Skyrim Day 031 - Azura's Fallen Star

16 Heartfire, 4E201

Falkreath

~~~

My night spent on the wrecked ship amid splatters of frozen blood was not a pleasant one and I do not thing I actually slept at all. I thought I would walk back to the College to thaw out my limbs and spend the rest of the day practicing my Illusion spells. While walking back to the College, why not stop by the very large shrine to Azura? Why not indeed.

From what I remember hearing the statue was built by Dunmer migrants fleeing the destruction of Vvardenfell. The statue was a sign of their gratitude for Azura having guided them safely out of the broken province of Morrowind. I cannot quite see how Azura helped them at all really, perhaps stopping the destruction of the city of Vivec might have been more helpful, but who am I to judge a Daedric Prince?

I remember Azura being prominent during my rise to Nerevarine, but so much time has passed that I actually remember very little of my time on Vvardenfell. Fragments of memories mostly...fighting a Ash Vampire beneath a volcano, a few hazy memories of a small fortified outpost gifted to me by the now-extinct House Redoran, the damp fishing village that I spent my first nights at, things like that. I barely remember Dagoth Ur, Vivec, or Almalexia. I spent some time on Solstheim, but I do not think I accomplished much there.

The shrine was larger than I thought, most of it consisting of a foundation with a small campsite laid on top of it. The camp belonged to a worshiper named 'Aranea Ienith' who lived her life literally at Azura's feet, Aranea kept the shrine and surrounding area clean and tidy while occasionally fighting off wolves and bears. She had her back turned to me as I stepped in front of the altar, but turned quickly, declaring that, at last, Azura's champion had come.

To say I was a bit taken aback by this remark would be understating it, for I thought she was referring to my time as the Nerevarine. Dunmer generally live long and I have no doubt that there are a few alive today that were alive at the fall of Dagoth Ur hundreds of years ago. Aranea continued on and I realized that she spoke of me as someone who would be declared champion following a task done for Azura. I suspect anyone else could have walked up those steps and had that dropped on their shoulders.

I agreed to the task, feeling that I may as well for old time's sake, as they say. The job was predictable: fetch an artifact of Azura's, the infamous 'Azura's Star' soul gem, and bring it back to the shrine. Aranea said that Azura told her that there was a mage in Winterhold that could direct me to the artifact and bid me good luck. Once again I was doing Azura's bidding, but there are worse Princes to associate with than the Lady of Twilight.

Winterhold was very close to the shrine, so I had some sunlight to make use of yet. I thought to wander around in an effort to locate another Dwemer ruin and much to my surprise I found a Falmer hut on the surface next to a pit lined with Dwemer stonework, somewhat to the west of Azura's shrine.

The expedition was a complete failure. Save for an interesting star-studded ceiling in the final chamber, the ruin contained no cogwheels and too much Falmer, the latter of which I did my best to rectify.

After wasting several hours there I ascended back to the surface and made my way to Winterhold for Azura's mage, the Altmer 'Nelacar'. I found him in the local inn, not the College, drinking in a private room while grumbling to himself. When I approached him about Azura's Star he denied any and all involvement until I told him that Azura herself had marked him. Then he was very eager to cooperate.

Nelacar had not taken the Star, but he knew who had: a former College instructor named 'Malyn Varen'. Sick and dying, he had started experimenting with the Star in an effort to prolong his life, but his work resulted in the death of a student and he was banished from Winterhold entirely. Malyn left with a few loyal students and took up residence in an old Imperial fortress north of Falkreath, a not-delightfully long walk from Winterhold.

I will admit that it was nice to be in the relatively warm southern region of Skyrim again, though it was close to midnight before I was even close to the ruined fort. The former Fort Ilinalta sits along the shore of Lake Ilinalta, collapsed and slowly sliding into the water. This makes it an ideal location for nefarious deeds, but it is anyone's guess as to how much longer it can remain serviceable for any use.

The entrance to the fort was gained via a trapdoor atop the keep and a grisly sight awaited me: a skeleton tied to a cross, evidently the unwilling subject of Malyn's experiments.

Necromancers are quickly becoming my favorite enemy, they are not particularly bright fighters and rely far too heavily on their undead to handle the messy details. With two of J'zargo's botched flame scrolls in my robes they had no chance at all. I think one of the necromancers died from bone splinters flying about following the destruction of several skeletons via explosive fire from Winterhold. The others mostly succumbed to slit throats or perforated lungs, their undead servants being very poor at spotting and warning of an increasingly sneaky Khajiit.

One of them had a rare Black soul gem which I smashed into very small pieces. Living for as long as I have has given me a good deal of tolerance for the questionable behavior of others, but trapping the souls of other people is unforgivable.

I found Malyn in a chamber full of skeletons, blood, and wet strands of flesh sticking to nearly every surface. It was as if a group of people had  huddled together before exploding all at once. The smell was indescribable.

The late College instructor was busy penning a novella before his flesh graced the walls, the title arrogantly described his achievement as victory over Daedra by a "Master Enchanter". Inside he crowed that he had achieved immortality, a two-edged blessing at best, as I would certainly know. Azura's Star lay at his skeletal feet, but it was cracked and dull. Aranea may know how to repair it.

The warm night air came as a welcome relief from the damp of the ruin and the road to Falkreath was devoid of thieves, wolves, and assassins. Once again I reached a bed just as everyone around me was reaching breakfast, I just hope I do not sleep the entire day away.

Oblivion Day 31 - Counter-Assault on Oblivion, Part 6

28 Heartfire, 3E433

Bravil

