Challenges

Resting in a niche within a large cavern, Saber had made certain the area was safe from the deceased before taking a rest. The burial tomb was bigger than what he expected, with a maze of tunnels snaking through various other chambers filled with the dead, both animated as well as inanimate.
This particular chamber was impressive by any standards, with a vast outcropping of cascading rocks with water pouring down the fissures into various waterfalls and pools. In some niches above him, mummies of the Urshilaku tribe kept their silent vigil, tucked into alcoves amid the waterfalls, and were thankfully still.
He would found a few hapless adventurers in the previous caves, who had hoped to raid the tombs without preparing, or perhaps not having the experience, to deal with the hordes of the undead. Their bodies now joined the others in silence sleep, but now picked clean of anything of value.
Saber had taken a short time to wash up, refreshing himself from the grave dust that filled his nostrils, and the filth from several days of traveling the Ashlands. Resting against the wall, water dripped down his face onto damp clothes. Refusing to actually lie down in the place, he opted to get a breather, sip a potion to renew his strength, and then continue. However, he found a few items holding some interest to him, and wanted to inspect the valuables.
Using night vision to inspect a ring he found on one of the corpses, the stone was a petite opal with inner fires. At least he was turning some profit now, and with this ring, he sensed the slight tingle of magic emanating from the smooth white stone, and the silver band having glyphs worked into the metal.
He could not guess what magic held in the dainty ring, but once back in civilization he could have one of the mages examine it closer. Another item was a scroll he recognized as summoning skeleton minions. This would help should he find himself outnumbered, though casting spells whilst in combat was something he did not often do. There was also a handy lockpick on one corpse, and potion of cure poison on another. Not riches, but nonetheless handy if he needed them, or sell them for revenue. Briefly he considered climbing the rocky waterfall since a few enticing flashes of riches above, but he refrained the urge, not wishing to waken any angry spirits here.
The opal ring barely fit a pinky, but he remembered Eiryn’s tiny hands, and considered if she might want it. The thought caused a smile curl his lips. I must be getting old, thinking of giving away baubles just for the fun of it. He was also glad Enril wasn’t around to add pressure to use the ring as a promise of marriage.
Thankfully, the spirit had finally dissipated to the nether regions, and left Saber alone with his thoughts. Oh the ghost would still watch from afar, would still know what was in his heart, but at least Saber didn’t have to hear his opinion on the matter.
She doesn’t know everything about Nekros…Enril’s words haunted him, stinging him with truth. If she knew…would she still remain? Or would she be disgusted and damn him?
Saber pocketing the ring in a pouch, folded arms to wrap around shoulders and tugged his cloak around him. For all the years he had tried to forget his childhood, why did it have to be now he must be plagued with guilt and regret?
Nor the demons you carry…Enril had said. Not actual demons, only personal ones, carried deep. They had only surfaced now and then, more often than not faced in bad dreams. Sometimes his temper revealed hidden emotions he’d keep buried as well. Feelings of helplessness or humility often brought a sudden and very dangerous rage it took effort for the thief to control.
Saber buried his face in his arms, unable to shut out the sudden flash of memories he had tried so hard to inter into the past. Caius’ had re-invoked the demons with his revealing all that Nekros was and more. All the years of layering new memories to bury the old were swept away like a flood exposing corpses buried in silt.
Damn Caius…
Flashbacks of hard fists, the husky words whispered in his ear as Nekros did things to the boy no child should face. Pain, humiliation, and disgust swelled as if it all happened just yesterday. Nekros kept him locked in a closet, using him to get into places any adult thief couldn’t fit. The assassin ordered Saber to leave notes, steal documents, or any other chore that needed doing. No, he’d never been an assassin but some of his actions might have led to another’s demise. There was also the constant abuse from his now-dead master as well. The man was expert at pain and very good about invoking fear.
Scratching fingernails against forearms, Saber welcomed the sting of pain to offset the memory of hurt in his past.
He deserved it…Saber thought like a mantra, Deserved everything that happened to him…


By the second day, Eiryn took vigil atop the ridge that bordered the tribe’s encampment and the direction where Saber would return. It was foolish she knew, even torturous to place herself in such a way to either face the joy of his coming back or the despair of no longer seeing him.
Nibani advised her against it, pulling her away now and then to help with chores, only to find the girl returned at any time in her chosen spot. “You should stay busy.” She said for the fifth time that day.
