[UESRPG] Heartbreak and Heroes

[Theseventh]

http://img12.deviantart.net/91ea/i/2011/343/8/0/red_mountain_by_lelek1980-d4if2nx.jpg
Credit to Alexy Rudikov (http://lelek1980.deviantart.com/) for the picture. He does some great TES art. In fact, throwing him some UESRPG credit right here since we used a fair bit of his work in there!

It's the year 436 of the Third Era. Nearly a decade ago Nerevarine journeyed to the heart of Red Mountain to defeat Dagoth Ur and put a stop to the spread of the Blight. With the fall of the Sixth House and the reaffirmation of the Tribunals power peace one again settled over Vvardenfell, and Morrowind as a whole. Nerevarine heads east across the sea to Akavir while life continues on for the rest of the Empire.

But not every hero is prophesied , nor is every story about great heroes. For many, their adventures make it into no great legends. Their lives just one more thread in the tapestry of fate, only to seen for but a moment in the Elder Scrolls.


~Reserving the right to edit this when my creativity starts to ooze out again~

[Theseventh]

For some like Devod, their story had no beginning. Presumably born to parents somewhere and given up to the Temple at birth, he was one of many children that filtered through various temple orphanages. As many were adopted or moved away to other orphanages, young Devod was left behind. By his parents, by his kin and eventually the world itself. At the age of 12 he was 'adopted' by the temple as an apprentice to one day spread the word of ALMSIVI.

Little more then a slave with the title of apprentice, Devod was still offered many opportunities as he grew up. The divine word of the ALMSIVI were available to him in scripture, countless books from the divine temple libraries, and the words of his elders. When he came of age his path was clear. He began his training to one day become a priest of the Temple. The outside world was still but noise and rumors to him, even the political turmoil of rising of the Sixth house and it's deposition by the agent of the temple were but stories he overheard. None of it mattered as long as the power of the Tribunal remained absolute.

Years go by. The living gods of the Tribunal who once walked among their people now seem more myth then truth for many. Despite the upswing in faith brought on by the deeds done in the name of the temple in the year 426 many now cast doubts. Where is Vivec and Sotha Sil? Why does only Almalexia walk among the Dunmer now? And even then, more as a political figure then the gods they are. Deep questions of faith that threaten to shake the pillars of Dunmer society should they be left unchecked. The Ordinators grew harsher. Many, like Devod, are inducted into the temple as Priests to reinforce the faith. With an increase in autonomy granted to the Priests in an effort to approach the now somewhat jaded people of their lands, many priests were left to their own devices. And devices were so approached. At the age of 25 Devod dedicated himself to the path of Sotha Sil, The Clockwork God. The most secret of the Tribunal, and to Devod, perhaps the most relatable. Why would a god distance himself from his people if not out of disgust for what they have become? Mortals, tied up in their petty grievances and desires squabble over the inane and trivial. Failing to see what is important in life.

And now, in the year 436, Devod continues his life's work. Attempting perfection in an imperfect world. A keen mind and a deep well of magicka indicative of those born under the cursed sign of the Golem has made him adventurous in his own personal projects. Still, if one is a priest of the temple they are expected to act like it once in awhile. Menial tasks and chores better suited to the freshly initiated are often thrown Devod's way. Perhaps in an effort to keep him around to be useful rather then diving into more best forgotten ruins. Or perhaps that despite the temples best efforts they are still under staffed and faith seems to be in short supply these days.

In the northern reaches of Vvardenfall, the Imperial village of Gnisis is a far cry from the massive cities of Vivec or Mournhold that Devod grew up with. For now though he calls it's small central temple home as he returns every other night or so from his trip to the nearby dwemer ruin of Arkngthunch-Sturdumz. The elusive ghost rumored to be in the ruins has evaded Devod thus far, and after several days prowling the metal halls he has returned back to the temple only to be accosted by head of the local temple Mehra Drora.

Mehra Drora
http://www.uesp.net/w/images/8/80/MW-npc-Mehra_Drora.jpg

It's about time you got back! Change out of those robes right now! I don't want you dragging that filthy oil in my temple! I don't know how the other priests put up with you if you do this kind of thing elsewhere. Hurry up and get changed! I got a letter requesting some work be done and you have not lifted a finger to help around here since arriving a week ago! So you are going to be taking care of it.

