He speaks the Law for Veloth's people.
He speaks for their land, and names them great
-The Seven Visions, One Destiny

Part 1: The God's Heart Freed and the Prophecy Fufilled

3E 431; Dagoth Ur, Heart Chamber

Esquivat recoiled in pain as his sword bounced off the rock-like hide of one of Ur's Ash Vampire kin. He had no chance to recover as the abomination launched itself at the young breton with a fearsome growl. He raised his shield in a borderline futile attempt to protect himself from the beast's claws as they rained blow after blow upon the already damaged dwemer steel. Equivat said a silent prayer to Mara, the Mother of All, that Reranil had given him the shield as a present when he was formally adopted by Athyn Sarethi the year before. But now he had no time to dwell on happier memories, instead he had to find a way to get the Ash Vampire off of him and prevent the beast from ripping out his throat.

Taking quick advantage of the moment when the creature reeled back to strike another blow, Esquivat rolled to his left, narrowly avoiding the ledge down into the lave. Leaping to his feet and readying his well-used sword of ebony, Esquivat called upon the stars of the Ritual to quickly heal is battered body, then launched himself at the Dagoth. This time, the battle was more even, but even though Esquivat's sword found numerous targets and he could see blood being drawn, he could not gain a decisive advantage.

But the Ash Vampire could.

Taking advantage of it's tough skin and claws, the Dagoth grabbed Esquivat's sword as the breton knight made a downward swing towards it's right thigh. With a hideous growl, the Ash Vampire wrenched the sword from Equivat's grasp and flung it off the ledge and down towards the lava. Esquivat had no time to grieve for his lost weapon as the beast bore down upon him once again. With it's clawed hand, the Ash Vampire grabbed the knight by the neck and lifted him by his neck. The beast grinned, which looked more like a grimace, and snarled, "pitiful human, you thought you could face the wrath of Dagoth Araynys?" Araynys raised it's other claw for the killing blow but never got the chance.

The lightning appeared from the door leading out and somehow managed to completly sever the arm that was holding Esquivat, dropping the breton knight back to the floor. Dagoth Araynyn roared and turned to face his attacker, only to find three. Three more blasts of lightning to it's chest finally drove the Ash Vampire back far enough where it tottered off the ledge, falling far down into the lava. The lava did not totally destroy Dagoth Araynys's body quickly, and, as Esquivat struggled to regain his feet a hundred feet above, the Ash Vampire let out one more defiant growl before finally succumbing to the burning flames of molten rock.

Through a haze of blood that ran down from a head wound that Araynys had given him, Esquivat managed to make out the three people now around him. They were his friends. It had obviously been Elinhir that had saved him, for only he and Reranil knew how to cast bolts of lightning that powerful. Elinhir was a perfect example of Altmer wizard. He had tight features with high cheekbones and stony grey eyes that sometimes frightened Esquivat with their utter intensity. His golden skin was flawless in every way and his soft copper hair, tied back by an enchanted emerald tie, truly made him look perfect. Now the grey eyes were fixed in concern for the injured breton below him.

"I say, Anabelle, hurry and help the man!" His voice was perfect, too.

A breton girl kneeled down next to him, laying his head in her lap. "I know what to do, Elinhir, you don't have to help me." She looked down with green eyes into Esquivat's hazel and smiled, brushing the blood clotted brown hair from his face. "Don't worry, Esquivat, we're here now," she said quietly as she began to chant quietly, weaving her spells of healing upon the knight's broken body. The spells were potent and Esquivat's deep gashes and broken bones caused by Araynys began to mend, but he knew that he was out of the fight, he needed at least a month's rest before he would be able to undertake any action again.

"Where's Reranil?" Esquivat moved his now stiff neck to look at the source of the blunt, low voice.

