Post by Tom Bombadil on Aug 7, 2008 21:57:02 GMT
A little background on this Fan Fiction: it's an idea I've had for a while about how things might have worked out if the Nerevarine had taken a different path. If you have not played Morrowind through, you may not understand parts, but hopefully you will still enjoy it.
Based on the Morrowind mod by The Mad God.
Homage of the Tribe Unmourned
Chapter I
“Lord Dagoth gives me these words to say to you, so you may give them thought.” The creature folded its hands in front of it meditatively. Even though the being lacked any features (or face, for that matter), the small mouth and protruding trunk which dominated the front of its head almost seemed to be fixed into a calmly meditative expression. Aldarilon stood not twenty feet from the creature, cautiously watching it speak. Engaging him in conversation was certainly not what the Altmer had expected the Ash Ghoul to do. Here he was, his heart pounding at a speed he hadn’t thought it capable of, a Dwemer short sword covered in blood and ash clenched in his left hand, and the broken body of a Dreamer, fallen in the service of his master, sprawled on the ground several paces behind him, and Gares had approached him as though he was a visitor come to have tea with him. Though taken aback, he was not about to protest against the unexpected break from the adrenaline-and-fear-fuelled intensity of his one-mer assault on Illunibi.
“'Once we were friends and brothers, Lord Nerevar, in peace and in war. Yet beneath Red Mountain, you struck me down as I guarded the treasure you bound me by oath to defend. But, remembering our old friendship, I would forgive you, and raise you high in my service.'“ Dagoth Gares seemed to relieve himself of the meditative state he had placed himself in while relaying his Lord’s message, and now let his hands fall to his side carelessly. His face-trunk moved slightly while he tilted his head to the side before speaking again.
“My Lord Dagoth bids you come to Red Mountain. For the friendship and honor that once you shared, he would grant you counsel and power, if only you would pledge that friendship anew. I am not your Lord Dagoth, yet I, too, would say to you... Do you come with weapons to strike me down? Or would you put away your weapon, and join me in friendship?”
Aldarilon blinked. The absurdity of such an offer wasn’t what had surprised him, it was that he was being given the offer at all. He had never heard of people being actually offered the chance to join the Sixth House; all he knew of were reports of murders of which the guilty were unaware of, or people descending into trance-like states or irregular behavior. That, or the Temple turning up some grizzly scene in a city sewer or in the basement of some recluse’s home, finding piles of rotting Corprusmeat and several of those little red statues.
“I can’t say that’s an attractive prospect, honestly,” said Aldarilon. “I am surprised, though, that you’re offering me to be your pal after I killed off the majority of your ‘assembly’ here.”
Gares spread out his hands, something approaching a weird smile forming on the slit of a mouth he had beneath that trunk. “Forgive the rude welcome, but until you have declared for us, we must treat you as our enemy. The Sleepers and Dreamers are newly come to Lord Dagoth, and not yet blessed with his power. But the Children of His Flesh, they are deep in the heart of his mysteries. Their bodies swell to contain his glory, and to yield the rich sacraments of our Lord's feasts. And we are the least of his servants, for Ash Poets, Ascended Sleepers, and Ash Vampires stand high above us in the Lord's bountiful grace. Lord Dagoth would far rather have you as a friend than as an enemy. But until you submit to him, Sixth House servants will treat you as an enemy, and try to destroy you. If you wish to be our friend, first you must go to Lord Dagoth in his citadel on Red Mountain, and make your submission.”
“Again, not something that seems particularly tempting, to be honest,” replied Aldarilon, feeling slightly more at ease, oddly enough. “I have to admit, however, that Dagoth Ur is an…enigmatic figure, to say the least.” At these words, Gares literally fell to his knees, throwing his arms upwards as though looking up to the heavens.
“Dagoth Ur is the Awakened Lord of the Sixth House, come to cast down false gods, drive foreigners from the land, and restore the ancient glory of Morrowind. He bids you come to Red Mountain. For the friendship and honor that once you shared, he would grant you counsel and power, if only you would pledge that friendship anew. The path to Red Mountain is long, and filled with danger, but if you are worthy, you will find there wisdom, a firm friend, and all the power you need to set the world aright.”
