Challenges

Chapter 23 Nerevar of Old

“He’s heading towards one of the Ashlander camps along the northern coast.” Fargoth said in an arrogant tone, confident the Shadow man would release him from further duties and chores. He’d done what was expected of him, and surely the Shadow man would let him go. They had gathered in the sewers beneath Balmora, with only a pitiful torch between them for light. Not that the Shadow man needed light, he seemed not to. He never carried a lantern or torch, and seemed born from the very darkness itself. Fargoth shuddered and tried to ignore the rank odor of the sewers. Why did the Shadow man always want to meet in such dark, dank places?
The darkness here was engulfing, almost as if threatening to snuff out the torchlight. The eerie sound of rats kept at bay from the fire also seemed to close in around him, and Fargoth knew this was not a place for a Bosmer to be, especially with whatever the Shadow Man was.
The wood elf was still perplexed as instincts warned him the man was not human, nor was he ‘mer’. There was something decidedly unnerving about his very presence and not just because of how intimidating he was either. He seemed shrouded in his robe and hood, and the man never entered the light. Fargoth had yet to see his face, but had only caught a glimpse now and then of a chin and nose, or an outline of a cheek. Nothing indicated anything that this man was anything but human, but Fargoth knew there was something decidedly sinister. He also carried a certain madness, and cruelty around him.
“Very good.” The tattered voice spoke, the words echoing in the wide tunnel they stood in. As usual Fargoth saw nothing of his face beneath the cloak’s hood, only the overwhelming presence of the man looming over him. “And the woman?”
“The woman?” Fargoth blinked stupidly. He’d explained how he found out their destination, his chat with Merthisan Kendari and the scout he’d hired. “Oh you mean Eiryn? She is a scout, probably hired to guide Master Kendari or this Dunmer fellow around Morrowind. She’s no one of consequence.”
The Shadow man turned slightly as footsteps echoed behind them and another torch cut into the darkness. “Ah Valos. You’ve finally arrived.” He greeted another large Imperial with a broad face and small eyes of cold steel. A trimmed beard framed his thin lipped mouth that pressed thinner in disgust as he eyed the sewers. He wore a long robe of dark colors, with a wide belt.
“You wanted to meet here?” The man made clear his thought on that matter. “You couldn’t find someplace…cleaner?”
The Shadow man coughed a chuckle. “Valos…meet Fargoth of Seyda Neen.” He presented the wood elf who frowned in confusion. The Imperial gave a curt nod but seemed to care little of who he was. “And Fargoth, this is Sir Valos Cantanius-“
Fargoth swallowed hard as eyes bulged. “C-c-cantanius the Butcher?” Yes, he’d heard of him from the soldiers in Seyda Neen. Who hadn’t heard of the man that had been thrown out of the Legion for torturing prisoners? His reputation for brutality was well known, his skill in meting out pain was legendary. They whispered he even knew of magic and an unhealthy interest in necromancy. Then again, there should be no surprise that the Shadow man would know him!
Valos smiled and gave a bow. “I see you’ve heard of me, but I’ve never appreciated that title. I hardly butchered anyone. I simply did my job as an interrogator. I prefer Cantanius the Subjugator.”
The wood elf took a step back, feeling as though someone had begun to dig his grave. “So I guess I’ve done my job then.” He said lightly, taking another step back. Could he run for it? “And you won’t be needing me further?”
The Shadow man chuckled in his hoarse voice again. “Ah Fargoth. Has the appeal of gold so quickly waned over my company?”
The wood elf had to admit there was an attraction to the amount of gold he’d earned thus far, but at what cost? How much gold was worth working for this man, especially if he’s employed that madman Valos? Perhaps it was best to cut his losses and leave now while he still had his head. “But what could you possibly need of me now? I don’t know anything about the Northern coast let alone the Ashlanders.”
“Ashlanders?” Valos spat in disgust, “Not more wretched Dark Elves! I thought you wanted only the one?”
The Shadow man shrugged. “Only the one, but he travels to the Ashlander Camp. I need a base setup near them, a haven if you will.” The cowl turned towards Fargoth who thought he saw something glowing within the darkness of the hood. “I will pay more gold of course.”
Fargoth considered how he could back out of this mess. “I don’t know how to set up a base-“
“Valos will help you.” The voice rasped.
“V-Valos?” Fargoth definitely wanted out now. The madman perked a brow in his own distaste.
“You wish us to travel to the Ashland regions and setup a base?” His disbelief was apparent, as if the idea was ludicrous.
“I understand in that area there are caves and old Dunmer strongholds, which would be perfect for what I need.” The Shadow man pointed out. “And its remote, with little consideration of the Legion I understand.”
Valos tilted his head, considering. “Plenty of victims you mean.”
