Skyrim Day 062 - A Bloody Business, Done

17 Frostfall, 4E201

Markarth

~~~

This morning I had only to find the pommel stone of Mehrune's Razor before having all the pieces necessary for Silus's museum. He had said that the stone was somewhere south-west of Markarth. The ale-sodden innkeeper, Kleppr, told me that there was a Forsworn camp known as 'Dead Crone Rock' in that area, said to be the home of Hagravens well as Forsworn. He said there was not enough coin in Tamriel to tempt him to that place, but I felt confident that there would be nothing there that I already have not faced.

Walking there was actually quite pleasant, the weather was cooperative and nothing attacked me until I drew close to the mountainside. A small group of Forsworn were loitering near a small bridge, so I ducked out of sight, readied my Illusion spells, and threw my rage-inducing magicka into their midst. I gulped down an Invisibility flask just to be sure before scampering out from behind my rock and skirting my way around the heated melee.

Forsworn are not a subtle people. Their "camp" occupied the base of the mountainside, and terraces built halfway up it.

Dead Crone Rock might have been a stronghold in an era long gone by, but most of the entrances into the mountain were collapsed or used as a garbage dump by the Forsworn. I fought my way along the terraces, dodging arrows made of branches and maces made from rocks. How the Forsworn intend to take back their territory is a mystery to me.

The only functioning doorway in the whole camp was for a tower partially built into the hill.  On the other side was a Briarheart and the Hagraven that probably created the unfortunate creature. The Hagraven must have smelled me, for she and her Briarheart came charging down the tower's stairs at me as soon as I came through the door.

A dagger into the Briarheart's exposed chest ended it quickly, but the Hagraven proved a bit craftier. She was adept at ice magicka and kept her distance from me as she flung it around, trying to slow me with its effects. After a lot of dodging (and a few restoratives) I managed to corner her against the altar she evidently used and drove my silvered blade clean through her body. Her shriek is still ringing in my ears. The Razor's pommel stone was on the hagraven's necklace, crudely glued into a nest of what might have been finger bones to form a grisly brooch. I took the stone, I left the necklace.

The Dragon Wall that the former stronghold might have been built to guard greeted me with the usual headache, teaching me 'Ru', the Nordic word for 'Run'. The Greybeards assured me that I would be able to string together these ancient words to create Shouts of great power, but my blade and bolts seem just as effective as yelling in an ancient tongue.

A nearby chest revealed an incredible find: Ebony-infused gauntlets enchanted to help the wearer strike truer. The gauntlets themselves are useless weight to me, but I may be able to draw the enchantment out of them so that I impart it upon my trusty leather gloves.

I heard someone muttering in-between a rhythm of knocking noises as I descended the mountain and found that one of the Forsworn had, somehow, missed out on the disastrous battle his brethren engaged in earlier. Sensing that he would not be appreciative to learn this I sneaked into his hut and knifed in the back, once for each lung.

This was a fortunate choice for as he collapsed, gasping fruitlessly, I saw an Ebony-infused blade tucked into his belt. First gauntlets, now a dagger. One useless, one very useful. Whomever crafted the deadly blade had a sense of humor or poor eyes: the blade was wavy, the advantage of such an arrangement being unknown to me. Perhaps it was used for a ritual or some kind of ornamentation. I will try it as a weapon and see how it performs.

I thought to explore the road to Markarth a bit to see if I could find Gauldur's resting place and returned to the city in front of a small farm near the river. My many years of experience have taught me that farmers, miners, those that survive on the land, live and die based on their knowledge. It may not be the academic knowledge of Winterhold, but if Gauldur was laid to rest near Markarth it would likely be a farmer who knew, courtesy of family legends, history, or errant exploration as a young Nord prior to settling down.

My hope here was well-founded. Rogatus Salvius, though old and bitter, did recall hearing the tale of Gauldur from his grandmother, but could only remember that it was supposed to be by a waterfall overlooking a small stone bridge along the main road. That narrowed down Gauldur's grave to two locations in my mind, but I wound up choosing the correct location first.

However, I had an interesting encounter before I found Gauldur. I chose to hike over the small hills dotting the area instead of taking the road and was quite surprised to reach the crest of one only to find a Dragon flying right at me.

It roared and I readied myself for a precarious battle on the hilltop, but it did not seem to notice me. Instead it simply flew over my head in circles, roaring at nothing apparent, before simply flying away. A very interesting encounter indeed and another sign that the Dragons are not flying on someone's orders, if they ever were.

With that over I continued up and over the hills until I came to 'Reachwater Rock', the waterfall cavern dug for Gauldur so long ago. As befitting the Nordic love of pointless puzzles, I needed two Dragon Claw keys to get inside. One I found on a pedestal beside a dead Nord, the other was an ivory-inlaid claw I had with me from Mikrul's tomb near Solitude.

The tomb was oddly absent of Draugr, only a few traps awaited me, which I easily avoided. At the end of the cavern was an altar with three plaques set into it, obviously for the three pieces of the amulet Gauldur's sons were willing to murder for.

Placing a fragment of the amulet on a plaque caused the plaque to start glowing, but also prevented me from removing the fragment. I seemed to have no choice but to surrender the two remaining fragments. As I started to place the third fragment I felt a particular tickling on the back of my neck which usually indicated immediate danger. There was no one in the cavern but myself, so I knew the third fragment would do something bad. I slapped the fragment on to the metal plaque and hurried to a dark corner to see what would happen next.

With a flash of blue light the spirits of the three brothers materialized in front of their fragments, One, I could not tell who, sent himself to the far end of the chamber where I had entered as Draugr spirits, armed with bow and axe, popped into existence. They did not know I was there, but I figured that they had far more patience than I did, so when one of the shimmering Draugr walked in front of me I cut it down, alerting the others.

The brothers were considerate enough to attack me one-by-one and while I was winded by the end of my battle, I was victorious. After the defeat of the third brother they all remained in front of the altar in positions of either submission or defeat. I was unsure what to do next, but that was answered for me.

The coffin behind them erupted in flames, engulfing the brothers and banishing them back to wherever their spirits reside. Once the smoke cleared a bit I could see a fourth spirit standing alone before the altar: Gauldur himself, making an appearance of his own while scolding his sons. He stared down at the amulet that they so coveted and then disappeared in a flash of blinding light. When my vision returned I saw that the amulet was whole again.

Putting it on proved a disappointment. I felt a little more awake and refreshed, but not much other than that. I could see that it had a Restoration enchantment on it, but the nature of it was unclear and after all I have gone through for it, the amulet does not appear to have been worth it. Perhaps I will donate it to the College or display it somewhere in Breezehome.

Somewhat depressed, I walked back to Markarth and parted with another ten Septims for a slab of rock. Gauldur's amulet, the "Lost Legend", should have stayed lost, but I have only my own curiosity to blame for the amount of time I have wasted. At least the pieces of Mehrune's Razor are in my possession, tomorrow I will visit the misguided museum guide and see what he expects from them.

Morrowind Day 62 - A Khajiit Slave Owner

15 Frost Fall