[samuraj133]

"It is just my luck that the spectre should vanish when I finally arrive to investigate the rumors..." Devod thought to him self as he passed under the big archway that served as the entrance to Gnisis Proper. He had spent several days investigating a rumor spread by some local kids, that a strange looking ghost had been spotted in the ruins of Arkngthunch-Sturdumz. But despite his best efforts, he had not been able to find the accursed thing, despite searching the exact places the kid had described walking through on a dare.

As the door to the temple came in sight, Devod steeled him self for what was to come. He had tried this many times before, and he knew that despite his title as fellow priest, his particular brand of devotion to almighty Sotha Sil was not exactly appreciated by the ordained priests of the old regime. And quite right he was, as he was confronted by the current leader of the Gnisis temple.


It's about time you got back! Change out of those robes right now! I don't want you dragging that filthy oil in my temple! I don't know how the other priests put up with you if you do this kind of thing elsewhere. Hurry up and get changed! I got a letter requesting some work be done and you have not lifted a finger to help around here since arriving a week ago! So you are going to be taking care of it.

Devod fought hard to suppress a sigh of annoyance as he bowed his head deep in a gesture of respect.


Of course Honored Adept Drora, I shall make sure to change into my spare robes before entering any of the sacred sanctums and the alters they contain. You can leave the letter at my quarters, and I shall see to it that the will of ALMSIVI shall be carried out by our hand.

Hurrying of to his chambers before Drora could come up with any more reasons to complain about his behavior, Devod couldn't help but let out a sigh of annoyance at the constant disregard the other priest had for his work. Did they not understand that perfection did not create itself, and that work outside the small world of the temple walls was needed to bring perfection to the common folk? In his quarters he quickly changed to another robe and got ready to do whatever menial task the temple most likely had in store for him yet again.

[Theseventh]

It would seem that Mehra could not even be bothered to leave the scroll on a desk or nailed to a door. It sits abandoned just next to the door to Devod's room. No doubt left there so Mehra could attend to one of her many other important duties. Like sit around in the Mask room, admiring the dusty face cover.




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To: The Honorable Curate Drora

Despite the Temples best efforts to educate
the populace on the remaining dangers of the
Blight, there are still minor outbreaks that
surface every few months. Often some
Ashlander or country farmer will encounter
an animal that survives to this day hosting
the foul Blight and will become infected,
none the wiser of their malady. They
will inevitably spread the disease to
other simpletons, their crops and livestock
and occasionally a nearby town.

Other times however it's simply an
ignorant outlander who merely assumes
to have contracted a mundane disease.
Such is the problem we face now. A
visiting imperial diplomat has come
down sick in the Grazelands. Some
of the symptoms he is described as
having are reminiscent of the
Black-Heart strain of the Blight.

The Temple would like you to investigate
this problem. Discretely. If rumors that
that blight has not been quelled make it
off of Vvardenfell the Empire might place
another embargo on us to ensure their
safety. It is our duty to our people and to
ALMSIVI that this does not happen.

~Endryn Llethan, Temple of the High Fane~




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The Blight. Grim business indeed. Devod has been fortunate enough to never have encountered it himself. Metal and Machines does not play host well to diseases. Mostly just a bad memory now but some small pockets of the disease remain. Flaring up every once in awhile like some sort of hibernating animal poking it's head out to see if conditions are good enough to awaken once again.


Mehra seems to be impatiently waiting for him in the temple entry way.

"You read the letter, you know to be discrete. Here-
She hands him a full pack.

Food, water, 30 gold for travel expenses and 2 potions of cure blight. I had to brew up some fresh ones when I got the letter and that is all I had the time and supplies for. I was hoping I would never have to break that recipe out again. One of those is for the vising diplomat. The other is for yourself if you are unfortunate enough to come in to close contact with him. The Blightstorms are gone so people do not spontaneously contract blight these days. He got it from someone or something. Find the source and handle it. Got it?"

[samuraj133]

As Devod walked out of his chambers, he wondered if Adept Drora had forgotten the task she had bestowed upon him, seeing as she had never arrived to deliver the message. Or at least that is what he thought, until he nearly stumbled upon the scroll on the floor next to his door.


By ALMSIVI's grace, give me the patience to handle this disrespect for a fellow priest...

Muttering loudly to him self, Devod picked up the scroll and glanced its contents, his face shifting from that of annoyance, to slight interest. While the Blight had been something he had only seen in people brought to the temple for cure, he had never actually tended to one of its victims first hand, and as so never gotten a good understanding of the disease itself. While unfortunate and problematic that this imperial diplomat had come down with the disease, it could serve as a good lesson for him to recognize the symptoms and administrating treatment on his own.

