, calling the sleepers from their slumbers to participate in the rites of their own undoing. I swung the hammer, splintering the supports. The great bells hit the floor with final clangings. With the stone deadening their chime I beat them into misshapen heaps of iron. They will call no more minions to the cause of the enemy. A small blow against Dagoth Ur, perhaps too small for him even to notice, but I doubt that. I believe my actions here will send an unmistakable signal to the head of House Dagoth; a signal that I am not ready to surrender.
I left Caius' house under cover of darkness, with my chameleon amulet blending me into the hillside as I climbed the ridge east of Balmora. I paused to look back from the top, then slowly descended; my pace dragged down by a heavy heart. If I do not find a cure I will likely never see Balmora again.
The corprus disease is affecting my thoughts. Throughout the day images distracted me from my journey, rising unbidden to my mind. Most of them were scenes from my time in Balmora; with Ajira, Galbedir, Ranis; at the Southwall Cornerclub; wreaking havoc at the Council Club. Amongst the familiar memories though there floated occasional glimpses that I know are from dreams. Dreams that speak for Dagoth Ur.
I crossed the Foyada Mamaca and toiled up the the trail that winds around the ruins of Arkngthand. The trek was uneventful. My skills with the bow are thus far unaffected, and I felled the wild creatures that chose to attack me before they could reach me for the most part. My goal was this base, and I reached it well before nightfall.
Dagoth Gares said that unless I travel to Red Mountain and bow before Dagoth Ur I will be treated as an enemy. I expected to be met and challenged as I entered, and the minions of Dagoth Ur did not disappoint me. Great showers of sparks cast an eerie illumination over the entry cavern and the walls dripped with venomous green magica as ash ghouls and zombies charged to the defense of the base. I dodged the greater concentrations of their magical attacks, but I noted a slight awkwardness, a hesitation. Knowing I have contracted the corprus is perhaps slowing me down more than the symptoms of the disease. My every move gets replayed in my mind, looking for the hints of the transformation that is bound to overtake me. The arrows sped true from my bow despite my concerns. The evil creatures of House Dagoth fell in showers of ash. They seem to have no blood.
It appeared as if most of the creatures of the base fell defending the entry chamber, but I was cautious as I continued into the depths. A healing potion coursed through me repairing the damage done by shock and poison from the spells, as well as cuts and scratches from the claws of the ash zombies. The passages tightened and I drew my sword. I slowed and slipped into the shadows as I neared a branching of tunnels marked by a raised platform.
On the dais stood two great iron coffers flanking a three sided obelisk. Tapered red candles burned in gracefully carved candlesticks set in ornate niches on all three faces of the triolith, which stood as tall as me. In one of the lidless coffers the abandoned goods of sleepers gathered dust. A gleaming axe, a sharp chitin spear; no longer of use to those who allowed themselves to be consumed into the cult; consumed quite literally. The other coffer held slabs and chunks of flesh; undoubtedly the freely given flesh of those who chose the corprus not as a curse, but as a welcome relief from pain and injury. I hurried onward.
In a deeper chamber I found the bells, and the mighty hammer which is used to ring them, calling the sleepers from their slumbers to participate in the rites of their own undoing. I swung the hammer, splintering the supports. The great bells hit the floor with final clangings. With the stone deadening their chime I beat them into misshapen heaps of iron. They will call no more minions to the cause of the enemy. A small blow against Dagoth Ur, perhaps too small for him even to notice, but I doubt that. I believe my actions here will send an unmistakable signal to the head of House Dagoth; a signal that I am not ready to surrender.
posted by Tim | 1:54 PM
2 Comments:
Yes! First comment! Great post, I always wondered what those Sixth House Bells were for...
That was brilliant! well done! I really look forward to your next post
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