~~~

Today was largely spoken for already, with three Gates to close and a hidden cultist in Bravil to unmask. My first task was to ease the city's worry by closing the Gate that obliterated the watchtower ruin.

The Gate led me nowhere I had not seen before, but the denizens within were significantly more powerful and well-equipped than I have been accustomed to. I fought three Dremora who were armed with long blades, powerful spells, and upon investigation of their bodies, enchanted rings and amulets to further boost their prowess and my wealth.

With Bravil's Gate safely closed, I turned my attention to the two nearby Gates that I had found on either side of the road north of the city. This seems to be the pattern: one Gate opened very close to the city and two opened some distance away, perhaps to serve as passages for a rearguard or flanking force.

The Gate on the east side of the road led me to the familiar Plane with the two small towers and their locks connecting to the tower holding the Sigil Stone. Fortunately this Gate was not nearly as well guarded as Bravil's Gate had been and I fought my way through Scamps and Clannfear until I unlocked the bridge to the large tower and claimed the second Stone of the day.

That left me with one more Gate to close northwest of the city in some forest.

The third Gate was unremarkable save for an Elven mace I found lying next to a completely burned corpse. Never one to be squeamish around profit I took the mace, intending to enchant and sell it later in the week. This Gate too was closed with no problems.

My final order of business wound up resolving itself. As I rode back to town from the last Gate I thought about how to find Bravil's cultist. I anticipated spending several days in the city before meeting with any sort of result and stepped through the city gate completely unawares.

The whipping sound of summoning magicka alerted me that something was wrong as soon as I stepped inside Bravil. Still trying to register what was happening, I looked to my left at the charging form of a Mythic Dawn agent, mace raised and ready. The cultist, an Altmer her shocked neighbors identified as Ranaline, appeared to have been laying in wait just inside the gate.

The guards arrived to take the body away and one of them stopped to tell me that the re-building of Kvatch was soon to begin, as the last of the Daedra embedded in the wreckage had been destroyed. Good news for a change, I suppose, but the rest of the province is still under the same threat Kvatch was.

Tomorrow I shall spend a day in Bravil to solve the mystery of Ursanne Loche's missing husband, a task I guiltily remembered taking on the last time I was in town, possibly over a week ago. I do hope the man has managed to look after himself this whole time. 