"Down below," he answered then coughed. He could hear the sound of battle and knew it must be Reranil, for Esquivat knew that Reranil would now be the only one carrying on the fight against the Sharmat. "Help me up," Anabelle was about to protest but a pair of powerful arms lifted the breton to his feet roughly and steadied him. Turning to his helper, Esquivat smiled, "thank you, Grisa." Grisa smiled back with the well-known orcish grimace the passed as a smile for the beast-folk. Grisa was the anomaly within their little group. She stood at least six feet and four inches, towering over everyone within the party, even Elinihir, whose people were known for their height. She had an incredibly powerful body, once bashing a door in the manor of Orvas Dren to get to the scumbag, and yet her chosen occupation was that of a well-trained burglar. Totally bald except for a ponytail and the compelling orcish eyes, Grisa did not cut the image of thief all that well, but Esquivat had learned to trust her sharp mind and nimble fingers over the months, and he couldn't think of a better thief.

"Fellows, come hither!" Elinhir was at the ledge looking down towards the Heart of Lorkhan. Anabelle, Esquivat, and Grisa rushed over to his side.

"What is it, Elinihir? Is it Reranil?"

"I think so, but that crazed dunmer down their with the axe in his hand doesn't exactly remind me of our Reranil Sarothen." The other three looked down to the figure that Elinhir was talking about and all three silently agreed with him. Below them, about seventy-five feet or so, was the ebony clad juggernaut, Reranil, locked in combat with the most evil creature in Morrowind, mayhap the world, Dagoth Ur. Reranil's armor was in tatters, cut into ribbons by Ur's razor-like claws. One pauldron was totally gone, leaving an arm exposed to those blood-soaked talons. But Reranil seemed totally oblivous to all that, focusing intently with a blind fury upon his foe.

"He looks more like a blood-crazed berserker than a disciplined warrior," muttered Anabelle, "and he doesn't seem to be doing so well. I mean, look at his arm! We have to get down there!"

"How," Grisa snorted, "even if we ran down we couldn't make it in time."

"We can't just stay up here and watch him die!" Anabelle was visibly angry, and Esquivat thought it prudent to put a restraining hand upon her shoulder before she did something she would regret.

"I understand your feelings, Anabelle, but Grisa is right. The path down is too long and we very well can't jump down, unless we want to break our legs."

"I say, have you all gone daft?" Elinihir had stepped back from the ledge and was rummaging through his bag while speaking, "if I must remind you, I carry a tool for every situation!" Elinhir finally pulled a slender bottle from his bag and uncorked the top. "Who wants to go help our friend, the Nerevarine?"

Esquivat burned with a passion to go help his friend and mentor, but he was too badly bruised to be much more use so he refused the potion. Anabelle also refused, on the logic that as a healer, she could help, but not when Reranil was fighting the way he was. Elinihir also refused, because his well of magicka had finally ran dry when he saved Esquivat from Dagoth Araynys. "It seems like it's up to you, orc."

Grisa shrugged and took the potion from Elinhir's hand and down it quickly. The levitation spell within the potion activated and Grisa found her feet off the ground. "I hate flying!" She didn't stick around to elaborate as she rushed off the ledge and down towards behind Dagoth Ur. The potion ran out just before she hit the ground and she immiediatly dropped into a sneaking position. Dagoth Ur was so engrossed in his fight against Reranil that he was oblivious to her and she found it easy to sneak up and ready her daedric dagger for a crippling blow. But she never go the chance.

The fight between Reranil Sarothen and Dagoth Ur had been going against the dunmer since the start. Occasionaly, he would be able to turn the tables, but how does a mortal kill a god, even a false god, when it is so close to the source of it's ascendence? Reranil knew the plan, attack the Heart of Lorkhan, but that was somewhat difficult when three of his friends were missing and the only other one was far above him, fighting for his life as well. Reranil cursed the entire situation, if only Ur hadn't caused the cave in that had seperated Reranil and Esquivat from the rest of their group. If they had been able to put up a united front against Dagoths Ur and Araynys, the battle could have differently. But as it was going now, it looked to Reranil as if he was going to die.

