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.

Sunday, September 11, 2005

40: End of the world

The End of the World tradehouse is appropriately named. Dagon Fel is as remote as I would want to get . The Nords who live here seem to barely recognize that Sheogorad is considered by the empire to be part of Morrowind. They would have it as a distant branch of their own province. I spent the evening here in the common room, surrounded by hard drinking Nords, and did not see a single Dunmer face.

Most of my time was invested in conversation with a thief called Hreirek the Lean. While I have left my own theiving days behind me, my relationship with Ahnassi has kept me on the fringes of the guild. It was not hard to get her to accept me.

My arrival as a passenger from Khuul and my obvious Breton heritage would not have gotten me much recognition. The glowing ring Moon and Star may have if I had left it on, but the Nords were not on the same side of many ancient battles with Nerevar, so if it had been recognized it would likely not have done me much good. I suppose I could have identified myself as the Archmage of Vvardenfell and gotton some begrudged cooperation, but that would not have served for keeping a low profile.

My position with the Mage's Guild, in fact, looks to lead me into yet another delay. Hreirek did recognize the name of the camp, Aharasaplit, and tells me that it lies on the southwest coast. Were I not the Archmage I would head there directly in the morning. But I am the Archmage.

I admited to Hreirek that I am not in her guild, being a member of the Mage's Guild instead. She accepted my connections in place of membership, but bristled at the mention of the Mage's Guild. I could not help but notice, and naturally had to explore the source of her disaffections. Usually the Imperial guilds hold each other in reasonable regard. The mercenaries of the Fighter's Guild are frequently hired to guard things or otherwise interfere with theives, so there is often friction there, but the Theive's Guild is often called on by mages to acquire items that may not be available through conventional means, and theives are regular customers of the enchanters and alchemists. I probed gently, trying to find what could have soured my new friend on my guild.

"The local mage, Sorkveld the Raven." My attempt at subtle questioning brought a typically direct response from the Nord. "The local Dunmer hate him. Necromancy really offends them. He even gives me the creeps."

"Necromancy is against local law, and the Mage's Guild doesn't condone it. In fact I've at times been assigned to convince necromancers to change their ways."

"Well, I don't know if Sorkveld is even a member of the Mage's Guild," she said. "If he is I doubt that he is in good standing. He isn't the type, but he claims that since the Empire doesn't outlaw necromancy the locals just have to put up with it."

"That certainly isn't the position of the guild." I considered. I don't really even know which of my guild stewards would be responsible for this remote corner of my territory. "How skilled is this Sorkveld?" I asked.

"Deadly. He and his minions have a reputation for providing their own corpses, if you know what I mean."

I sighed. Sorkveld is clearly a problem. A rogue necromancer turning people against mages in general. It could be months before anyone can be sent up here to demand dues from him and make him comply with local law. And of course there is the question of just who could accomplish the task.

I took to my room and honed the point of the spear I was given by Erur-Dan. It served me well on the trek to Khuul this morning. At one point I waded around some rocky headlands rather than levitating over them or wasting time trying to climb them, and encountered a dreugh. There is nothing better for battling the aquatic decendents of the Ruddy Man than a stout spear, and I was glad to have it. It will likely be pressed into service in my negotiations with Sorkveld and I want its edge keen.

Erur-Dan is a failed Incarnate. His motives, I think, had little to do with battling Dagoth Ur. He was more interested in the part of the prophecy that says the Nerevarine will drive the outlanders from Morrowind. His era spanned the surrender to the Empire, and his hatred of the Cyrodiils is only matched by his disgust with the Tribunal. A few centuries lingering in the Cavern has mellowed him somewhat I suppose. Either that or seeing me be accepted by Azura left him little choice. At any rate, he is clear that his own path as the Nerevarine was a course of folly that ended in his singlehanded assault on the blighted monsters of Red Mountain. He must have had great courage, and I am honored to carry this spear.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

Brilliant! It in just little side adventures as this that the journal really brings alive Morrowind's life.


11:58 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Stumbled across this blog a few weeks ago. Went back and read it all. Sort of sorry I've caught up with you. I so enjoy reading page after page. Your Morrowind story bring the game to life. Replayed the entire game, again! Thanks for the inspiration and your efforts to keep this story going.

1:31 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

This day's entry reminded me of Arvil Bren's first days in Vvardenfell - "Is it my fate to become a good citizen?" !! Although a complex character, A B retains his original qualities; power has not corrupted him.

- Angela

1:00 AM  

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