Eiryn looked over her shoulder to the wisewoman, giving her a smile. “I am busy. Busy waiting.” She said with a wink. Her mood was better than the day before, but not enough to settle her fears that the Dunmer wouldn’t return.
Throwing her hands up in frustration, the wisewoman shook her head and returned to her duties. “You are a fool, child.”
“That I am…that I am.” Eiryn murmured.


Saber entered the last burial chamber with all the stealth of a cat, and all senses at their edge. He had already his sword in hand, and carried a torch now to help light his way. The undead could care less of whatever light one carried for it wasn’t light that attracted but the scent of blood, or the movement of the living that drew their attention.
Peering into every corner for possible attack, Saber took assessment of the rocky walls, the uneven floor, and took some reassurance at least there was room enough for a fair fight. That was, until the rustling of several footsteps drew close. The torchlight caught the ruckus grinning skulls of four skeletons bearing down on him. He’d have no time to cast a spell, not even for Enril.
Falling into a fighter’s stance, he swept the sword in a wide arch, battering against a shield of one of his foes, and nearly taking the arm off another. The torch soon followed, thrusting into the empty eye sockets of the third, but having no effect. Gritting teeth, Saber crouched to build up an upward thrust, taking satisfaction of the stagger two of the undead as they fell back, and he managed an impressive kick to land one of the skeletons to shatter bones on the ragged floor.
Taking opportunity in that short pause of battlem, Saber summoned Enril with a practiced twitch of his hand. He was surprised to find the spirit actually taking the immediate defense for once. The spirit surged forward, shrieking as it took the attention of two of the opponents, leaving Saber to deal with a single opponent.
Using the torch and blade, Saber easily dispatched the armored corpse, turning on Enril’s foes from behind and finding the distraction enough to even the odds considerably. Maybe Enril was right about being summoned more often to gain his power…Saber thought to himself.
About time you summoned me back, the voice rasped when the last skeleton fell.
Then again…maybe not.
Sen-Senipul is over in that cave that way…Enril’s shadowy form hovered, and then turned to the only other tunnel to go. Be cautious.
Saber cocked an eyebrow at his guide, curious about this sudden focus to the task at hand. Perhaps nearly soul-trapping the being set him right? “Distract him, and I will get the bow.”
No, Enril insisted, This one you will need to defeat. The dead do not give up their possessions so easily.
“Great,” Saber muttered, swinging the scimitar to loosen the tension in his arm. “So I have to actually kill Sen-Senipul to get the bow?” What would the Ashkhan think of that? This spirit was after all his father, and a hero to the tribe. As for killing the dead, it was more of banishing them altogether from this plane of existence. Even Enril knew that, unless he was soul trapped which bound a soul within a magical gem to be used later for enchantments.
The thief considered how powerful a gem would be if it carried the mighty Ashlander warrior but quickly dismissed such evil thoughts. The Urshilaku would not be happy in the least if they discovered he’d done such a thing to one of their ancestors. If he defeated this spirit, it would have to be without soul trapping him.
But to do the same to me is acceptable? Enril’s hiss interrupted his thoughts.
“I wouldn’t have done it” Saber told him, “You’re not worth the waste of a good soul gem.” The joke came out a bit more callous than intended, but Saber had more than enough of the ghost’s presence for one day. “Ready?”
The ghost did not reply but writhed and puffed ready for battle. Saber knew Sen-Senipul could defeat his spirit guide, but could not kill him. He’d only be sent to the nether-plane, and not be able to be summoned until the next day. Then Saber would face the spirit alone…Ok, perhaps no comfort there-
Steadying his nerve, the thief crept into the next chamber, curious how best to defeat this powerful spirit, or what the ghost would think of intruders being in his burial chamber. Listening, Saber could hear the faint wisp of a presence within, yet the ceiling was rather tall, the outcropping hiding any number of spaces something could be hidden in, and to either side, mummies rested atop pillars to keep vigil. At least they will stay there, Saber thought.
Suddenly a sudden blast of fire hit him in the chest, reeling him back to hit hard on the floor. A swell of energy moved over him. The specter was formidable indeed as it shrieked in remonstration. Wisps of ghostly arms swirled in anger, the faint outline of a misshapen face gaped a mouth wide to emit another horrendous scream.
