Challenges

Something’s wrong…Eiryn thought, pulling on a new tunic to replace her torn bloody one. Even her father had not come today, but then he might be busy with the countless other missions and schemes of the Emperor. Eiryn only began to worry when she realized her stay at the Temple had stretched into two long days, and still no word from Saber or of his return to Balmora.
Thanking the priests for what they did for her, and giving a fair donation, she hurried to reach Caius’ for news on the Dunmer. When she knocked there was a pause, and the door opened to a grim faced spymaster. Caius swallowed hard, his eyes bleary as if he just woken up. “Eiryn… How are you feeling?”
The young woman frowned, looking past him to see if anyone else was within but the scant apartment was empty. His question was asked, but clearly the spymaster had something else other than her well being heavy on his mind. “Has Saber made it back?” She asked, Caius motioned for to enter, and the very shadow of mood he bore nearly caused her to panic. “What is it? What happened?” She demanded, her voice now rising. “Did Saber make it back?”
“Eiryn…” He said, motioning for her to sit. “Saber returned this morning-“
She felt relief so intense she nearly fell. He’s alive! “Where is he?” Then the panic rose once more, for her father remained entirely too somber and the gray eyes staring at her with daunting news.
The man wet lips nervously, sitting on a rickety chair to rub a hand down his face in agitation. “He found the base, destroyed Dagoth Gares…” The spymaster told her. Why is he upset? If Saber made it, accomplished the mission-? “But something happened-”
Eiryn felt a rush of ice fill her veins. “Caius…where is Saber?”
“I’ve sent him to Divayth Fyr.” He told her directly, eyes never left her face as he let this news sink in.
“To Tel Fyr…” She scowled, wondering what has an ancient wizard have to do with anything. “He went without me?” Why would he go there-?
Caius matched her scowl, “Eiryn,” His voice lowered, “I sent him there…” A sigh blew past his tense lips. “To the Corprusarium.”
The young woman remained very still. “But he could get corpus…” She said slowly. Only those with Corpus were sent there, and no one was allowed into the actual Corprusarium due to the highly contagious disease. The wizard, Divayth Fyr, was known to be studying the ‘divine disease’, trying to find a cure.
Her father sat very still, eyes so filled with despair as he weighed the news he needed to give her. “Eiryn,” Caius said softly, “He already has it.”
Her throat closed up, and it was hard to swallow, and her head began to shake a negative. “No…I know him…He’d never put himself in that kind of danger.” He hated Corpus. He’d rather die- She stood up, unable to remain in the tiny room, and instinctively moved to leave. She needed to go to him, to find him, even if it meant traveling all the way to Tel Fry- A hand grabbed her arm, spun her back to face him.
“No, Eiryn. You can’t go.” Her father told her sternly.
Trying to shake him off, a brief struggle ensued. Not this again! Caius could not tell her what to do. How could he even think he could protect her from this-?!
“I have to go see him. He needs my help-“ She said finding he grabbed her other arm, forcing her to face him, to face reality.
“He doesn’t want you to see him like this!” Caius told her firmly, subsequently giving her a shake to get through her disbelief. “He told me specifically you are not to go… do you hear me? Saber doesn’t want you there. Trust me, you do not want to see him!!”
Eiryn felt eyes grow hot, as the thought of his suffering the horrid curse sprang to her mind. His body would twist, flesh would spurt growths, and he’d go mad! The story the woman at Fort Buckmoth told also came to mind. Sudden tears spilled down her cheeks. “No!” She sobbed, still struggling. “Please- I have to see him!” No, it can’t be true. This was a joke. If he had Corpus… he was going to die, and to die horribly-
With affection she never thought possible of her father, he simply grabbed her up into a fierce hug, letting her bury her face against his shoulder to sob uncontrollably. She tried to resist, but anguish and his strong arms were too much to struggle against. A hand stroked her hair, hoping to calm her fears. “I’m told Divayth Fyr is trying to find a cure, Eiryn. I have hope. Please,” His voice broke before he swallowed and continued. “Please do as Saber asks.”
Defeated, Eiryn clung to him and simply cried her loss. Caius was trying to comfort her fears, to have her believe everything will be all right in the end. The spymaster continued to spout promises he couldn’t possibly keep, but she knew his intention was to make her feel better, to have some hope of the impossible.
“I don’t know what I will do if I lose him…” She whispered.
“I know.” Caius murmured back.


It took all the remaining magic he had for Saber to reach the Corprusarium on the small island called Tel Fry. Levitating and water walking were really the only means between the islands unless you swam or took a boat. Except, with being contagious with Corpus, no one could go near him, not even to talk to the infected Dunmer let alone provide him a boat.