Reranil had blocked another blow from Dagoth Ur with the haft of his axe when he noticed Grisa about to bury a daedric dagger into Ur's back and he grinned. It might have been the grin that gave Grisa away to Ur, who it might just have been his god-like senses, but just as the orcish rogue was going to backstab the Sharmat, it swept it's arm at Reranil, launching him back against the Heart, then turned to face Grisa, who now had no target. No resistance was put up, she had no chance to begin with. In a quick motion, Dagoth Ur reached out and latched onto Grisa's neck, and snapped it, turning the once powerful orc into a ragdoll. With that cruel cackle, Dagoth Ur unceremoniously dumped the orc over the bridge and down into the lave, incinerating her body and gear. Dagoth Ur looked up to the stunned faces of the Nerevarine's other companions and laughed again.

"You think a pitiful beast-creature could defeat me when the prophesized Incarnate could do nothing?! Truly thou art nothing but fools! Now I will show you what true power is, and you all will come to serve me in flesh, or of my flesh!" Turning arrogantly back to Reranil, a chill of mortal fear went through his godly spine. For there was Reranil Sarothen, Hortator and Nerevarine, Incarnate Moon-and-Star Reborn, standing behind the Heart of Lorkhan, the profane tool of Sunder in his right hand, and a crazed grin on his face. His powerful arm swung down Sunder upon the Heart, shattering the shield around it.

"No, you fool! Stop!" Dagoth Ur cried as he rushed to prevent the Nerevarine from causing anymore harm to the source of his Godhood. But he lurched back in pain as Reranil, having dropped Sunder and now wielding the Thrice-Cursed Blade, reaped the harvest of the unmourned house by continously thrusting the crystal blade deep in Lorkhan's own heart. Dagoth Ur was spasmed as the blade connected again and again, before they finally stopped. Ur roared, a sound that shook the entire chamber, as the Heart of Lorkhan exploded, taking the Sharmat's Godhood with it.

Dagoth Ur's eyes focused upon the object of his ultimate hate. "You....You....I'LL BURN YOU ALIVE!" The now mortal Dagoth Ur charged Reranil with blind hatred, only to meet the blade of the dunmer's ebony battleaxe. Ur recoiled in reaction to the first pain he had felt in centuries, and he was slow to react when Reranil used the top of his axe to slam Dagoth Ur in the stomach, knocking the massive beast back onto the middle of the bridge.

"This is for Grisa!" Reranil roared as he lobbed off Dagoth Ur's left arm with his axe, and bringing Ur to his knees in pain, "and this is for all the people you have corrupted through their dreams!" Another axe blow fell upon Ur's other arm, severing it from the rest of his body. Reranil tilted his head back and yelled, "by the Grace of Gods and Fate, I am Nerevar Indoril reborn!"

Ur, with slurred speach, somehow managed to respond to Reranil's cry, "That is bitter. The gods and fates are cruel. I served you faithfully once, Lord Nerevar, and you repaid me with death. I hope that one day you will pay for your faithlessness."

Reranil looked down at the helpless Ur and all the rage that he had been feeling left him. He was now seeing Dagoth Ur through the eyes of Indorial Nerevar, not Reranil Sarothen. Instead of the mad creature that had almost brought Tamriel to ruin, before him was the noble figure of Voryn Dagoth, friend and companion, who had been driven insane by Kagrenac's Tools. Speaking in a voice that only Voryn could hear now, Rernail spoke the words of the Sixth Vision, "I honour the blood of the Tribe Unmourned; I eat your sin, and am reborn." Lifting his bloody axe in his hand, Reranil spoke to again, "Voryn Dagoth, friend and companion, be now at peace with your ancestors." The razored edge of Reranil's ebony axe cut clean through Dagoth Ur's neck, decapitating him and causing his body to tumble down into the lave pits below to join his brother Araynys and the slain Grisa.

The chamber began to rumble, and Reranil rushed across the bridge as it crumbled, losing his ebony greaves along the way. He just managed to throw himself onto the sturdy ground as the bridge gave way. Sitting up, Reranil was able to look on as Akulakhan began to be destroyed from the tremors that shook the mountain. The lave was fast rising, and Reranil thought it poetic justice that he should die where his friends had died as well.

"Reranil!" Reranil looked up to see the figure of Esquivat standing at the ledge far above. "Grab the rope!" A rope was flung down and, with now weak hands, the Nerevarine grabbed onto it.