Thrusting the torch, Saber realized it would prove futile against and dead warrior and quickly drove up the point of his blade. The tip felt as though it hit something corporal, and the ghost cringedback from the magical steel.
Unable to make out any defining form of the ghost, Saber could see Enril circle the other to provide a distraction. Enril, a warrior himself in his own day, was useless to fight except for this small task of diversion. That is my fault…Saber considered, knowing his powers were weakened by not being summoned frequently enough. If he were summoned, he would have more power to attack, even kill.
As I’ve often told you…Enril rasped.
“This is not the time-“ Saber muttered at him, hit again by the powerful force. It was not true fire, but something worse. It hit like an anvil, almost shattering teeth with the force, throwing him sideways against a wall. It still burned, not the skin, but burned one’s spirit, threatening to tear one’s soul from its morrings.
Swinging wildly, Saber felt the sword hit again, causing the creature to recoil long enough to draw back and hit again. Another blast sent him backwards, nearly knocking the wind out of him, before he scrambled to his feet. The spirit rushed him, another explosion on the way, but this time, the nimble thief jumped up, moving fingers quickly to form a glyph of levitation. Rising up near the ceiling, Saber avoided the blast, which bounced harmlessly against the wall.
Taking the opportunity at hand, Saber dropped behind Sen-Senipul to swing again and again at the ghost, gladdened to feel the blade hit, and the impact the magic had on the being. It hissed and writhed, turning to other tactics to fend him off.
Another discharge this time of intense cold ripped into the thief, gripping his soul and giving it a fierce shake. Unable to stand, Saber felt the hard floor slam against his knees.
Get up! Enril shrieked, flying wildly to distract the assault from his charge.
“Can’t…” Saber gasped, struggling back to pinwheel legs and get away from the undead spirit, which only advanced triumphant. “So…cold-“
Another blow of ice engulfed him, and Saber felt this time he’d finally met his match. He leaned against a rock pillar, the only way now he was even able to remain upright. Gods, how he hated the undead! So jealous of the living they were, often angry or resentful that they were trapped in Oblivion while the living raiding their resting places-
Stunned from the bitter cold, Saber desperately lifted the sword he couldn’t even feel through numbed hands. The ghost almost impaled himself, touching the blade if only by accident and drew back to screech again, attempting to send another blast of deathly chill.
Reflexes felt so slow now, but Saber let gravity take hold, dropped to the floor to roll under the floating wraith. With a final attempt at attack, he propelled his sword up, slashing sideways through the cloud, and was amazed to find that it suddenly dissipated into nothing.
He was stunned, gasping air, and remaining on the floor to stare up in amazement. I did it…?
Enril drew near, the grating voice just as surprised. Perhaps you’ll make a warrior yet. He said, growing faint as his own energies were spent.
“S’wit.” Saber muttered as darkness enveloped him.


The morning of the third day, Eiryn sat atop the ridge, wrapped in a cloak and feeling the itch of a storm approaching. The dark clouds swelled from Red Mountain, and though there was still some time yet, Eiryn would wait until the last minute before seeking shelter.
He’ll come today…she thought, He will.
And if he doesn’t? Doubts caused her to shiver, pulling the folds of her cloak around her and found she was unable to shut out the despair that nipped at any hope. Three days or you go home…
No, she’d seek him out by nightfall of this day. Damn him for leaving her, though at the same time knowing he had no choice. If she had gone with him, it was likely the tribe would never accept him. Then the entire quest was placed in jeopardy. The wind picked up, kicking up dirt and particles of dead roots and bark. The clouds were bearing down, ominously close now, the force of the wind tugging at the hood of her cloak.
Something caught her eye. A movement, a shadow almost coming over the far hill, and to her utter relief, saw Saber returning with the bow in hand. He’s done it! Tears stung her eyes and she moved forward ready to run to him, but something caught her hand.
Startled she found Nibani beside her, keeping her still. “He must return alone, and finish the ritual.” She told her gently.
Where did she come from? Eiryn thought, wondering if she was too lost in thought to hear her approach. Nearly giddy with impatience, the young scout waiting in agony as Saber made his way back, and she could now see he was covered in dust and filth, hair was lackluster, dulled by the ash, and clothes were ragged, the shirt in tatters. The strong wind blew hair across his face, and he nearly stumbled a few times, indicated the exhaustion from a fierce fight. But he was moving, and alive-
Only when the Dunmer was in talking distance, did Eiryn feel the hand release her arm. Free to go, she ran up and nearly cried out upon seeing dried blood on his hands. She put arms around his waist to help steady him, and found him still walking towards the camp. “What happened?”