Fargoth slid back another step away from them. “Victims?”
“Nothing to concern you, Fargoth.” The Shadow man said, “Do this and I will make you sure you have enough gold you can retire in luxury.”
The Bosmer bit his lower lip. Part of him desperately wanted to refuse and go home, but again, instinct warned him that he trod on dangerous ground at this moment. Just one more task…and that was it, he’s out of this mess. Setting up a base didn’t sound too hard. Besides, having enough gold to retire in luxury was very tempting.
Envisioning himself with a lovely women on each arm being fed grapes and fine wine, Fargoth also thought of the mansion he’d build, or a ship to sail around the world…..
“Very well.” He said with reluctance, “How much gold are we talking about?’

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Eiryn found Merthisan unnervingly quiet through their trek in the Ashlands. He didn’t complain when they’d reached Maar Gan, nor faltered in step with her when they headed out into the back roads of the wildlands. He didn’t say a word, yet his face remained pensive. One only had to look at the desolation of the region and have the jagged landscape affect them. Rocks jutted from the sharp hillsides of the roadway like bones left to dry in the sand. Trauma root slithered to find holdings wherever the boughs could muster amid the ash. In short, the countryside was a wasteland, and master Kendari maintained a glum silence through the trip.
The haunting echo of silt striders in the distance mixed with the myriad of other wildlife eking out a living here. Screeches of cliffracers intermingled with the low bray of herding Kagouti, interlaced with the ever-present moan of the wind against the earth. Together the cacophony made for a very lonely sound.
Eiryn paused during their trek, pulling the facial scarf clear of her face to suck in some air. The unpleasant odor of the ash reminded her of bad eggs. Such smell only grew worse when you traveled closer to Red Mountain. Even still, the air was cooler than that under the scarf.
“How much further?” Merthisan asked, gulping from his water bottle in their short break. He ran fingers through his silver hair, wiping sweat off his brow. Cheeks flushed pink against the light complexion and he looked decidedly miserable in the heat. By the haggard look, and scratching of his beard, he might consider shaving his face in weather such as this.
She could hear the faint call of the ocean just over the next ridge. “Not far.” She told him. “Within the hour.”
Eiryn had explained Ashlander customs, and their timing encompassed a week’s time so as not to linger at length at the tribe’s hospitality. They were both considered ‘outlanders’ and would not be welcomed in the heart of the tribe. Eiryn knew the wisewoman, Nibani, might enjoy her company, but the tribes, as a whole did not welcome outsiders. She only hoped Saber would also be there or would arrive soon. Briefly the though of his encountering some trouble had to pushed aside. No point in borrowing grief, she chided herself.

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Saber found traveling in the Ashlands without Eiryn decidedly unnerving. Somehow, her company made him feel whole, but more importantly, the young Breton kept his mood up despite the depressing location. She also had an uncanny sense of direction, and the shortcut they’d taken in their earlier trip to the Ashlander camp had saved them hours of walking. Walking he was now stuck with due to not understanding those subtle changes in landscape or knowing the proper markers.
Having a scout accompany him also provided another pair of eyes to lookout for cliffracers and other wild beasts. Her skill with the bow excelled his own, and her attention to this environment that had proven invaluable in avoiding trouble.
Saber found himself growing ever more dependant on Eiryn, and for the most part, he didn’t mind at all. Yet, another part of him also knew that close relationships could also be a hindrance. He remembered how often Nekros preached that ‘friends were liabilities, they make you weak’. The assassin had almost killed Lyra once to prove this point. If Saber hadn’t developed a friendship with her, than Nekros could hardly use the girl against him, or so the assassin reasoned.
Nekros’ plan backfired badly. Instead of teaching this lesson of liabilities, Saber learned that Nekros needed to be stopped….permanently, or else he’d always be a danger. That very night, the boy put an end to the assassin’s life, as well as any threat Nekros might have been to his friends. In a strange way, his affection for Lyra strengthened his resolve. He wanted his freedom more than ever, and instinct to protect friends fired his will into desperation.
Part of him believed friends were an advantage, yet with Eiryn, there was also an obvious weakness he was developing. What if anything should happen to her? What if she died? The notion was too horrific to consider and he quickly pushed it aside. Thoughts instead were at the task at hand; to deliver the Lost Prophecies to the Urshilaku wisewoman and be done with this whole mess of the Incarnate.
On board the ship traveling from the shrine, Saber read through the books and scrolls Master Barelo had given him. What he found was disheartening. The story of the ancient Dunmer general were conflicting depending on the story teller. All agreed he had been a remarkable hero, but details of his life and death were clouded in mystery. Some said he was a general, others considered him a king or Ashkhan, while many agreed he was one of many Great Houses.