"Pull!" Esquivat yelled and Anabelle, Esquivat, and Elinhir collectively worked to save their friend and leader from the fast rising lava. As Reranil was hoisted up, his battered armor finally began to fall apart. First went his boots, then his other pauldron. Finally, his cuirass's straps broke and the heavy chest piece fell down, to be eaten up by the erupting mountain. Reranil was now much lighter, and his companions managed to bring up the borderline comatose man and drag him out of the Heart Chamber and back into safety of the facility.

Anabelle clapped her hands together and threw her arms around Reranil, "you did it! Reranil, you did it, you killed Dagoth Ur!" It took the young girl sometime before she noticed that Reranil seemed to barely acknowledge her being there. Turning her head to follow his gaze, as did Esquivat and Elinhir, she gasped in fright as she saw a ghostly woman blocking the exit.

"By the Nine," said Esquivat in an astounded voice, "it's Azura."

The Daedra Prince surveyed the scene before her, her eyes focusing intently upon her champion who lay their, one eye swollen shut and his face starting to puff up from bruises. Finally, she spoke.

You no longer bear the burden of prophecy.
You have achieved your destiny.
You are free.
The doomed Dwemer's folly, Lord Dagoth's temptation,
the Tribunal's seduction, the god's heart freed,
the prophecy fulfilled.
All fates sealed and sins redeemed.
If you have pity, mourn the loss, but let the weeping cease.
The Blight is gone, and the sun's golden honey gilds the land.
Hail savior, Hortator, and Nerevarine.
Your people look to you for protection.
Monster and villains great and small still threaten the people of Vvardenfell.
Enemies and evils abound, yet indomitable will might rid Morrowind of all its ills.
For you, our thanks and blessings; our gift and token given.
Come; take this thing from the hand of god.

Azura moved across the chamber silently and kneeled down next to Reranil, causing the other three adventurers to back away against the far wall near the shrine of Dagoth Ur. The Daedra prince appear to slip a ring onto his finger, then caressed Reranil's swollen face. Then, she dissapeared. Reranil, however, felt odd. He still hurt, but his face was no longer bruised and swollen, and he coudl see from both eyes. Getting stiffly to his feet, Reranil shook his arms and legs, wincing in pain at his cramped muscles. Finally, he looked up to regard his friends who were staring at him.

It took him some time before he finally broke the silence. "I'm sorry I couldn't save Grisa. Her loss pains me."

This broke the spell and Anabelle rushed forward, "no, don't say that! She knew what she was doing going up against a god. Her death saved you and allowed you to save Morrowind!" Reranil couldn't see it the same way, but forbore to contradict Anabelle, who obviously needed to think that of Grisa. His eyes sought out the other two, and he found that they shared the same opinion, none of them wanting to smash Anabelle's dream.

"I think, my friends, that we should leave now." Elinhir, always the pragmatic one, pulled out four scrolls. "We can use these to cast Recall and get back to the entrance, I don't want to stay in this place any longer than need be." Esquivat nodded and took two, crossed over to Reranil, and held out one of the scrolls.

"Your fighting was amazing, Reranil." The dunmer nodded and took the scroll. Elinhir and Anabelle had already Recalled out, leaving the two warriors standing within the chamber. "Reranil," Esquivat picked at a rock with his foot, seeming afraid to ask the question.

Reranil smiled encouragingly, "yes, Esquivat?"

"What are we gonna do now?"

Reranil chuckled, wincing as pain shot through his ribs, "well, I don't know about you, but I think I will head to Desele's and get me a wench. That and some brandy is exactly what I need right now!" Both men laughed, and Esquivat said he'd meet him outside. The knight casted the Recall spell and was gone, leaving Reranil alone. He surveyed the room where he first met Dagoth Ur one more time, then a voice in his head called out.

What he puts his hand to, that shall be done.
What is left undone, that shall be done.

*

STAY TUNED FOR THE NEXT EPISODE OF DRAGON BALL Z!!.....I mean AGAINST THE WIND....z

Part 2: "Desele! Where is the BRANDY?!"

