Challenges

Ch 22 Lost Prophecies Foretold

Eiryn dropped a few coins at the Balmora Temple shrine, standing before the pillar that stood nearly as tall as she was. The coin would go to any number of good causes the priests participated in, such as feeding the poor and providing healing to the sick. Carved glyphs set into the stone chantry were in ancient Aldmeri. Each holy pillar could provide restorative healing, or even cure disease and poisons. She’d often used the shrines in her travels, as well as gave readily for their good works.
Here at the Balmora Temple, many of the priests and priestesses of the Tribunal had come to know Eiryn as a reliable scout. She often visited to share information, run errands, or even bring supplies the temple desperately needed. She had also guided many pilgrims to where they needed to go, providing protection on occasion as well. Many of the Temple’s followers were Dunmer, and though dour in temper, they seemed to regard the young scout with hidden respect.
“I’m sorry, Muthsera.” The priest gave a civil bow of his head. The red eyes closed in respect. “We have no such potions on hand.”
“None?” Eiryn asked in surprise. She needed the ‘Cure Blight’ potions to bring along on her trip to the Ashlands. Catching one of the diseases could prove fatal if you didn’t come prepared.
“Some pilgrims had taken the rest of our stock for their trip to the Ghostgate.” He replied with a shrug. “Perhaps for a few drakes I can teach you the spell?”
Eiryn bit her lower lip in consideration. No doubt learning the spell would take whatever coin she had left, but the need was essential. An investment, she finally decided her reasoning, as she handed over the rest of her money. Besides, knowing such magick would aid her on future trips as well.
With that thought in mind, she began to consider other spells she should learn. Hadn’t Saber mastered levitation? As a thief, he might even know invisibility. The thought of joining him on some of his more sneaky quests made her heart flutter in anticipation, but practicality won out over her sense of adventure. She knew her funds were depleted, and with any bartering she could muster with this priest, she’d have to choose wisely what magick she’d learn in the short time she had.
Healing blight was essential to traveling in the Ashlands. The very storms carried the disease on the wind, spat out by Red Mountain. However, the land was also rife with danger, so perhaps she’d best master healing spells for wounds and injuries as well.
Through the week she ended up learning healing blight, cure common disease, and even to heal minor wounds. Such skills would certainly pay off when she guided adventurers into the heart of danger. Wounds and disease would not be a concern now, not a serious concern, at any rate. In fact, Eiryn found her skill with this type of magick came to her easier than the other spells.
“It’s a different school of magick.” The priest named Telis Salvani explained to her as she readied to leave on the final day. Since her interest was genuine in wanting to help others, he’d agreed to teach her for a minimal fee, and a promise to help in the future if the need warranted it. “Healing is of the school of Restoration. Spells such as Levitating and water walking are of the school of Alteration. They work on entirely different principles.”
“You talk like a mage.” She grinned at him, settling her travel pack across her shoulders. He lowered his chin, suddenly self-conscious. For an older Dunmer, he was handsome with elegant features of his elven kin. He bore delicate scarring along the eyebrow ridge as well as the high cheekbones. At first glance, one might consider him imposing, but Telis was a soft-spoken priest with a complacent manner.
“I almost followed that path before I discovered the Temple.” He smiled graciously. “I believe I’ve chosen the better path.”
Eiryn agreed. Telis was by far the better man for his choice in serving others. She clasped his hand in farewell and headed out to find Merthisan. For the past week, he’d kept busy by sparring at the fighter’s guild and learning Ashlander customs. It would not serve them if either made a gaff in etiquette while staying among the tribes. Mistakes such as this could get one killed.
She found Master Kendari at the Eight Plates finishing his lunch with a familiar blond wood elf. The dark brown eyes were squinted in a scrutinizing stare, and the thin lips twisted into a knowing smirk. Eiryn nearly choked back a wicked remark. Fargoth? From Seyda Neen? What in the Nine Hells was he doing in Balmora?
The little chit kept his double-dealings in the backward town along the coast. Why come here? His dark eyes found hers as she approached the table, and Eiryn felt he must be trying to weasel his way into trouble again. The thin brows rose up in feigned surprise and only then Eiryn realized he’d known she was in the city.
A frown settled on her face, and arms instinctively folded in a defensive posture. “Fargoth? What brings you to Balmora?” She asked none too gently.