He waved a hand, too tired to even discuss it. A weak smile tugged his mouth. “Saving the world.” He continued to walk, too concerned that once he stopped he’s fall over asleep. Instead, he headed past the wisewoman to meet with the Ashkhan.
By now the call of his arrival had been carried through the tribe, and the people poured out of the yurts to see his return. They pulled their scarves about their heads, murmured surprise that the foreigner had actually succeeded when so many had failed. The thief didn’t expect cheers and received none, but Saber found he received something of more importance; their respect. He fell to his knees, hoping it appeared his inclination was paying homage to the Ashkhan instead, and laid the bow at his feet.
“So, outlander…You’ve completed the ritual.” Sat Matuul spoke with a low voice, his very presence rather intimidating. Here was their best warrior, and looked every bit the part. Standing straight, with chin raised, he stood with both feet square. Black hair was draw up tight away from his face with bright feathers crowning across his forehead. Ornate facial tattoos donned forehead, cheeks, and even chin, giving him a fierce appearance, with raised skin illustrating the scars he bore thru his own initiations. He dared bare his face in light of the blowing wind, hardly affected by its tumult.
Saber looked up, wondering if he’d done what was expected, if this Ashkhan would know he’d have to destroy the spirit in order to receive the bow. Maybe he knew all along-?
The eyes of the tribal leader were bright red, made brighter by the ash coating around his eyes. “This is indeed my father’s bow. I name you, Saber, clanfriend of the Urshilaku.” His foot nudged the bow to the prostrate Dunmer. “Keep the bow, and bear it with honor. I will fulfill my promise-” The warrior nodded towards the wisewoman, indicated she was to hear his words as well. “Go to the wisewoman’s yurt, and Nibani Maesa will examine you and test you against the prophecies.”
Nibani nudged Eiryn, “Help him to my yurt.” She murmured softly.
Only then did the young scout realize how exhausted Saber was. He could barely stand. Pulling his arm around her shoulders, she had Saber depend on her strength to help him stagger to the old woman’s tent and there he nearly collapsed on a bedroll.
Eiryn swallowed hard, also knowing by now it was more than just fatigue. “You’re hurt.” She said, fumbling with removing weapons and the leather cuirass he wore.
He hissed as the shirt was drawn over his head. Several slashes with crusted blood were livid along his ribs. “Not too badly though.” He told her. “I’ll live. I’m more tired than anything else.”
True, none of his injuries would incapacitate him, but he was in pain. With Nibani’s help, healing salves and potions soon revived him a bit, but the wisewoman encouraged him to rest. Eiryn paused to look closer at the odd lines of scratch marks on forearms. They matched one another; four long scrapes with dried blood along each edge. What could’ve made them? And why on the arms?
As he relaxed on the bedroll, nearly asleep, the wisewoman gave the scout a knowing smile. “Now will you have more faith in him?”
Blushing, Eiryn had to smile. He’s back…he’s alive. “You should know that won’t stop me from still worrying.”
“I never said it would.” Nibani smiled back.


When Saber slept, Nibani inspected him for any birthmarks, explaining to Eiryn parts of the Prophecy. “Legend says Indoril Nerevar's family standard bore the moon and star,” she told her, pausing with a slight frown upon the scratches she found. “And Nerevar's armor and weapons bore this sign. Some say he bore a moon-and-star birthmark. Some say he has a magic ring marked with a moon-and-star. Others say he was born under a moon-and-star. In any case, I think the moon-and-star is the mark of the Nerevarine, and he appears to bear nothing of such a mark.”
“Then he isn’t the Incarnate,” Eiryn murmured.
Nibani shrugged. “I didn’t say that. I said we’re not sure what this mark of the Moon-and-Star is.”
The wisewoman soon wakened him, asking him of his past and trying to discern if he was in fact the Nerevarine. Saber could tell her little, admitting he had no memory of parents, but knew his birth date from a mage’s scrying.
The wisewoman tapped fingers along her chin in thought. “If what you say is true, you are indeed born on a certain day, of uncertain parents, but many have the same birthday and many are not sure of their parents. It does not make you Nerevarine.”
