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.

Monday, June 06, 2005

Day 131: Headed North

Timing has become a very delicate issue. Mehra Milo is free and on her way to join the Dissident Priests at Holamayan. She is safe, and I feel neither need to rush there to meet her, nor need for delay. Trebonius and his mission to solve the riddle of the dwarves though, that must be managed carefully. I must give the guild stewards enough time to act on the information I shared with them before I deliver the translations from Baladas, but I must not appear to be shirking my assignment. It is a thin rope over a deep chasm that I have chosen to trod, but today was an excellent first step on that rope. Ranis has suggested a renegade wizard whose staff of office I can claim. Said wizard is in hiding far to the north, on the shores of Sheogorad. I could have gone to the coast and taken ship for Dagon Fel, but I am also obliged to the temple; a very handy obligation.

I took an early start, demonstrating my eagerness to get on with my task, and had the guild guides teleport me to Ald-ruhn. Edwinna can safely report that she last saw me headed to the temple to garner the blessings of the Tribunal on my journey. I met with Tuls Valen, who was extremely pleased when I reported my successful completion of the seven graces pilgrimages. So pleased that he readily agreed to assign me a pilgrimage to the Maar Gan temple. As I am headed north anyway I could hardly refuse. The slight delay of traveling by foot seems a small price to pay for such a worthy objective. I'm sure Trebonius will see that. Well, perhaps not.

The trek to Maar Gan was surprisingly uneventful. The hoards of mercenaries and adventurers who have descended upon this sleepy little outpost have apparently succeeded in thinning the swarms of blighted beasts and monsters that were threatening to overwhelm the Redoran guards the last time I passed this way. I was surely glad of that, as much of my journey passed within sight of the ghostfence. Hacking through under a steady bombardment of blighted cliff racers was irritating enough without a blighted rat or kwama behind every rock.

The shrine here at the temple of Maar Gan commemorates another of Vivec's battles with the Daedra lord Mehunes Dagon. In the center of the main chamber lies a great boulder. Mehunes Dagon had raised this very boulder overhead, and was about to send it crashing among the temple forces when Vivec intervened. Vivec is the poet warrior of the tribunal. There are countless volumes of his verses. He is a master of words. When Mehunes Dagon held the great stone high Vivec turned that mastery to a different purpose and taunted the Daedra lord into casting the stone at himself rather than the vulnerable troops.

When I met the dremora Krazzt at the shrine of courtesy I was impressed. He is bound to the shrine for eternity, playing the role of Mehunes Dagon as countless pilgrims reenact the gift of the silver longsword. I thought it was a pretty harsh fate, but Krazzt was very accepting of it. At one point I remember him saying "it could be worse". Now I see how.

Another Dremora is similarly bound at the shrine of the rock, also playing the part of Mehunes Dagon. Anhaedra stood quietly while I read the plaque on the stone. As I turned to him I saw a flicker of malicious hope in the wispy eyes visible through the slits of the Daedric helm. The flicker was quickly extinguished as a priest appeared at my side and said "Would you like the blessing of the Tribunal before the reenactment?"

I accepted his offer and received the blessing; a powerful spell of sanctuary that improved my reflexes such that I would be very difficult to strike in combat. The dremora spat at my feet. "Blessing or no, I, Anhaedra, will slice you to pieces and feed you to the maggots." Where Krazzt was bound to the shrine of courtesy and received an endless stream of silver longswords from pilgrims, Anhaedra was doomed for eternity to be taunted; mostly by pilgrims heavily protected by the blessings of the temple. I could hardly blame him for his bitterness. After a few barbed comments, no doubt feeble among what he has heard through the ages, the dremora drew his sword. We exchanged some desultory thrusts and I dispatched him to the plane of the Daedra; temporarily. He will be returned to face yet another pilgrim, perhaps as early as tomorrow. I do not envy his fate.

I do not envy his fate, though it does offer a sense of certainty. My own fate is an open question, a question that haunts me as I take to bed here in the tradehouse.


Anonymous Zelda_Zealot said...

Nice one. I noticed that you did not put in the dialog before the Dremora attacks, it is more then understandable though.

2:27 PM  

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