Here on the tiny atoll, there were no villages, no huts, only the tall imposing tower of the renowned wizard, Divayth Fyr. It was said he was over 4,000 years old, with powerful magicks and he’d gathered considerable knowledge of centuries of study. All wizards had their hobby, and for Divayth Fry, it was Corpus. He studied it, tried to manipulate it, understand it, but more importantly cure it. Of anyone in Morrowind or perhaps anyone in the world would know of this disease, that person would be this wizard.
Saber clenched fists, no longer able to feel the fingertips. He could feel his body changing, but slowly and gradually. So far, the dark gray of his skin had lightened only slightly, and the extremities grown numb. Eyes had lost night vision, and he’d grown clumsy, and his mind not as sharp. Thankfully, he was not grotesque, but soon…he could feel his body ready to mutate, and Saber fervently hoped he would find a cure, or find a blade to end his life before he went mad.
The tower loomed above him in the odd Televani architecture of tree mushrooms. Growing to well over four stories high, the plants could be hollowed out and made into impressive home for those that lived and survived in the Televani District, well populated by mages and wizards.
Without even knocking, Saber entered the darkened tunnels of the lower tower, assailed by the strange odor of the mushroom structure. It smelt of earth and fungus, with a lingering scent of death clinging to the air. The tunnel was cramped, seemingly closing in around him, but Saber knew it was the Corpus. A rage and growing hunger for death was beginning to gnaw at the edges of his consciousness.
He moved forward, startled when a woman approached to greet him.
She was Dunmer, with very pale ash-gray skin and vivid eyes of crimson. Even the whites cast a pinkish hue, with lips a deep wine curling in a semblance of a smile.
“Welcome to Tel Fyr.” She said with a melodic tone. “I am Beyte Fry-“
Saber blinked, eyes no longer adjusting well to the change of light. “You are… his wife?”
“Wife to Divayth?” She smiled, with a light laugh. “Yes. Well. Not 'wife' in the 'married' sense. But... you know. 'Paramour.' 'Consort.' It's a bit awkward, really. Because... well... he made us, too, so, though we aren't really his daughters or anything, it's LIKE we were his daughters.”
Saber blinked again. “Made you?”
She shrugged, waving her hand to be dismissive. “Myself and my sisters…if you can call them that.”
Saber recalled being told once to not let anything the Televani do surprise him. He went to the topic at hand. “Where can I find Divayth Fyr?”
“He's up above in his study.” She told him with a graceful tilt of her head and sweep of her hand to a tunnel leading up. “I hope you can fly. You can't get up there unless you can fly. Or have potions. Sorry.”
“I’ll manage.” He mumbled turning away. “Thank you-“
Taking the incline upwards, he went through another of the odd round doors of the tower to find himself in a strange foyer. The walls of the ‘mushroom’ home were jagged and rounded. The room before him and the rooms to either side showed nothing of the means to reach any higher levels. There were no stairs or ladders to be seen. Just as he turned to get more directions, he looked up to find a round hole in the ceiling.
“Great…” He muttered under his breath.
Where once levitation was child’s play to him, now focusing his thoughts was like moving through mud. Concentration took effort, and moving hands that felt almost nothing to form the intricate glyphs to make the spell took ten times the effort it normally would. But at last the satisfying rush and sensation of flight took hold. He lifted to the hole, barely able to keep the spell intact until his feet touched the floor above.
Staggering, Saber threw out his arm to brace himself against a wall. This was ridiculous! Anger swelled, and the Dark Elf felt a rush of bloodlust flow through his veins. No…it was the Corpus, not any normal reaction from him. No wonder they cast the wretched victims of Corpus here, away from others. Gritting teeth, he looked around the claustrophobic tunnels, until he finally faced a much older Dunmer.
The man turned, eyeing him a measuring gaze. He bore the same vivid red eyes as his ‘daughter’, the same gentle curve of the mouth, high cheeks with smooth forehead. This could be none other than Divayth Fyr himself. His hair was uncharacteristically streaked with gray in the black, all drawn back from his distinguished face. Long dark blue robes flowed with his every move, and jewels donned fingers, his neck, and an elongated ear.
“Ah,” He sighed with a voice that almost lulls one into a calmness. “Let me guess...? You are either here to plunder the dungeon, or you’ve contracted Corpus.”
Saber glared, not at all liking the man’s dismissive carriage. “Caius sent me.” He told him.
The Dunmer nodded slowly, motioning for him to step forward. “Yes… you are the one they call Saber?” His features grimaced, showing what he thought of the name. “Yes, I see. You definitely have the early stages.” The red-glow of his eyes flittered across Saber’s, assessing the impact of the disease. “The magical principles of Corpus disease are elusive and miraculous,” He continued, stepping up to place hands under Saber’s chin to lift his face for closer inspection. The thumbs drew back the lower eyelids, as the wizard continued his words, “It’s far more subtle and powerful than any conventional sorcery or enchantment. I'm persuaded that it is in some manner the curse or blessing of a god. Perhaps both a curse and a blessing. The victim, of course, cannot appreciate the marvelous nature of Corprus. It saps the mind and destroys the body. But to a wizard, it is a profound and glorious mystery, a riddle worth a long lifetime of study.”