This was a time when the Dunmer were known as Chimer, translated into the “People of the North”, or the elves that followed the prophet Veloth into the lands of Morrowind, Rasdaynia it was called then. The Chimer were golden skinned, with golden eyes. They settled in tribes but eventually developed the Great Houses.
The Temple described Nerevar as a great general, First Councilor, and companion to Vivec, Almalexia, and Sotha Sil. He united the Dunmer Houses to confront the wicked Dweemer, the treacherous House Dagoth, and western allies of Red Mountain. Yet another source, a Televani source, described Nerevar as merely having the ambition and providence to unite the Houses and added that he bore a ring known as the Moon-and-Star. Crafted by the ancient Dweemer and enchanted with powerful magicks, only Nerevar could wear the ring and bear the magic of persuasion. It was because of the magical ring that gave him the power to unite the Houses and Tribes. He swore an oath upon said ring to honor the spirits of the land and the tribal laws of its peoples.
The story continued to tell of how Nerevar had been close friends to Dumac, the leader of the Dweemer people and upheld a fragile alliance with the ‘dwarf’ race that held differing religious beliefs than the elven race at the time. But like all great things, the peace came to a bitter end when Dagoth had found proof that the Dweemer had discovered the Heart of Lorhkhan and were planning on tapping its awesome power. What’s more, they intended on created a mechanical god from this power.
The Heart, it was said, was a great magical stone discovered beneath Red Mountain. Lord Kagrenac, High Priest and Magecrafter, determined the stone to be the heart of the god Lorkhan, cast down in the first Dawn Era as punishment for mischief in creating the mortal world. It was Kagrenac that developed the ‘Tools’ to harness the power of the Heart.
Nerevar’s trusted friends and companions urged for him to go to war, to end this mockery of faith. Believing in his friendship with Dumac, he traveled to Red Mountain and asked directly what the Dweemer were plotting. He received no answer. Confused, Nerevar took a pilgrimage to Holamayan shrine and was told by Azura the truth, that the Dweemer had indeed intended on tapping a terrible power against them and that this must be stopped at all costs.
Naturally there was no other alternative but to go to war. With a heavy heart Nerevar took arms and his armies and set upon Red Mountain. While his militia took to the field of battle, he managed to make his way under Red Mountain with friend and loyal companion, Lord Dagoth, at his side.
Saber had to reread this part of history several times to understand, due to the various sources were contradictory. Some spoke that the Dweemer had managed to tap the power, utterly destroying themselves in the process, while others suggest they simply teleported into another realm. All reports agreed that the Dweemer simply disappeared without a trace never to be heard from again. That seemed to agree with what Yagrum, the Last Living Dwarf, had said. His people had utterly disappeared.
Saber continued to read of Dagoth discovering the Tools of Kagrenac and urged they should be destroyed. However, Nerevar wished to find counsel with Vivec and the others. He left Dagoth to guard the tools under Red Mountain and conferred with his counselors. They urged the Tools should be studied should the Dweemer ever return. Lord Nerevar agreed only one on condition; they take an oath to never use the Tools in a profane manner.
One tale spoke of the Tribunal had returned to Red Mountain to retrieve the Tools and Dagoth had gone mad, supposedly from the effects of the tools. A fight ensued and the Dagoth was driven off. The Tribunal then learned the magic of the Tools and the Heart, and harnessed the power of godhood. Azura was angered, and by this, cursed them and all the Chimer with red eyes and gray skin. She made promise that Nerevar would return and set things to right.
Saber was disturbed by this story, lightly touching his cheek as he considered the color might have different if history had taken a different turn. However as he read the Dissident priests’ Apographa, he now understood what Master Barelo meant by the Temple keeping secrets.
According to this account, the Tribunal; Vivec, Sotha Sil, and Nerevar’s queen, Almalexia, poisoned and killed Nerevar to gain the power of the Heart. It was then, in this account, that Azura appeared and cursed them for their evil deeds. After the change, they took the Tools and set themselves up as gods.
This left Saber with conflicting stories of what happened. One thing was certain, however, that the Tools were the key to tapping and harnessing the Heart’s power. The Heart was how Dagoth Ur gained his power, how he controlled the Blight and even controlled the dreams of his mad followers. It was also because he controlled the Heart, the Tribunal were weakening, as well as the barrier known as the Ghostgate, and soon Dagoth would escape Red Mountain to claim all of Morrowind.
Saber vaguely remembered a dream he had concerning Dagoth. The dream seemed so long ago now, and only snippets were nothing but faded memory. A voice had spoken amid a storm, something about ‘three belied you, three betrayed you’? In that dream, as well as the message the Sixth House priest had given him, mentioned Dagoth as once a trusted friend. How much was truth and how much was myth?
A shudder passed through him as the thief realized things were unfolding too quickly. It cant be true….I’m not the Incarnate….