Rolling up the Scroll, Devod headed towards the entryway to the temple, and as he had expected, Drora was there to wish him farewell...


You read the letter, you know to be discrete. Here- *Hands pack* Food, water, 30 gold for travel expenses and 2 potions of cure blight. I had to brew up some fresh ones when I got the letter and that is all I had the time and supplies for. I was hoping I would never have to break that recipe out again. One of those is for the vising diplomat. The other is for yourself if you are unfortunate enough to come in to close contact with him. The Blightstorms are gone so people do not spontaneously contract blight these days. He got it from someone or something. Find the source and handle it. Got it?

Taking the pack he quickly glances over its contents before putting it on his back.


Yes Adept Drora, I shall travel to the Grazelands posthaste and undo the malady at once. I will do my best to ascertain the origins of the disease and carefully have it investigated before eliminating it and returning with a complete report of my findings.

Devod bows his head in respect to Adept Drora, even though his eyes possibly revealed the malcontent he felt for the woman before leaving the temple to perform his duties. It did not take him long to find a small Caravan headed to the Grazelands and paid for his passage, sitting back and enjoying the peace of mind he could so enjoy on these trips before returning to the matter at hand, the patient in the Grazelands...

[Theseventh]

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the province of Morrowind.


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The bitter chill winds of Skyrim rush through the mountain passes to bring about the frost and snow to the western region of the otherwise temperate province. They say only the most mad, foolish or stubborn of Dunmer choose to settle down here.

Nisseth is perhaps all three. A series of poor choices and unfortunate events have led the scarred veteran dark elf to this inhospitable corner of the ALMSIVI's domain. With little to no business from his farm and almost no gold to his name, he hunts to survive. Years of Imperial training guide his steps as he prowls through the sparse vegetation on the trail of some wild game. He caught sign of it almost half a mile back and he has to be getting close. He can hear the noise of rustling plants just over the next small hill. So close now. He readies an arrow. Just have to creep a little closer then...


Oh no. What's that sound? From the east? Lumbering crashing. The noise a great beast makes when it has no care of who or what get's in it's way as it charges.

No no no no. Not now! Not when you are so close!

It's heading your way. It must have your scent! If you back away not it might not be too late!

No! It's almost on top of you! No! No! N-
https://staticdelivery.nexusmods.com/images/110/932262-1333088647.jpg
A'bab! Noooooooo!



Nisseth's burden of a companion, A'bab, barrels right past him in chase of a large dragonfly. Must have spooked the game he was hunting too because over the happy sounds of a guar in chase he can hear whatever sort of animal it was bolt away into the distance. The oblivious guar returns mere moments later. Looking as content as can be with the still twitching gossamer wings of the dragonfly sticking out of it's mouth. Truly the mightiest of hunters.

At least he caught something. Unlike Nisseth.

[Gorgutzio]

Nisseth swore under his breath. The wretched Guar was a formidable mount, with a strenght and loyalty well beyond those of other animals. However, A'bab was most likely the dumbest specimen of his species...


Argh! A'bab, you big wrinkly dim-witted sack of ash yams! What am I going to eat now?

He reserved a particularly venomous glare to his animal companion.
A glare most likely outright ignored by the Guar, who instead looked back at him with one of those unintelligent stares of his.

A less patient or unscrupulous man would have long gotten rid of the beast, and perhaps once Nisseth was exactly that kind of person. But now it was different. Mostly isolated from the rest of Morrowind, A'bab was the only company he had left, now that he had sold all the farm's livestock to survive.

Nisseth sighed, and patted the Guar's big, rounded head.


Let's go, A'bab, maybe we'll find something else to eat...

This said, Nisseth and his courageous steed ventured in the harsh north-western wilderness in search of edible plants and mushrooms. However, the dark elf's mind was hardly focused on the task. Why did he, of all people, end up like this? The Imperial Legion managed to uncover and disrupt the criminal machinations of several of Morrowind's most dangerous organizations only because of his talents, back in the day...
But that was then, and now his biggest preoccupation was to find some food for himself. As his stomach grumbled loudly, Nisseth wondered if he could do something about his situation. Maybe he could seek the legendary knowledge of the Guar-tamers of the Ashlands in order to rebuild his business from the ground up, or he could just give up on his dreams of being a renowned Guar breeder and learn other trades, like commerce. One thing was sure, whatever his ultimate motivations were, he really needed money. He weighed his options, and decided that the best thing he could do would be to journey to a less isolated part of the province, back to civilization.