Finished, Divayth folded his arms, to tap delicate fingers along his chin in thought. “It would seem the disease has chosen to work rather slowly upon you, so time is on your side, my friend. For a time anyway.”
”I’m told you may have a potion.” Saber said, wary of this Dunmer for he appeared oddly remote about the matter.
“Indeed, yes. I have a potion.” He nodded again. “In theory it should cure Corpus. Doesn’t work though. Probably kill you.”
Saber looked down, knowing this was exactly what he wanted. To be cured or dead. Anything was preferable to this wretched fate.
Divayth narrowed his eyes, scratched a fingernail along his jaw line in thought. “A small favor is all I ask, and you can have the potion.”
”Favor?” Why am I not surprised? Saber thought darkly. Everyone in Morrowind had some agenda, some favor or errand from him.
“Go thru the Corprusarium,” The wizard said, idly stroking his smooth shaven chin. “Find a patient of mine by the name of Yagrum Bagarn. Interesting fellow. My oldest patient, has a pair of boots I’ve given him to repair. The man can repair just about anything. Bring me those boots, and I shall give you the potion.”
Saber blinked slowly. “That’s it?” There had to be more to it than that.
“Ah yes.” Divayth smiled, “Do not harm any of my patients, or I shall kill you where you stand. You see, they are mad. They cannot help what they do, and I will not having you slaughtering those I’ve sworn to protect. Besides, I need them in my study. Understand?”
“Get the boots, do not kill anyone, and bring them back to you.” Saber sighed in frustration. No, nothing was simple was it? He couldn’t just give him the potion, could he?
“Exactly.” Divayth grinned, which looked oddly out of place on such a face as regal as his.
Another frustrated sigh, and Saber headed back out of his chamber, wondering why he had such rotten luck. Perhaps he’d inquire with the mages’ guild on some good luck charm to keep on hand. Moving through the bowels of the tower, he liked this place even less. The Corprusarium was nothing more than a dungeon, built into the island to house the various ‘patients’ infected with Corpus. Shuffling, half mad creatures lumbered in the darkness to seek out a pathetic living amid others. They were fed, sheltered, and kept contained. Saber had to enter through this nightmare, and find a pair of boots?
Growling under his breath, the Dunmer paused to meet an Argonion warden set with the task of gatekeeper. Argonians were impressive beings. Standing like men, they were reptilian in all other factors. He was a rigid fellow, with gold slit eyes and a forked tongue that flitted out at his approach.
“I am to see Yagrum.” Saber informed the lizard, who gave a low hiss. For all Saber knew of the race, he could have been insulting him or giving him welcome.
“Do not harm any of the inmatessss.” The Argonion rasped, jingling keys to open the portcullis. “I will not tolerate you adding to their suffering. They are brutal and fierce, and will kill you if they can, but you are their guests in this domain. Harm them, and you will answer to me.”
Saber nodded, not impressed with the threat, and continued into the rancid Corprusarium. The smell alone made him gag, but holding his gloved hand over his face helped with keeping the emanation of the patients at bay. One glance at the bleak existence the inmates lived, and Saber knew he’d slit his own throat before he’d let Corpus take him to this point.
Fortunately, Saber moved quickly enough to simply outrun the shuffling Corpus men. A few moved to attack but simply couldn’t keep up, and as long as he kept moving, the thief was confident he could make it out alive. No longer able to use the spells he had, Saber opted with simple brute force, even pushing past the wretched creatures when needed.
He wasn’t attacking them, he reasoned, and no harm if they simply shoved out of the way. It wasn’t as if he had any concern for catching Corpus, he already had it.
When he entered a spacious cavern, two of the Corpus men shuffled towards him. Saber scowled, looking past them to see he’d reached his destination. An area had been closed off from the Corpus beasts, with an odd …creature?….man?…Saber frowned, not sure what he was seeing.
Whatever it was might have been human, but even then Saber wasn’t certain. The thing was bloated, with stumpy arms, sitting atop a bizarre spider-like contraption. The device held up his weight, serving to be legs, the metal ends making metallic clicking sounds as it turned slightly. Pointed ears indicated he might have elven, but then Saber drew closer and found he could not possibly have been of the Altmeri races. His face was thick, bearded with hair grown to his chest, and the open sores and damage from Corpus had worked across the excessive layers of skin this being had. Estimating his size…or what might have been his size, Saber found he was of a race that had long since died out centuries ago.
“Ah…a visitor!” The thing spoke, the voice thick and when lips pulled back, Saber could see the rotted teeth and misshapen tongue. “What brings you to visit Yagrum Bagarn, Master Crafter, and Last Living Dwarf?”