Morrowind Day 31 - The Ashland Tribe

15 Hearthfire
~~~

I woke this morning quite comfortably in the hammock of one of my defeated foes and had breakfast while tinkering with the alchemical equipment they had left behind. The equipment was a full complement of any alchemist's workshop, but too bulky to carry with me, at least right now. I may return for it if I ever find a place to call my own.

The cavern bordered a Daedric ruin which I had to work my way through in order to continue along the coast towards the Ashlander camp. I normally would have skirted around the edge of the site, but perhaps I was still smarting from all the wealth I had left behind and I cast a few defensive spells and marched right through.  In hindsight this was a foolish idea given the condition of my armor and weapons after the battle with the Daedroth and the Golden Saint.

Almost immediately I was set upon by two Clannfear, but my skills must be improving more than I thought, since I dispatched both of them with little harm to myself and claimed their valuable hearts for myself. I passed by the door of the ruins and though I tried to resist, my curiosity got the better of me and I entered the shrine.

Almost immediately I was set upon by a Dremoa wielding a Dwarven halberd, but he may have been the weaker of his kind, for he cast no spells and relied only on his bladework, which even against my sword and shield was not sufficient to save his life. Another Daedric heart plopped into my pack. Thanks to the mysteries of the alloy, the halberd was not much heavier than my spear, but still suffered the balance issues all pole-axe weapons have. The natural stance of a Khajiit (and Argonian) is woefully inadequate to utilize the advantage of the weapon and I left it near the corpse. In the hands of say, an Orc or a Nord, a well-placed strike from a halberd could cleave a smaller foe in two.

The inside of the shrine was not spacious and the short hallway led only to a small alcove, where a few bedrolls and chests lay in the corner, all rotten and long unused. The locks on the chests were decayed enough for me to smash them off, but the chests only contained the signs of long gone (or dead) smugglers: lockpicks, a few Septims, and some packets of Moon Sugar. Nothing of value was gained, other than some confidence in my growing abilities.

The weather had turned far more agreeable when I exited the shrine and I carefully made my way along the coast, following the rough directions I had given. After a short distance I came across a collection of buildings that looked like they were built from silt strider shells (possible?) and the inhabitants were all armed with either a sword or spear, as well as a bow and full quiver. I correctly guessed them to be the tribe I was seeking and not wanting to be peppered with arrows, made a loud, clumsy approach before I reached their village.

The Ashland camp

They seemed unconcerned by my approach, but many of them rudely refused to talk to me. Finally, one Ashlander directed me to the wise woman of the camp "if I insisted on talking so much". The wise woman was as willing to talk just as much as her tribesmen were not. She was unwilling to discuss the Nerevarine prophecy, but gave me quite a bit of information on the Blight, Dagoth Ur, and even advised me on the dream I had, telling me that this was a communication of Dagoth Ur's and to disregard everything to do with it. I find it odd that Dagoth Ur would have an interest in me, but perhaps it is an affliction that occurs at random, Blight upon the wind perhaps. This may explain the strange behavior of the citizens in Suran and elsewhere.

While I would not say the woman was friendly, she was cordial and more importantly, willing to sell the Propylon stone for only twenty-five Septims. She said that a hunter had found the stone in some nearby ruins, probably one of the two nearby Dunmer fortresses. She had an impressive set of high-quality alchemical equipment and we soon fell into small talk, comparing notes about various ingredients.

The sun was still high, but it was late enough in the day that I could not accomplish much of use before darkness set. I contemplated going back to Ibar-Dad and spending the night there, but the wise woman must have been reading my mind, for she finished our conversation by suggesting I spend the night in a temporarily vacant hut, which they call yurts, extracting a promise out of me to return to her with any gems, which are difficult for the Ashland tribes to come across and required for the more potent alchemy recipes. 

Tomorrow I begin the return journey back to Caldera, another step towards receiving the Propylon Index completed.