The conversation did not seem to be going anywhere beyond this. Gripping his sword again, Aldarilon began making a mental checklist of spells that might be effective against the Ash Ghoul. “I find the world rather suitable as it is, I think,” he said somewhat awkwardly. There didn’t seem to be any words to be said before a battle that would not sound cliché, in his opinion, so he took the advantage while he had it.
While Gares was still on his knees with his trunk pointing toward the ceiling, Aldarilon lurched forward, lifting his swords to bring it across the Ghoul’s body. Simultaneously, lightning crackled in a ball in the palm of his right hand. Dagoth Gares, taken aback by the sudden strike, sighed as he stood upright. He had done so in time for the Dwemer blade to sink into Gares’ stomach, while a handful of lightning (literally) was slammed into the side of the Ghoul’s head. Dagoth Gares did not move his arms an inch as the Altmer dug into him with his attacks. Aldarilon, too preoccupied with attempting to kill the creature before it had a chance to attack, thought nothing of its lack of resistance. A second time the Dwemer sword struck Gares, this time in his chest. The Ash Minister felt the light of his life fading, a sense of serenity in his mind with the knowledge of being martyred for such a cause. With no intention of surviving, the Dagoth sank to his knees.
Aldarilon, meanwhile, thought he was doing surprisingly well, which was surprising, considering he was a lone bard attempting to slay a being of nightmarish power. Perhaps the infamous Ash Ghouls were powerful only in legend? This thought, however, was quickly banished. Dagoth Gares had one last thing to do before he passed.
The creature, in its last ounce of strength, reached its grey, frail hand up to its attacker. It seized Aldarilon by the jaw and effortlessly dragged the Altmer’s face level with his own trunk.
“You will come to Lord Dagoth Ur in his flesh, and of his flesh.”
With these words, Gares opened his lipless mouth and brought it within an inch of the horrified Aldarilon’s. He exhaled, a putrid air emitting from the Ghoul’s mouth and pouring into the Altmer’s. Dagoth Gares, his task complete, released his grip on Aldarilon and let his body fall to the ground.
Aldarilon, unprepared for the sudden release, staggered backwards, coughing and swearing loudly. He spit on the ground in an attempt to get the foul taste out of his mouth. Had Gares just tried to disgust him before dieing? His body shivered at the thought of the Ghoul breathing into him. Bringing his wrist to his mouth, he wiped his lips on his sleeve. Halfway through this motion, he stopped. Something felt different. He should like to think that he knew the general feel of his own face, but he could have sworn he felt some anomaly as he drew his arm across it. Reaching to his face again with his fingers, he passed them across the space between his nose and mouth. But he quickly drew his hand back as though he had been burned by fire; he had touched a very painful sore.
A sore? I don’t remember- ow! His hand touched another one, this time to the left of the first sore. Now he began to feel alarmed. Very, very lightly, in the same manner as handling glass or some volatile alchemical substance, he put both hands to his face. Again he drew them back quickly, but not out of pain this time: his face was covered in these boils.
A confused expression came over his face first, closely followed by one more appropriate for the grim revelation that came to him. But this quickly shifted once more into a blank expression. “Huh…” he said to nobody in particular, “how about that.” The Altmer’s eyes drifted down to the crumpled form of Dagoth Gares beside him. This gaze was maintained for what seemed like an eternity. It was broken, however, when Aldarilon’s sense of urgency resurfaced in a blazing fire.
“YOU BASTARD!” He shouted at the corpse, lunging down to it and grabbing it by the scruff of its robe, slamming it to the ground. This process was repeated nearly a dozen times, each accompanied with the exclamation of “You bastard!”. When this rampage had died down, Aldarilon jumped backwards, thrusting one hand to the side of his head. His breathing became quick and heavy, and he began looking desperately at the cavern around him, perhaps from some imaginary hope of a bottle labeled “Cure for Corprus” sitting by the altar. His arms fell to his side limply.
