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.

Thursday, July 28, 2005

Fourteen: My own part

After a fitful night I rose this morning with a somewhat clearer head. Mostly I think a head cleared by necessity. There is just nothing to be done about the library. There is also no need for me to wait for Skink's research, or Ranis' plots, or Edwinna to find a solution in some dusty Dwemer artifact. If I become the Nerevarine that will clarify so many things. If I don't I suspect I might die in the attempt, which is a clarification of a different sort. By the time I walked back to Vivec I was settled; not comfortable, but committed.

Having determined my course I spent the day setting things in order. I will be gone for some time, and cannot really predict how long. The only thing I really knew this morning was that the direction I had to follow was to find Mehra Milo and the dissident priests. All I could tell my advisors was that my path led to Ebonheart. They had answered my call and gathered in my offices.

"There will be affairs of state where your presence is expected," Malven said. "There are times that the Archmage represents the guild. Times that your absence may be hard to explain."

"It's a big guild that extends beyond Vivec City," Ranis put in. "The succession of the Archmage requires his involvement throughout Vvardenfell. Evade the requests, confront the demands. If the Duke requires his presence we will find him."

Malven nodded. I count on her diplomacy to temper things with the intrigues of the city. Ranis would probably have someone killed. "Malven," I encouraged, "I will be in contact, frequent contact. There shouldn't be any demands that can't be put off for a few days."

There was no way to cover every aspect, but we pursued everything we thought of to a solution that at least seemed workable. By the serving of the evening meal I had the grudging agreement of all four stewards that the guild was as prepared as we could make it. I spent the evening laying out my familiar gear.

Light armors, for ease of travel. The Archmage staff, which is good for walking and potently enchanted. Restoratives for healing, endurance, magica. Extravagant robes for meeting dignitaries, common robes for moving without drawing attention, the black mask of the Dark Brotherhood for clandestine activities that may become necessary.

The power that came to me with the mantle of the Archmage seemed like it would provide answers, but in the end the imperial guild cannot bend the ancient structures of Morrowind. Surviving the clash of those structures is going to require using those structures. My origins are in the Empire, but my fate lies with the Dunmer. After my sleepless night I am tired, but it will be easy to sleep well tonight. Before dawn I will be on the docks of Ebonheart.


Anonymous talkkno said...

Oh finnaly you no longer keep the supense. Those little adventures were fun while they lasted though.

9:26 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

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7:32 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

fifteen......? Arvil Bren we are missing you !

- Angela

12:41 PM  

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