The Bosmer smiled, showing too many teeth and completely ignoring her obvious distain of him. “I’m a free man, sera.” He told her in his annoying voice. Fargoth always seemed to be wheedling his words. “Must you always assume I’m into trouble?”
“When are you not into trouble?” She challenged him.
Master Kendari matched her frown but for different reasons. He had no idea the purpose of her rudeness. “He says he knows Saber.” He said.
“Oh no doubt.” Eiryn raised a brow at the elf. “He knows everyone. What has this to do with your coming to Balmora?”
The Bosmer folded hands in front of him on the table in semblance of manners. “I’ve come to thank him for something he did for me when he first arrived in Morrowind.” He explained. “And besides, I’m doing a bit of traveling these days. I wanted to see some of the regions of Morrowind.”
Eiryn nearly barked out a laugh. “Ah yes, the Ashlands Region are lovely this time of year!” This one was notorious for his backhanded methods of trying to earn coin. If he spent half the effort in actually working, then he’d be a rich man by now! “Is there no one left to fall for your schemes in Seyda Need, or did the guardsmen finally throw you out?”
Fargoth was not amused as his face tightened. “I don’t need to sit here and take your insults.” He snapped with a level of haughtiness that surprised Eiryn. “Fine, don’t believe me, I don’t care. I have powerful friends now and have little use for a peasant such as yourself.”
Peasant? Eiryn’s brows rose up in surprise as she stifled a laugh. “And who are these powerful friends?” More importantly, who could trust the little fetcher?
“Wouldn’t you like to know!” He sneered. Turning to Merthisan who bore a look of bewildered confusion over their exchange, the wood elf shook his hand. “Good day to you, Master Kendari. Perhaps we’ll meet again.”
As the Woodelf brushed past Eiryn with a slight nudge, he gave a single look back with an odd smile on his tight mouth. Eiryn frowned this time, finding his behavior disturbing. Fargoth was not a very good liar, otherwise his schemes might work from time to time, and if he did manage to find ‘friends’, there was no doubt in the scout’s mind he could end up hurting those who taunted him.
“I take it, you don’t like him?” Kendari said, motioning her to sit with him. She took the seat opposite of his, still distracted by the coincidence of meeting Fargoth so far from his haunts.
“I don’t know anyone who does.” She replied. “Fargoth is into anything that might make a quick sum of coin, except he’s not very good at it. I think he thrives on scheming.”
Merthisan’s mouth twitched. “He seemed intent on finding Saber.”
This intrigued her more. Eiryn stiffened her back. “What did you tell him?”
“That he wasn’t in Balmora and that I didn’t know where he was.” The swordsman shrugged his broad shoulders. “I wasn’t lying. I can only assume he’s left Vivec by now.”
“And did Fargoth mention why he is looking for him?”
“Just as he told you; to give his gratitude for helping him.” Merthisan told her, “Something about a ring Saber found and returned to him.”
That was very odd. Fargoth might be telling the truth, but it wasn’t in the Bosmer’s nature to be that grateful. Certainly not to the extent of traveling all the way to Balmora to thank someone. That is, if in fact this story was even true.
“Did Fargoth ask anything else?”
“Not really. He told me about this ring business, and we chatted about Morrowind.” Merthisan said. “He wanted to know about traveling, but I had nothing to share being that I just came to Morrowind myself.”
“Traveling? Did he mention to anywhere specific?” Eiryn wasn’t sure why she wanted to know, only that her instincts were screaming at her that Fargoth was up to something. No doubt, whatever it was he was into was up to no good.
Merthisan was sensing her growing apprehension. “He seemed interested in the northern coast.” He frowned. “Why? What do you think he’s up to?”
“The northern coast?” Eiryn looked away. What could Fargoth want anywhere along the northern coast? Was there any coincidence that the Urshilaku tribe was along the northern coast!? I have powerful friends… She felt her heart flutter as thoughts began to race. Who are these friends? What has it to do with Saber?
“I think he wanted to travel with someone.” Merthisan added. It was a common practice for pilgrims and adventurers to travel in groups into dangerous country.
Eiryn chewed her bottom lip in thought. “I’d rather kiss a guar than travel with that elf.” She told him. “Speaking of which, we should be ready to go by morning.”
“Good.” Merthisan smiled, stretching his shoulders. “I was getting restless in this town. I’m more than ready for adventure.”
“Well, if its adventure you want,” The scout grinned back, “Its adventure you’ll get where we’ll be going!”


