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, June 10, 2005

Day 135: Simple pleasures

I made some sort of peace with Abelle Criditte before leaving Valenvaryon this morning. It seems that in the course of the night she accepted that expecting me to abandon my quest for a wizard's staff was unreasonable, and for my part the light of a new day showed that a bit of patience for someone who had been treated so poorly by fate was in order. The orcs had let her live as long as she supplied them with potions, but they had not treated her well, and certainly not with the deference to which she is accustomed. We came to an understanding, and she agreed to spend some time making a set of fine laboratory equipment, which I will buy upon my return, saving her from having to wait pennilessly until her father can be informed of her circumstances. With the Imperial embargo imposed to contain the corprus it could be difficult to contact him.

While we talked I explained what little I know of the propylon system to her. I do not know where all of the Dunmer fortresses are, and I have no idea where to find the indexes that make the propylons work, but it would certainly be nice to have access to such a transport system. When I next return home I will ask Mebestian if he has any suggestions as to where I might find such artifacts. Propylon indexes, returning for Abelle, I seem to collect more and more things to do. Today I rebelled.

It was not far from Valenvaryon to the coast, and I could easily see how the Breton ship transporting Abelle Criditte came to be wrecked. Tall spires of rock stood in ranks on the shore like an army marching out of the sea. Any fool could see that the spires were of a fairly consistent height, and those that stood in the water attested to its depth. Beyond the point where only crowns of stone marked the spires I was sure they continued, like rows of fangs lurking just below the surface waiting to gnash out the bottom of any passing ship. Across the straits more spires rose, as if held in reserve on the further shore. I cast my water breathing spell and walked among them on the sea bottom.

I did not come to shore on the main island of Sheogorad, though I did not know that at the time. This island is small, uninhabited, and alluring. If I were only the simple man who first set foot on the docks of Seyda Neen I could make a home here, but through the course of the day I determined that I am not. There is too much that I cannot ignore. It was an idyllic day though.

While I was still considering taking leave of my responsibilities I thoroughly explored the island. High ridges offered clean sightlines for excellent hunting. I did not find cliff racers nesting on the ridges, but they fly over from the mainland. Nix hounds and guar populate the lower vales. The surrounding waters teem with kallops. I piled my armor on the shore and swam luxuriously about, gathering pearls and crab meat. The comfortable lifestyle of Missun Akin the archer could be maintained here with ease, though without the sturdy stone house he calls home. The only man made feature on this island is a path that connects a small gravel beach on the south shore to a larger sandy beach on the north.

I would guess the path was used in older days to bring goods into northern Vvardenfell. Seagoing trade ships could anchor on the north without risking the deadly straits, and small coastal craft could take it off to the south. A thriving port could have existed here in ancient times, but the only structure remaining is a tomb near the path in the center of the island. If I were to remain here I would undoubtedly meet the clan it belongs to. It appears very well tended. Unfortunately I cannot remain here.

Somewhere to the north-east, near Dagon Fel, a renegade mage holds a staff; the staff of rank of a wizard in the mage's guild. Far to the west, on the Bitter Coast, a practicing necromancer sullies the good name of the guild. The archmage cannot be counted on to lead the guild through the coming times of trial. The survival of the guild rests on his successor; a successor that must know Vvardenfell but meet the requirements imposed from Cyrodiil. Not many can fit both those points.

Ultimately, even without my obligations to the guild I could not stay. Would the Dark Brotherhood stop seeking my death? Would Dagoth Ur forgive the destruction I have wrought on his cult of followers?

By day's end I had again settled with my fate. Tomorrow I cross the straits to the east, bound for Sheogorad.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

This sort of "extra" detail in "Morrowinding adventuring" makes your journal such a pleasure to read, and gives the reader,like Arvil Bren, a much needed respite from the grisly action scenes!

Needless to say, the return to the fray is always gripping and exciting.

- Angela

3:09 PM  
Anonymous Arthmodeus said...

I've been playing through these journals since about March with my Argonian character.

Here is a screenshot of the ingame map showing Arvil's progress thus far. Just thought I would share that with everyone. :)

3:16 PM  
Anonymous Zelda_Zealot said...

Wow, thanks Arthmodeus! That was very interesting. On to the comment. Very nice post, and thanks for kinda telling us what he was upto (I sorta forgot...).

7:59 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

hi avril went to your site but found no ingame screenshot of vvardenfell

7:30 PM  

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