Saber took the news almost with relief, but Nibani shook her head. “It is a puzzle,” She further explained. “You still may be the one to become the Nerevarine…but there is more to be known. The Lost Prophecies would reveal more. If you were to find them, and bring them to me, I could answer with more certainty.”
Saber didn’t look at all happy. He had expected to be confirmed nothing more than a simple man, a petty thief so he can get back to his life. Now the quest deemed he find Lost Prophecies, and still the possibility of being the promised one. Of all the rotten luck-
“I must tell you of the prophecies so you can better understand them.” Nibani told him, “We call it the Stranger, our best known of the prophecies.”
When earth is sundered, and skies choked black,
And sleepers serve the seven curses,
To the hearth there comes a stranger,
Journeyed far 'neath moon and star.
Though stark-born to sire uncertain
His aspect marks his certain fate.
Wicked stalk him, righteous curse him.
Prophets speak, but all deny.
Many trials make manifest
The stranger's fate, the curses' bane.
Many touchstones try the stranger.
Many fall, but one remains."

That makes no more sense than ramblings, Saber thought darkly. Just like prophecies to further confuse the issue. However, Nibani continued to explain that words lost meaning over time, that the verbal memory of her people might have misunderstood certain aspects, but that was all they had.
“And there is more to understand,“ She continued, “More to learn. The full title of the prophecy is "Seven Visions of Seven Trials of the Incarnate". Listen, and I will tell you the verses."

”What he puts his hand to, that shall be done.
What is left undone, that shall be done.
On a certain day to uncertain parents
Incarnate moon and star reborn.
Neither blight nor age can harm him.
The Curse-of-Flesh before him flies.
In caverns dark Azura's eye sees
and makes to shine the moon and star.
A stranger's voice unites the Houses.
Three Halls call him Hortator.
A stranger's hand unites the Velothi.
Four Tribes call him Nerevarine.
He honors blood of the tribe unmourned.
He eats their sin, and is reborn.
His mercy frees the cursed false gods,
Binds the broken, redeems the mad.
One destiny
He speaks the law for Veloth's people.
He speaks for their land, and names them great."

Saber stared at her hard, feeling something akin to fear rising up and only settled with anger. “What, in the name of all Oblivion, is that supposed to mean?”
“Saber…” Eiryn scowled at his rudeness.
The wisewoman ignored the comments, only shrugging her shoulders. “In times of war, the great Houses name a Horator, and the tribes will name a Nerevarine. The visions speak of your united all Velothi, all the Dunmer of Morrowind.” She smiled softly. “The other aspects are a bit more confusing. Neither Blight nor age can harm him..? That is a puzzle. Does this mean a cure for Blight? I do not know. The tribe unmourned might mean the Sixth House, the false cursed gods could be the Tribunal.”
Drawing out a heavy sigh, Saber stared into the small fire within her yurt.
“Sounds simple enough.” He muttered, still looking tired. “Unite all of Morrowind…Fight the Sixth House, find a cure for Corpus. Simple.”
Eiryn broke out in a light chuckle “If anyone can do it, you could.” He looked up at her sharply, wondering if she actually meant it as a joke and was teasing him. She had said something similar to him once before. She grinned at him, “Or at least try.”
Too exhausted to argue, he huffed a sigh. “Maybe tomorrow. I’m too tired to save the world right now.”
“Rest some more.” Nibani told him, “You still have much to do to face your destiny.”
Moving from stiff muscles, Saber decided he wanted to find a nice hole in the ground to sleep until next season, but the small tent they provided them would have to do for now. The ash storm was in full force, causing them to cover their faces as they finally reached the tent and nearly collapsed inside.
Eiryn helped him to the bedroll, and removed the rest of his clothes. He chuckled when she trailed fingers along his face, wanting to be very certain he was alive and actually beside her. “I’m afraid I’m not much in the mood.” He smiled, interpreting her caress as being suggestive.
“That’s alright.” She smiled, moving to simply lie next to him. “Go to sleep. I’ll keep watch.”
His eyes closed, unable to stay open. “Watch what?”
“For any trouble that might have followed you, S’wit.” She snickered. He mumbled something, rolling over to wrap an arm across her chest.
“I have all the trouble I need right here.” He said, and she could tell by the quiet breathing he was soon asleep.