~~~

The Zainab wise-woman, Sonummu Zabamat, was amused to hear of Kaushad's second request. She stated what I already suspected: No Telvanni would ever marry an Ashlander. Sonummu's plan to work around that issue was to go to the Telvanni tower/town of Tel Aruhn where a friend of hers, Savile Imayn, managed the slave trading there. Savile would likely have a Dunmer girl who could pose as a high-born Telvanni lady and all I needed to do was purchase the slave girl and bring her back to the Zainab grounds.

I found the plan distasteful for several reasons, the primary one being that I am a Khajiit in Morrowind and have seen enough of my own enslaved that the thought of buying someone else is rather abhorrent. My other objection was far more practical: there is a lot of water between Tel Aruhn and I doubted the girl would be able to walk atop it as I can. I could use scrolls to get me to Wolverine Hall near Sadrith Mora, but I would have to escort the girl, if I found one, back to the camp, probably partially via boat. Still, I never really had a choice.

The Divine Intervention scroll brought me to the door of the Imperial Chapel in Wolverine Hall and I hopped off the parapet onto the water below. The walk was a short one and the Telvanni mushroom town had many services that did not mind doing business with an outlander. I bought a great deal of repair equipment for my chitin weapons and spent most of the morning heating resin and replacing the chitin barbs that make up my spear. 

