Yearning for things they cannot have, for loves lost or foes vanquished too soon.
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I was too many days into Vvardenfell, learning a new kind of loathing for the Great Houses, collectively learning who I could trust and finding myself devoid of rational allies.
It was one thing to owe a favor and help the Morag Tong. Being their drinking buddy for when life got tough wasn’t my idea. So I gave one mug of mead and then quietly departed for the road, Wendel in tow. The first boat was just down the path and I had a feeling I’d be off this cursed island before long.
I’d barely made it into town when a merchant had the look of trouble and my curious nature got the better of me. Seems his business partner had quietly closed the doors on the local mine without giving much detail. I recommended sending in guards but some half-arguments suggested it would be more prudent if “I” took a look. In exchange for some coin, of course. I should have kept walking..
The monsters should have been my first warning to leave. The sick alchemist should have been the second. Sadly I’m a glutton for my own curiosity and it took a Daedric shrine to Clavicus Vile to settle my curiosity.
I wonder at times if I’ll ever learn to stop poking my nose into obscure corners. Wendel usually just snickers when I do, he and I both know that my curiosity will be the end of me.
Leave a CommentRegardless how I felt there was work to be done. Sorcery does not idly sit around accomplishing itself.
I’d been tasked, as usual, to find some ingredients for a spell whose function wasn’t of my personal concern. The opportunity to see distant lands and avoid the usual politicking that happens was more than enough incentive.
I don’t favor caves but some do have such wondrous vistas that on occasion I remind myself the value of adventure.
Leave a CommentI had awoken with a headache the size of Mournhold what screamed like harpies. My mind raced at the sources while visions cleared and wafted away like fog on the morning sun.
All I could recall brief images of a realm I’d never seen before and hopefully would never see again.
There are scarcely few realms one would call “welcoming” outside Nirn. Most were prisons to fiendish beasts and writhing madness.
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..the bottle was talking to me. Why me? Uncertain. Why was it talking? Supposedly it was an illusion. But I know a thing or two about Daedric trickery so I was keeping a cautious distance.
Comments closedI often find myself tending the idle needs of somewhat incompetent people.
It does take me to some striking locations.
Comments closedVos was a cute town. The houses were neatly arranged, the tavern had ample variety in drink to keep one amused and the local magistrate wasn’t completely unreasonable. Or so I thought.
She’d sent goons to collect me, her Mouth, who I didn’t immediately find offensive, and some well armored guards. I complied, if only because I had yet to work up to burning down another village. Yet.
Dratha was everything you would expect of a Telvanni. An air of superiority, well-dressed, ample living quarters. What surprised me was her detached management of the village. Something about ‘treating people like adults’ or some such. I could really grow to like it here.
It remained to be seen just how insane Dratha was. A close brush with death had set her determination in achieving Immortality.
This is normally where I bow out of conversations. I’ll pay my tab, pack my bags and leave, promptly. Quests for immortality usually involve a lot of blood and a great deal of screaming. I would have done just that and left but guards at the door didn’t have the look of complacency and visions of a nice safe bed hundreds of miles away vanished as quickly as it arrived.
So I listened. Something about Daedric ruins, a handful of magic stones and a dark prince. Yup. I should never have left Murkmire. At least the locals were more rational.
I never advise bargains with Daedra. In the book of bad ideas, all chapters start or stop with Daedra. And I was being asked to fetch some magic rocks all so some witch could wrangle madness long enough to stave off her twilight years.
I plundered a number of ruins, some more ruined than others. I was shocked to see a handful of very reasonable cultists and scholars gathered in Ramimilk. My sense of foreboding went off the proverbial charts so I grabbed what I needed and left. But not before stealing a look at the flow of lava within a stones throw of the chamber.
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Vos was quaint. Little more than two houses and a sad excuse for a tavern. Sadly, I was lost and waiting for daylight only encouraged the local problems from harassing me.
Half a dozen brigands later I was still a touch lost. A local, ever thankful for my help, directed me to a nearby tower. Not even on the path, or in the town. More like it was looming over the village from just around the corner.
Seems the local magistrate had problems of their own and I was ‘instructed’ how I could help. I was beginning to hate Morrowind. Small people with small problems.
Comments closedEverywhere I turn trouble abounds. Plague, daedra, war. I can’t think of the last village that had nothing wrong and were just happy to see a traveller.
Vos was looking no different. An Argonian on the road approaching town told me of how one magister was ill and another was a tyrant.
Comments closed“See, I told you it would be beautiful.” Mondas remarked to the daedra standing beside him.
