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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.

Friday, February 03, 2006

12: Confidence

Nerevarine...Moon and star...Azura's chosen...

All of those identities swirled through my mind as it dredged up from the blackness. I opened my left eye. The other was crusted shut with dried blood. I remembered the swirl of purple magica engulfing me, the falling axe.

A sharp hiss from my right caught my attention, and I tried to turn my head. Searing pain howled as my head flopped sideways, and I saw Ahnassi's striped face as the blackness smashed over me again.

Archmage...Archmage...

I opened my eyes, both of them. The blood had been cleaned away.

Ranis stood over me. "You have to get control," she said sternly, concern clouding her red eyes. She glimmerred, as if through a thin veil of energy. The blackness rose again, more slowly.

Arvil Bren...

I didn't open my eyes immediately, savoring the new clarity of this return to consciousness. Slowly I raised the lids. Without moving my head I scanned the room; my room, Ahnassi's house. She paced, slowly, at the foot of the bed. Her tail dragged with exhaustion. "Ahnassi." My voice was a croak.

She rushed to my side, grabbing a small vial from the night table. I recognized the tang of a restorative potion, and my eyes drifted shut once again.

Life...

"He finally gathered sufficient awareness." The gravelly voice of an Orc. Sharn gra-Muzgob.

I opened my eyes again. Healing magica washed over me in a soothing stream. I smiled my thanks at the tusked green face.

"You've been surrounded by resistance and reflection for days, ever since you appeared." Ranis' dark face slid into view, the red eyes deeply weary. I could feel the exhaustion inside me. The fires of magica that normally glowed within were banked to dim embers. "Ahnassi kept you from bleeding to death through more conventional means. She was the only one who could touch you." Scorch marks on the ceiling; someone else had obviously tried. I hoped they were alright.

A low profile; lightly armed; in keeping with my pilgrim disguise. Over-confident, I had charged the golden saint with my shortsword. The Daedric guardian's mocking laughter still rings in my ears, and my dreams are plagued by the flash of the great glass axe.

But I still live.

5 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

what happened? what happened? what happened? what happened? what happened? what happened? what happened? what happened? what happened? what happened? what happened? what happened? what happened? what happened? what happened? what happened? what happened? what happened? what happened? what happened?

pray tell soon

9:01 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Clearly his enchant skill messed up while using a constant effect enchantment on his shortsword.

3:02 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

He probably tried a constant effect fire-damage.

6:28 AM  
Anonymous rarr said...

That's a bit of a cruel entry to leave on a Friday, Tim...:P

9:10 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

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3:08 PM  

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