[Theseventh]

Travel is not luxurious when you can barely afford to feed yourself. It's hard travel by guar to the coast, living off the land along the way. To cross the Inner Sea is not so easy. Very few boats have both the charity to take on a passenger for free, and the space for an excitable guar. Luckily the Thief watches over him it seems. A slave boat carrying a cargo full of beastfolk offers him space on the condition that he acts as extra muscle on the trip should it the situation demand. A'bab is given a cage with the other beasts. At least it will keep him under control until they reach the island.

They set sail at dawn the following day. Red Mountain lays still on the horizon. Soon Nisseth shall be in the promised land of the Guar. Soon.

[Theseventh]

Everyone knows that any self respecting mage with a mid life career crisis should have a mysterious cat. And everyone knows that the Imperial Mages guild membership is pretty expensive. It does not take much brainpower to put 2 and 2 together for your average Alfiq to plan a con. Get 'adopted' by a mage, bum off their research while they sleep. Watch your 'owner' get killed in some rookie magical mishap. Rub up against the leg of another guild member and get adopted again. Repeat the cycle all the way to archmagister levels of magical knowledge! That's the plan anyway. A plan that is currently being thrown out the window because Kisimba is being roughly shoved inside a rudimentary pet carrier.

http://vignette4.wikia.nocookie.net/elderscrolls2/images/8/82/Alves_Uvenim.png/revision/latest?cb=20160713093842&path-prefix=de

Come on Flufflewuds! Oh god that name. Each owner seems to have a worse name for Kisimba then the last.
Just get in the carrier! I'm not leaving you here after that scamp incident! One of those things could just gobble you up yes they could. Alves groans as she fights to put the cat mage in the cage.

With much of his dignity left outside the carrier, poor Kisimba is unceremoniously safely locked away.


http://vignette4.wikia.nocookie.net/elderscrolls2/images/6/6a/Dagail.png/revision/latest?cb=20160717124703&path-prefix=de

Awww Alves. Do you really have to take that cute little guy with you back home? It's only a few weeks, surely we can be trusted to take care of him while you are gone.


Alves
Oh hush you. You know he likes me best. Besides, I could use the travel buddy.

[puddles]

'I hate you' is what the Alfiq wants to say, but they don't. No...the adorable cat just meows unhappily, feigning severe stress at their ungainly 'imprisonment', as the two mages talk. To avoid any gaffs, Kisimba even avoids rude comments about Dagail being so old and blind she can't tell a cat's gender! Meooow...

[Theseventh]

The tan hooded Khajit S'drassa chooses this time to make his appearance.

http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/elderscrolls/images/5/55/Sdrassa.png/revision/latest?cb=20130419201157

Leaving so soon Alves? Did you stock up the alchemical supplies before packing like I asked?


Alves
Yes yes did as you ask. Enough supplies to last a month with forms already set up for back order if we run out.



S'drassa
Good good. Thank you very much. I would hate to have to stop my research to go digging for more ingredients. He stoops down so he is eye level with the carrier.
And taking our little friend with you? How ever will we survive?

Alves
Why is everyone so interested in my Flufflewuds? Yes I am taking her with! If you all are so keen on her why don't you go adopt a stray yourself?


S'drassa
Oh I don't think we could ever replace such a keen and contributing member of our little family so easily. He shot the tiny Kisimba a malicious knowing grin.

Fed up with everyone wanting a chance at her adorable kitty cat, Alves puts the last of her things in to her travel luggage and whistles for the coach lackey to come pick them up. She personally carries Kisima's carrier with her on the way out.

Alves
Well goodbye everybody! I will see you in a few months! I will make sure to bring back some Ash yams for you all! The collective groan was ignored.

Dagail
Take care child. You are going to have such adventures little one!

S'drassa
Yes yes. Do take care {You worthless freeloader} The last insult spoken in just Ta'agra.

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It's hard to tell what's worse. The time in the carrier, or the time out where Alves insists on keeping Kisima on her lap at all times. Even when the tiny mage tries to prowl away on the pretense of being cute or swatting at something, the dunmer just picks her right back up and back in to the lap.

Cheer up Kisima, it's only a days sail up the bay to the Imperial city. And then another 5 days by carriage across the boarder. And then another days ride by ship to the island. All in the company of the loving and overly doting Alves.

Alves
Oh Flufflewuds you are just going to love Morrowind!