Saber arched his back to stretch muscles gone stiff from sitting too long. He sat cross-legged outside the shrine known as Holamayan to wait for the door to open. Mehra wasn’t joking that the shrine had been magically sealed. There was no obvious entrance to be seen, not even a lock for him to pick. The ‘door’ or where a door should be, wouldn’t open except for at the precise moment of dawn and dusk.
The temple was an odd cone shaped building nestled along the hill of one of the many islands in the Azura coastal region. The spired roof rose up from the morning fog in an odd layered roofing with the lowest level folded over the main entrance. Nothing short of an army could crack the heavy barrier, so Saber was now waiting patiently for the right time for the portal to open. According to the monk down at the short dock, the door opens only at dawn and dusk.
After a while he heard the distinct sound of stone scraping against stone and the ‘layer’ peeled back much like a maw. Beyond, the door invited him in. Hefting his pack to his shoulder, Saber entered the shrine and hoped his adventure would come to completion at last.
The temple was windowless with a large domed ceiling and walls lined in stone shrines that offered healing and restoration. A large ash pit held the remains of several generations of Dunmer ancestors, with prayer stools circling the interior for the priests. The Dissident priests followed the more traditional religion of the Dunmer of ancestral worship, not the teachings of the ‘living gods’.
The few priests milling about gave gentle smiles or nods of acknowledgement. For all their behavior, Saber felt as though they had been expecting him. Perhaps they had. After all, he rescued Mehra from the Ministry of Truth and would’ve arrived before him.
“You must be Saber.” A much older Dunmer spoke. He wore modest robes and black hair was tied back in a snug braid from his face.
“Did Mehra arrive here safely?” Saber asked him.
A smile pulled his thin lipped mouth. “Thanks to you, yes.” He replied. A wave of his hand indicated a direction to which to go. “She waits in the library for you.”
Saber strode down a set of stairs, recognizing that most of the temple had been built well into the mountain. There were no windows, and only the one entrance that was sealed except for dawn or dusk. The shrine seemed oddly familiar to a prison to the thief in his humble opinion. There was also something very hushed about the atmosphere here, as if one distrusted speaking too loud.
“Saber!” Mehra’s voice startled him as he entered the modest library. She stood up from the table in which she had been perusing several large books and scrolls, a smile beaming on her face. Since last he saw her, the woman now donned a robe of color. Mostly blues and greens, contrasting with the pale gray of her skin and brilliance of her pink eyes. Long black hair was loose save for the length tied back to keep vision clear. She now seemed younger. “You made it! I was beginning to worry!”
Even before he could speak, she motioned for him to follow her. “You must meet our abbot, Master Barelo.” She spoke over her shoulder as she led him through the short hallways to their destination. “He’s the one that will help you with the Lost Prophecies.”
Master Gilvas Barelo was a much older Dunmer. Hair was cropped short and a sparse beard touched upon his chin and upper lip. The smile he gave was warm and sincere, as he looked up from his desk. “Ah, you must be Saber. You have our gratitude in rescuing Mehra from the Ministry of Truth.”
“Mehra said you have the Lost Prophecies.” Saber wanted to stick to business and avoid the well wishes.
The mer nodded, motioning for him to sit at a long table laden with books and scrolls. “I’ve reviewed the Apographa and found some passages that are of interest. We made copies for you. Many are familiar with the two Nerevarine prophecies current among the Ashlanders called the Stranger and the Seven Visions. There are two other prophecies known as the Lost Prophecies and the Seven Curses.”
Curses? Saber frowned, not liking the sound of this at all.
“These prophecies help offer additional insights into the riddles surrounding the coming of the Incarnate.” He continued. “We also prepared a document for you called “Kagrenac’s Tools”. This explains to you and to others the terrible secret the Temple conceals about the true history of the Tribunal”
“Secret?” Saber asked, his mind still mulling over the reference of Kagrenac. He was the ancient Dweemer magecrafter, as the last living dwarf at Tel Fyr had mentioned. Hadn’t he said something also about tools he’d made?
“Yes, a terrible secret. Read and know.” Master Barelo told him gravely. “Know also that its this secret that causes the persecution of the Dissident priests as well as the Nerevarine. This must stop. Our true enemy is Dagoth Ur and his growing power. We must be united against him, not fighting amongst ourselves.” He paused to look sharply at Saber. “And if you are in fact the Nerevarine, then it will be you who shall lead us against him.”
