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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.

Monday, July 25, 2005

Eleven: Away from the city

It was time to give let Malven have her hall to herself. I don't know how much the reality of our war with the Telvanni has gotten through to her, but staying and arguing about it would not help. It also would not help me. Holding myself too long against the knife edge of readiness where killing is the norm does not serve me or the guild. Those I killed today will not weigh on my conscience. In fact their deaths could be looked at as a kindness.

I had just arrived at the conclusion that I needed to get out of the hall for a while when Flacassia brought me a message from Skink. The worthy Argonian steward of our hall in the Telvanni capital helped me greatly, probably without knowing it.

"Arvil Bren," the message said. "We are continuing our research into the natures of Dagoth Ur's minions. As our council expected the Telvanni are not quickly forming a consensus, and we believe we must take this opportunity to focus on the greater enemy. Our research requires a sample; the soul of an ash ghoul. There is rumored to be a base of the Sixth House not far away, but we think it unwise to send any of our mages on this errand through Telvanni territory. Our request is that you assign this task to another hall. The soul gems and soul trap scrolls enclosed should suffice to complete it."

I considered the options. Who could Malven assign, or Ranis in Balmora? My own first experience with the cult came to my mind. A harrowing nightmare of red candles and stench, with the shocking recognition that came from seeing a corprus stalker devouring its own flesh that it tore free in chunks. I had fled that base so many months ago. Since then I had been in others; others that I had left with their evil bell stands smashed, silencing the dreamer calls. A mage could be assigned to find a base and capture an ash ghoul soul, but I opted to do it myself.

I found the island as I remembered it, not far south-east of Seyda Neen. The cavern mouth yawned open, waiting ominously. I crept inside. This time the guttering red candles and the wafting stench of rotting flesh were familiar rather than mysterious. More than just my conscience has been hardened by my time on Vvardenfell; my stomach lay in relative ease. I met the creatures of Dagoth Ur without fear or disgust, and released them from the horror their lives had become. Fulfilling the task that had brought me there I charged one of Skink's gems with the first ash ghoul that I dispatched.

In the depths of the shrine huddled the Dagoth; an ascended sleeper held directly in the sway of Dagoth Ur. This benighted creature was dwelling in the bell chamber on a ledge above a pool of seething lava. I approached, crossing a great stone arch from the larger ledge where the huge bells hung from their frame. "I have a message for your master, Dagoth," I shouted.

"I will deliver no words outlander. I will be crowned in glory when I bring him your head," was the monster's response.

After an exchange of spells the beast was staggered, in danger of falling to the lava below. I conjured a mighty Daedric spear as I leapt forward. The supernaturally keen point pierced through the Dagoth and pinned it to the offering trough filled with chunks of corprus meat. As its life hissed away I explained. "No words to deliver Dagoth. Your death, the destruction of the bells, the end of this base; that is all the message I would send to your master."

The mighty bell hammer quivered with resistance when turned on the framework of the bell stand, but could not but land where it was swung. The stand collapsed, dropping the great iron bells to the floor with a final cacophony. I wedged them one by one among the wreckage and hammered them into shapeless lumps.

The sun was lowering in the west when I emerged again into the muggy air of the bitter coast. I made my way around the bay and arrived with the night at Seyda Neen. If I needed further reminding of the true enemy I found it here. The embargo has brought the legitimate transport of goods to a stand-still, and the little town with its mighty harbor has suffered. The excise office is now manned by harshly roughened pirates who wage a constant battle with the smugglers, who have erupted like the fungus that thrives on the swampy coast. In his hunger to consume the island and its people Dagoth Ur is bringing it all to ruin.

With the Telvanni not actively moving against us, at least for the moment, I must turn my own attention to the Nerevarine prophecies. Dagoth Ur must fall.

3 Comments:

Blogger Fahrradd said...

It will be good to see those prophecies fulfilled. If not by you then by someone! All i have is compliments for you, Tim, on your outstanding writings

5:35 PM  
Anonymous talkkno said...

what about pelingrad :wink:

9:23 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

"Dagoth Ur must fall" - This is where things get exciting! Or should I say, even more exciting, if that's possible!
Thank you again for such excellent and imaginative writing.

We are all in suspense!

- Angela

3:23 AM  

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