Savile Imayn was easy to find and started greeting me as soon as she saw me heading towards her...which was still quite some distance away. She was an enthusiastic seller and promised that she had the perfect slave for me. I almost asked her how many Khajiit usually came to her to buy slaves, but I held my tongue. She rattled off a list of names and the crimes they had committed to warrant their slavery, but while one was Khajiit, none of them were the female Dunmer that I was told to purchase. I asked about the Khajiit male and Savile shrugged and told me I was probably only interested in freeing him, which was my right if I bought him. That was my intent, so I gave her the money and met the slave in a nearby underground cell. He made quite a rude suggestion upon seeing me but I ignored him and unlocked his shackles, leaving him free to go whenever he pleased.

Somewhat dejected and lost as to where to go next, I asked Savile if she knew where I could find a female Dunmer that would be able and willing to pose as a high-born Telvanni lady so that she could marry the haughty Zainab ashkhan. I expected to be told that, yes, there is a lady matching your description but she is on the other side of Morrowind. However luck was with me: Savile had "acquired" a young Dunmer lady from a family who sold her to cover their debts. The act seemed deplorable, but Savile assured me that people sold into slavery were treated well and contractually limited to desirable, safe lives. I wondered about the validity of such a statement, but Savile was willing to help me make the arrangement work.

The arrangement was only to find specific items of clothing for the lady to wear, for naturally a high-born lady would only have the very best. Also naturally: Tel Aruhn had no such clothing. Savile recommended Tel Mora, a Telvanni town very close to the Ahemmusa tribal camp. She assured me that the trip via boat was safe and quick, but that was simply not happening for me. I thanked her and prepared for a long walk back to the northern coast.

The trek was certainly interesting. Along the coast there is an abandoned Dunmer fortress of very unusual or perhaps unfinished construction. A sole Altmer cultist was guarding the entrance, along with a simple ghost and somewhat less simple Daedroth.

A note was stuck on the doorway with a dagger, warning someone named 'Telvon' not to enter due to some sort of enchantment within the fortress. Of course, I now had to find out what sort of enchantment this unknown person had encountered, but the only clue he or she gave was that the only way they were able to get out is due to a Recall spell they had cast just outside. Reasoning that there had to be some other way out if cultists had occupied the place, I opened the door and stepped through.

...only to discover once I was inside that behind me was a featureless wall of stone where the door had been. Strange. The interior of the fortress was almost entirely unfinished and it appeared that cultists had been using the fortress as a shrine for a long time, going so far as to drag stones from Daedric ruins into the fortress to form a crude sort of mini-fortress within the fortress.

The cultists all fell quickly, most of them to my bow and there was nothing interesting to take other than a ring strongly enchanted with a Restoration spell I was unable to identify. Predictably the other side of the fortress had a door that opened up exactly outside the door I had entered by. I admit I cannot see the utility in this arrangement other than as a trap, but the fortress is remote enough that I doubt it was ever effective at all. Quite a mystery.

I arrived at Tel Mora just as the sun fell below the horizon and immediately sought out the clothier Savile had instructed me to. Enough time had been wasted at the Dunmer fortress that I felt no desire to wander Tel Mora, even if the clothier described it as the most outlander-friendly Telvanni town in Morrowind.  My last scroll of Divine Intervention fortunately zapped me back to Wolverine Hall and I was able to hand the clothes over to Savile before she closed her business for the night.

This led to her second request: Bug Musk to reduce Kaushad's resistance to the lady's charm. This at least could be found in Tel Aruhn, much to my relief. When I returned with the flask of perfume, Savile insisted that I give it to the slave directly...after I bought her. She asked for twelve hundred Septims and I am sure I could have bargained her down a bit, but I was tired and being named the Zainab Nerevarine was certainly worth her asking price. I was given the key to the girl's cage and we each wished the the other a good night.

As for the girl, I had and still have no idea how to talk to her. I am certainly unaccustomed to being the owner of anyone and though the girl seems excited about her new life I cannot help but feel a little guilty about forcing her path like this. For now I have paid for separate lodgings for the two of us at the local tradehouse and tomorrow we will arrive at the Zainab camp, where I shall hopefully be named Nerevarine.