Uncomfortable with his words, Saber shifted uneasily. “That remains to be seen.” He accepted the scrolls and books they copied for him. If they plan on putting their bets on him as their savior, they’d lose.
Master Barelo nodded slowly, eyes narrowed as he measured the younger Dunmer before him. “Indeed. Let us discuss the puzzle of the words then.” He tapped one of the scrolls. “The Lost Prophecies…”

Saber had remained silent as he listened to the priest rattle on and on about the various prophecies and the possible meanings to the visions. Very little made sense, and speculation was just that- a guess and nothing more.

"From seventh sign of eleventh generation,
Neither Hound nor Guar, nor Seed nor Harrow,
But Dragon-born and far-star-marked,
Outlander Incarnate beneath Red Mountain,
Blessed Guest counters seven curses,
Star-blessed hand wields thrice-cursed blade,
To reap the harvest of the unmourned house."
Master Barelo shrugged, "I've annotated your copy of 'The Lost Prophecy' with our best efforts at interpretation. But a rough summary might be: 'An outlander -- foreign-born, but welcomed as a guest -- confronts seven curses beneath Red Mountain. His hand, blessed by Azura, uses a cursed blade to bring justice to House Dagoth, or House Dwemer, or both.” The priest shook his head slowly. “The Nerevarine? An outlander? That wouldn't please many Ashlanders, and may explain how the prophecy got lost." Hands splayed at the conjecture. “The Seven Curses' reads as follows:
“Through the doors of the unmourned house
where scoffers scoff and schemers scheme
from the halls of the oath-breaking house
rings seven curses of gods blasphemed
first curse, Curse-of-Fire
second curse, Curse-of-Ash
third curse, Curse-of-Flesh
fourth curse, Curse-of-Ghosts
fifth curse, Curse-of-Seed
sixth curse, Curse-of-Despair
seventh curse, Curse-of-Dreams"
To this Barelo indicated the words in Old Aldmeri amid the pages of the book. "Your copy of 'The Seven Curses' bears our guesses at interpreting the verses. In short form: Seven curses come from House Dagoth, or House Dwemer, or both. Fire and ash come from Red Mountain. Flesh is Corprus. Ghosts, Seed, and Despair are unclear, but Curse-of-Dreams seems to refer to recent cases of soul sickness and Sleeper attacks in the towns."
He thumped his palm against a pile of three more books beside him. “You should take these as well. They give more information on Nerevar and his history from differing view points.” Saber had fallen silent as he pretended to be interested in the papers before him, but something must have told the priest his thoughts and concerns. The aged Dunmer paused to consider Saber and sighed softly. “I suppose this must be very overwhelming to you.”
“To say the least.” Saber admitted.
The priest relaxed, his voice softening. “I cannot begin to imagine what it must be like to discover you may very well be the Incarnate-“
“And if I’m not?” Saber countered. Up to this point there had been speculation of him, and most likely a setup that he was to fulfill the role, but what if he wasn’t the one? What then? Saber wasn’t sure why he was even asking except Barelo might know something everyone else did not. Perhaps he could even find reason to not pursue this quest, but unfortunately, the priest remained quiet.
When the priest didn’t answer but instead looked away, Saber gave a derisive snort. “I join the others who failed, right? Lost to the gods only knows where?”
He meant the other ones who fell upon the path of the Incarnate and were never heard from again. Some considered they had been murdered by the Temple, others think they might have died along the way of their impossible quest. Either case, all of them had disappeared, never to be heard from again.
Despair grew thick, burdening him as he eyed the pile of notes and books before him. Everything he’d been told didn’t ease the sense of weight of Fate that rested on his shoulders now. The longer he was on this quest, the more he felt as though he were buried alive.
“I best head out then.” He murmured, moving to get up.
“You could stay a day or so, take respite here at our temple.” The priest offered.
Saber shook his head. “The sooner I reach the Ashlander camp the better.” He said, not believing a word of what he said. “I’m sure Nibani would be very interested in these lost prophecies.”
“A safe journey to you then.” Master Barelo said, his gaze steadily watching the younger Dunmer before him. His hand reached out, touched him on the forearm to gain his attention. “Value the reward above the task, my son.”
Easy for him to say, Saber mused but nodded anyway. “I’ll bear that in mind.”