It was over. He was going to die. No, not die- worse, he would become one of those hulking lumps of flesh. Everything that he had done since arriving on the wretched, gods-forsaken isle had all just been dashed against sharp rocks in a single breath. Not to mention- he groaned as the memories of the Nerevarine prophecies flooded into his mind. He had failed. He was just another false Nerevarine. He couldn’t return to the spymaster. What was he supposed to tell him? “My apologies, Caius, but it seems that our entire operation that we’ve been working on the past few months has just been shattered into Oblivion?” A thousand thoughts ran through the mer’s head as he stood there in the cavern, staring at the corpse of Dagoth Gares. But his thoughts stopped abruptly at the sight of something in the creature’s hand. One eyebrow raised, he crouched down and looked at it. It was a little piece of crumpled parchment. Wrenching it from the rotted hand, Aldarilon straightened it out and read it, curious as to why the Ghoul would be carrying it. It read:
He read the parchment several times. Was Dagoth Ur indeed inviting his Daedra-sent enemy to his side? Was the offer legitimate?
He felt as though his body was going to shudder, but no such convulsion came. Could…? No, of course not. But…no, that’s…is it?
Aldarilon looked down at the message in his hand again, hopelessly. Then again…he’s the only one who can help me.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Criticism, comments, and the like are welcome (and appreciated!), and don't hold back.
EDIT: Sorry, forgot to add what the paper said on it. Somehow it didn't copy with the rest of the text from BGSF.
Based on the Morrowind mod by The Mad God.
Homage of the Tribe Unmourned
Chapter I
“Lord Dagoth gives me these words to say to you, so you may give them thought.” The creature folded its hands in front of it meditatively. Even though the being lacked any features (or face, for that matter), the small mouth and protruding trunk which dominated the front of its head almost seemed to be fixed into a calmly meditative expression. Aldarilon stood not twenty feet from the creature, cautiously watching it speak. Engaging him in conversation was certainly not what the Altmer had expected the Ash Ghoul to do. Here he was, his heart pounding at a speed he hadn’t thought it capable of, a Dwemer short sword covered in blood and ash clenched in his left hand, and the broken body of a Dreamer, fallen in the service of his master, sprawled on the ground several paces behind him, and Gares had approached him as though he was a visitor come to have tea with him. Though taken aback, he was not about to protest against the unexpected break from the adrenaline-and-fear-fuelled intensity of his one-mer assault on Illunibi.
“'Once we were friends and brothers, Lord Nerevar, in peace and in war. Yet beneath Red Mountain, you struck me down as I guarded the treasure you bound me by oath to defend. But, remembering our old friendship, I would forgive you, and raise you high in my service.'“ Dagoth Gares seemed to relieve himself of the meditative state he had placed himself in while relaying his Lord’s message, and now let his hands fall to his side carelessly. His face-trunk moved slightly while he tilted his head to the side before speaking again.
“My Lord Dagoth bids you come to Red Mountain. For the friendship and honor that once you shared, he would grant you counsel and power, if only you would pledge that friendship anew. I am not your Lord Dagoth, yet I, too, would say to you... Do you come with weapons to strike me down? Or would you put away your weapon, and join me in friendship?”
Aldarilon blinked. The absurdity of such an offer wasn’t what had surprised him, it was that he was being given the offer at all. He had never heard of people being actually offered the chance to join the Sixth House; all he knew of were reports of murders of which the guilty were unaware of, or people descending into trance-like states or irregular behavior. That, or the Temple turning up some grizzly scene in a city sewer or in the basement of some recluse’s home, finding piles of rotting Corprusmeat and several of those little red statues.
“I can’t say that’s an attractive prospect, honestly,” said Aldarilon. “I am surprised, though, that you’re offering me to be your pal after I killed off the majority of your ‘assembly’ here.”
Gares spread out his hands, something approaching a weird smile forming on the slit of a mouth he had beneath that trunk. “Forgive the rude welcome, but until you have declared for us, we must treat you as our enemy. The Sleepers and Dreamers are newly come to Lord Dagoth, and not yet blessed with his power. But the Children of His Flesh, they are deep in the heart of his mysteries. Their bodies swell to contain his glory, and to yield the rich sacraments of our Lord's feasts. And we are the least of his servants, for Ash Poets, Ascended Sleepers, and Ash Vampires stand high above us in the Lord's bountiful grace. Lord Dagoth would far rather have you as a friend than as an enemy. But until you submit to him, Sixth House servants will treat you as an enemy, and try to destroy you. If you wish to be our friend, first you must go to Lord Dagoth in his citadel on Red Mountain, and make your submission.”