This was the last living Dwarf? Stepping cautiously forward, Saber suspected that this area somehow kept the other Corpus beasts at bay, once he stepped into the roped off area. Too preoccupied with this creature before him, the thief tried to remember what he knew of the Dwarves, how a great war centuries ago had wiped out the race were also known as the Dweemer. They all disappeared on that fateful day Lord Neverar with his army attacked the Dweemer at Red Mountain…centuries ago.
The ‘dwarf’ if it could still be called that, blinked its eyes at the Dunmer, and chuckled. “Unless you're here for the Dwemer boots? Tell my gracious Keeper that I have done what I could. Only a Dwemer magecrafter could have done so much. But only idiots could have created these boots. It shames my race that we must be judged by the works of such lack-wit blunderers." A pair of boots made of a unrecognizable material were tossed to Saber’s feet.
Another voice, soft and alluring spoke behind him. “Perhaps he is too awed of your presence, Yagrum, to find his voice?”
Saber found what must be another of Divayth’s daughters behind him. Donning an odd mix of tarnished armor, she stood with her hand resting idly on the hilt of her sword. Unsure if she was threatening, Saber tensed, and found her bright laugh disarming. “Fear not, I wont harm you. My father sent you didn’t he?”
Father…consort…whatever. Saber didn’t even want to try to figure that one out. “I’ve come for the boots.” Saber told her, turning slightly to sneak another look at this so-called ‘last living dwarf’. “You have corpus?”
The thing nodded, “I owe my life to Divayth Fry. He took me in when I was nothing more than a mad monster. He cared for me and has tried to cure me of the Corpus with spells and potions, but they didn’t cure me.” It shrugged shoulders. “Nor did they harm me. I have feeble hope of a cure, but if anyone can cure this disease it would be Lord Fyr.”
Saber considered his words, but found he wasn’t about to let himself remain in the bowels of the dungeon as this being had. Better to die first. “And you are the last?”
Again it nodded. “This is how I style myself. I do not know for a fact that I am the last. But in my travels thousands of years ago, I never encountered another. And since I have been here, I often ask Lord Fyr, but he says he has never heard a credible rumor of another Dwemer, on Tamriel, or in any Outer Realm” He shook his head sadly, “Once I was a Master Crafter in the service of Lord Kagrenac, chief architect of the great Second Empire freeholds, and the greatest enchanter of his time. I could not match the genius of Lord Kagrenac, but what he could envision my colleagues and I could build. All of that is gone forever. I still retain my cunning, but my hands and eyes fail me, and my memories have long faded. My only consolation is each day to mock the gods who destroyed my race, and condemned me to this bleak existence.”
“Kagrenac?” Saber remembered hearing something of a wizard who could understand divine metaphysics, a genius of his time.
“Lord Kagrenac,” Yagrum corrected. “The foremost arcane philosopher and magecrafter of my era, devised tools to shape mythopoeic forces, intending to transcend the limits of Dwemer mortality. However, in reviewing his formulae, some logicians argued that side effects were unpredictable, and errors might be catastrophic. I think Kagrenac might have succeeded in granting our race eternal life, with unforeseen consequences -- such as wholesale displacement to an Outer Realm. Or he may have erred, and utterly destroyed our race.”
“So it was Kagrenac that was the cause of the disappearance?” Thereby leaving this poor soul alone in the world?
The dwarf nodded, his puffy face grim with nearly a thousand years of loss. “I can only conjecture however. I was not there at the time of the great disappearance. When I did return, my people were gone. Long have I searched for answers, or to at least validate my theories. When I reached Red Mountain, I found Corpus. I’ve been here every since.”
“What became of the tools? Did they also disappear with your race?”
The dwarf shifted his mass on the mechanical ‘chair’ that housed his bulk. “I suspect the Almsivi have possession of the tools.”
The Tribunal? It made sense. The tools might have given them the powers of immortality, somehow not destroying them in the process. This new information seemed to be another piece to the puzzle, to which Saber tucked back in his thoughts to later consider.
Giving a nod, Saber gave a curt bow. “I should return the boots to Lord Fyr.” Saber said, “An honor to meet you, Yagrum Bagarn,” Another polite bow to Fyr’s daughter…wife…”And to you, Sera Fyr.”
It was always best to stroke egos whenever one could, in case he’d want to come back later to talk at length with them. The Dunmer woman raised an eyebrow, knowing his trying to charm her. “You’d make a fine addition to our Corprusarium.” She smiled, recognizing he was in the early stages, and why else would Divayth allow the man in such a place.
Saber didn’t reply, but merely forced a smile and retrieved the boots. Returning the way he came, the only thought on his mind now was. “An addition!? Not on your life and certainly not on mine!”