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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.

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

Day 137: Search for Sud

I left 'my' island behind this morning. The witch hunter may be able to reverse the damage to some of the vampires' cattle. Perhaps they will stay there and establish some sort of settlement. They may return to their long lost homes and leave the island in splendid desolation. Either way I suspect that I shall never return; a paradise ruined.

I crossed the straits to the north and arrived on the actual island of Sheogorad. Ranis said that the renegade wizard, Anirne, could be found in the caverns of Sud. The caverns are on the north-west coast, due west of Dagon Fel. I did not want to make the long march north-east to Dagon Fel only to traverse the length of the island again from east to west. It may have been easier if I had.

The island of Sheogorad is rugged, with many ridges that were too steep to climb. It seemed they all run east and west, but that may just be because I was trying to go north. Levitating over them, though good practice, offered its own problems. The cliff racers here are beyond counting, and swarmed around me whenever I left the solid footing of the ground. Fighting them in their own element while suspended by thin tendrils of magica is far from ideal, and having the effects of the spell run out while distracted by the great flying pests led to an assortment of skidding falls down the mountainsides.

I arrived at the coast battered and bruised and shot a mudcrab as much for spite as for lunch. My morale was slightly improved by the succulent meat, but I was not able to regain my normal state of mind. The vampires use powerful spells that sap the will as well as the life force of their victims. Although I have used my restoration magic to return to full fitness the horror still lurks in corners of my head I think. I doubt that the cattle will ever recover.

As usual, a foul humor led to a bad decision. After lunch I estimated my northward progress from the angle of the noon sun. I guessed that I was not as far north as Dagon Fel and turned north-east along the coast. Travel along the coast repeatedly called for a choice. Levitate over a rocky headland, only to be again beset by cliff racers, or wade around it fending off the inevitable slaughterfish. After a couple hours of aggravatingly slow progress I had to admit that I was clearly far north of a line due west of Dagon Fel.

I glared inland at the rugged foothills. Ranis said Sud was on the coast. 'On the coast' doesn't mean 'on the beach'. I climbed into the hills and circled back to the south-west. A zig zag course from hilltop to hilltop scanning each slope and valley for signs of the cavern made for even slower progress. Then I found a path running east and west between two steep ridges. I calculated. Inescapably I concluded that this path, at this point, was probably due west of the distant Dagon Fel. I turned to the west.

The path twisted occasionally to get past some obstacle, but basically flowed between the two ridges until the ridge on the north side dropped away into the sea. The beach was distinctive enough, and if it wasn't the broken crab shell left from my lunch was. I had rushed across this path in a last flight down from the ridge to the sea. The ridge to the south of the path was the last ridge I crossed, and in the broken cliffs just to the west where it too fell into the sea I found the entrance to the caverns of Sud. If I stood on the last curve of the path before it reached the great door I could see the spot where I had sat eating crabmeat half a day before.

I sat on the great crab shell gnawing on scrib jerky and watching the sun settle into the western sea. I do not want to enter the caverns by night. A lingering effect of the vampire clan, or just the weariness from tramping through the uncounted hills of Sheogorad? Either way, tomorrow is time enough.

4 Comments:

Blogger frootat31 said...

I think this sums up exactly how I felt getting lost in Morrowind! Its nice to see our 'hero' is not perfect. It makes for more of a realistic story. Great job- as always.

9:51 AM  
Anonymous Honorable Esco said...

Ah. Don't you just those cross country treks that you think will be a shortcut but turn out getting you lost... I have fond memories of traversing the Bittercoast like that...

1:15 PM  
Anonymous Zelda_Zealot said...

Wow. That reminded me so much of trying to find the Quarra clan... I must have passed their base five times...

7:50 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

That whole "getting lost" feeling in MOrrowind rang horribly, familiarily true! What an amazingly accurate account- it brought a flood of similarly frustrating and anxious memories of my own similar "lost" wanderings.
I remember looking for the white guar in vain, only to see it wandering along quite happily somewhere, some weeks later!!

-Angela

2:00 AM  

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