“Again, not something that seems particularly tempting, to be honest,” replied Aldarilon, feeling slightly more at ease, oddly enough. “I have to admit, however, that Dagoth Ur is an…enigmatic figure, to say the least.” At these words, Gares literally fell to his knees, throwing his arms upwards as though looking up to the heavens.
“Dagoth Ur is the Awakened Lord of the Sixth House, come to cast down false gods, drive foreigners from the land, and restore the ancient glory of Morrowind. He bids you come to Red Mountain. For the friendship and honor that once you shared, he would grant you counsel and power, if only you would pledge that friendship anew. The path to Red Mountain is long, and filled with danger, but if you are worthy, you will find there wisdom, a firm friend, and all the power you need to set the world aright.”
The conversation did not seem to be going anywhere beyond this. Gripping his sword again, Aldarilon began making a mental checklist of spells that might be effective against the Ash Ghoul. “I find the world rather suitable as it is, I think,” he said somewhat awkwardly. There didn’t seem to be any words to be said before a battle that would not sound cliché, in his opinion, so he took the advantage while he had it.
While Gares was still on his knees with his trunk pointing toward the ceiling, Aldarilon lurched forward, lifting his swords to bring it across the Ghoul’s body. Simultaneously, lightning crackled in a ball in the palm of his right hand. Dagoth Gares, taken aback by the sudden strike, sighed as he stood upright. He had done so in time for the Dwemer blade to sink into Gares’ stomach, while a handful of lightning (literally) was slammed into the side of the Ghoul’s head. Dagoth Gares did not move his arms an inch as the Altmer dug into him with his attacks. Aldarilon, too preoccupied with attempting to kill the creature before it had a chance to attack, thought nothing of its lack of resistance. A second time the Dwemer sword struck Gares, this time in his chest. The Ash Minister felt the light of his life fading, a sense of serenity in his mind with the knowledge of being martyred for such a cause. With no intention of surviving, the Dagoth sank to his knees.
Aldarilon, meanwhile, thought he was doing surprisingly well, which was surprising, considering he was a lone bard attempting to slay a being of nightmarish power. Perhaps the infamous Ash Ghouls were powerful only in legend? This thought, however, was quickly banished. Dagoth Gares had one last thing to do before he passed.
The creature, in its last ounce of strength, reached its grey, frail hand up to its attacker. It seized Aldarilon by the jaw and effortlessly dragged the Altmer’s face level with his own trunk.
“You will come to Lord Dagoth Ur in his flesh, and of his flesh.”
With these words, Gares opened his lipless mouth and brought it within an inch of the horrified Aldarilon’s. He exhaled, a putrid air emitting from the Ghoul’s mouth and pouring into the Altmer’s. Dagoth Gares, his task complete, released his grip on Aldarilon and let his body fall to the ground.
Aldarilon, unprepared for the sudden release, staggered backwards, coughing and swearing loudly. He spit on the ground in an attempt to get the foul taste out of his mouth. Had Gares just tried to disgust him before dieing? His body shivered at the thought of the Ghoul breathing into him. Bringing his wrist to his mouth, he wiped his lips on his sleeve. Halfway through this motion, he stopped. Something felt different. He should like to think that he knew the general feel of his own face, but he could have sworn he felt some anomaly as he drew his arm across it. Reaching to his face again with his fingers, he passed them across the space between his nose and mouth. But he quickly drew his hand back as though he had been burned by fire; he had touched a very painful sore.
A sore? I don’t remember- ow! His hand touched another one, this time to the left of the first sore. Now he began to feel alarmed. Very, very lightly, in the same manner as handling glass or some volatile alchemical substance, he put both hands to his face. Again he drew them back quickly, but not out of pain this time: his face was covered in these boils.
A confused expression came over his face first, closely followed by one more appropriate for the grim revelation that came to him. But this quickly shifted once more into a blank expression. “Huh…” he said to nobody in particular, “how about that.” The Altmer’s eyes drifted down to the crumpled form of Dagoth Gares beside him. This gaze was maintained for what seemed like an eternity. It was broken, however, when Aldarilon’s sense of urgency resurfaced in a blazing fire.
“YOU BASTARD!” He shouted at the corpse, lunging down to it and grabbing it by the scruff of its robe, slamming it to the ground. This process was repeated nearly a dozen times, each accompanied with the exclamation of “You bastard!”. When this rampage had died down, Aldarilon jumped backwards, thrusting one hand to the side of his head. His breathing became quick and heavy, and he began looking desperately at the cavern around him, perhaps from some imaginary hope of a bottle labeled “Cure for Corprus” sitting by the altar. His arms fell to his side limply.
It was over. He was going to die. No, not die- worse, he would become one of those hulking lumps of flesh. Everything that he had done since arriving on the wretched, gods-forsaken isle had all just been dashed against sharp rocks in a single breath. Not to mention- he groaned as the memories of the Nerevarine prophecies flooded into his mind. He had failed. He was just another false Nerevarine. He couldn’t return to the spymaster. What was he supposed to tell him? “My apologies, Caius, but it seems that our entire operation that we’ve been working on the past few months has just been shattered into Oblivion?” A thousand thoughts ran through the mer’s head as he stood there in the cavern, staring at the corpse of Dagoth Gares. But his thoughts stopped abruptly at the sight of something in the creature’s hand. One eyebrow raised, he crouched down and looked at it. It was a little piece of crumpled parchment. Wrenching it from the rotted hand, Aldarilon straightened it out and read it, curious as to why the Ghoul would be carrying it. It read:
Lord Nerevar Indoril, Hai Resdaynia
My Lord, Friend, and Companion
Once we were friends and brothers, Lord Nerevar, in peace and in war. No houseman ever served you better, or more faithfully. Much that I did was at your command, at great cost to myself, and my honor.
Yet beneath Red Mountain, you struck me down as I guarded the treasure you bound me by oath to defend. It was a cruel blow, a bitter betrayal, to be felled by your hand.
But, remembering our old friendship, I would forgive you, and raise you high in my service. The Sixth House was not dead, but only sleeping. Now we wake from our long dream, coming forth to free Morrowind of foreign rulers and divine pretenders. When the land is swept clean of false friends and greedy thieves, the children of Veloth will build anew a garden of plenty in this blighted wasteland.
Come to Red Mountain, old friend. For the fellowship and honor that once we shared, I would grant you counsel and power, if only you would pledge that friendship anew. The path to Red Mountain is long, and filled with danger, but if you are worthy, you will find there wisdom, a firm friend, and all the power you need to set the world aright.
As ever, your respectful servant and loyal friend,
Lord Voryn Dagoth, Dagoth Ur
My Lord, Friend, and Companion
Once we were friends and brothers, Lord Nerevar, in peace and in war. No houseman ever served you better, or more faithfully. Much that I did was at your command, at great cost to myself, and my honor.
Yet beneath Red Mountain, you struck me down as I guarded the treasure you bound me by oath to defend. It was a cruel blow, a bitter betrayal, to be felled by your hand.
But, remembering our old friendship, I would forgive you, and raise you high in my service. The Sixth House was not dead, but only sleeping. Now we wake from our long dream, coming forth to free Morrowind of foreign rulers and divine pretenders. When the land is swept clean of false friends and greedy thieves, the children of Veloth will build anew a garden of plenty in this blighted wasteland.
Come to Red Mountain, old friend. For the fellowship and honor that once we shared, I would grant you counsel and power, if only you would pledge that friendship anew. The path to Red Mountain is long, and filled with danger, but if you are worthy, you will find there wisdom, a firm friend, and all the power you need to set the world aright.
As ever, your respectful servant and loyal friend,
Lord Voryn Dagoth, Dagoth Ur
He read the parchment several times. Was Dagoth Ur indeed inviting his Daedra-sent enemy to his side? Was the offer legitimate?
He felt as though his body was going to shudder, but no such convulsion came. Could…? No, of course not. But…no, that’s…is it?
Aldarilon looked down at the message in his hand again, hopelessly. Then again…he’s the only one who can help me.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Criticism, comments, and the like are welcome (and appreciated!), and don't hold back.
EDIT: Sorry, forgot to add what the paper said on it. Somehow it didn't copy with the rest of the text from BGSF.