3E 431, Ghost Gate

Berel Sala grumbled to himself, earning him a look from the Buoyuant Armigers and Ordinators that surrounded him. He still couldn't understand why, after being rudely roused from sleep a day ago, was sent unceremoniously by Saryoni to Red Mountain. When Berel protested, Saryoni just said, "this order comes from Vivec himself, you barbaric fool, would dare to displease Him?" Berel had given way then, and after collecting supplies and an escort of his finest Ordinators, he set out for the warrior fort of Ghost Gate, to follow his orders. Before he had left, Saryoni had warned, "be wary, Berel Sala, if you displease His Majesty once more, you could find yourself in a far worse situation than this."

The journey took about a day and a half through clear skies; Berel thought it strange that no ash had blown, even here at the foot of the mountain. Thinking it prudent to enforce his already formidable escort, he had commanded a group of Armigers to come out and wait as well, but only two came, making it quite clear that they were here by order. Already Berel could see his authority slipping away, but why he could not understand, surely these fools didn't think that that heretic, Reranil Sarothen, and his outlander companions, could have defeated Dagoth Ur? He almost burst out laughing at the thought, if Lord Vivec couldn't do it, no one could, especially not some outlander adventurer stomping upon the beliefs of native dunmer.

A cry rose up from the watchtowers, and the watchmen called down that they could see a group of people coming down the mountain. "Draw your weapons, we'll show those blasted corprus beasts that even though the 'Nerevarine' was slain, we, the true people of Morrowind, will fight on!" the Ordinators cheered for their commander, the Armigers were visibly less enthusiactic but they too drew their weapons. The figures drew closer, and Berel flushed with embarassment when he was able to make out the faces of those that he loathed, those damned outlanders. Lowering his mace, Berel sought to save face by saying, "what, you had run away? Look at you four, battered and bruised, and where's the smelly thief, the orc?" Berel didn't see it coming, especially from the limping figure of Reranil. But in the span of a few seconds, Berel was knocked the ground and Reranil was on top of him, raining blow after blow with his fists upon his unprotected face. It took Esquivat and two Ordinators to pull the raging dunmer off of Berel, and even then Reranil struggled to break free of their restraining hold.

Elinhir, always the wise one, saw that his friend was not likely to calm down quickly; the shot at Grisa had finally snapped that cord of control that had been damaged enough during the fight with Dagoth Ur. Reaching down to his bag, he rummaged through it and found a scroll that would cast the spell called Calm. Moving to Reranil's side, Elinhir unrolled the scroll and read the words and a green light enveloped the dunmer and the rage left his eyes. Esquivat let go, and when the Nerevarine didn't struggle anymore, the Ordinators let go as well.

Berel, however, looked like he was about to commit murder. "I want these heretics arrested and conveyed to the Ministry of Truth, now!" No one made a move. "Do I have to repeat myself? Arrest them!" This was the final blow. Berel, seeing his once great power slipping from his grasp, finally gave up. His neck went limp and his eyes became downcast. He didn't bluster or makes threats, instead he just turned away from his enemies and walked stiffly through the tunnel. The Ordinators watched him go, but made no move to go along as well, he was no longer their master. When Berel was halfway throug the tunnel, he turned and yelled out, "you will pay for your faithlessness, all of you! One day you will pay!" He then turned his back on the outlanders and the Temple faithful, and departed from the Ghost Gate.

With Berel gone, the mood lightened considerably. The Ordinators were even slightly friendly, but it was the Armigers that let out whoops and embraced the Nerevarine and his companions. "Truly the Devil is dead! Blue skies now abound above Red Mountain!" This proclamation was a catalyst that somehow caused the staffs of both the Tower of Dusk, and the Tower of Dawn, to leave their positions and empty out onto the Red Mountain side of the Fence. Three Cheers and Blessings went up for the Hortator, their savior, and his companions who had valiantly pushed to the Heart Chamber itself where Dagoth Ur was slain.

Esquivat, never comfortable in social positions, accepted the congratulations shyly, even from the people of his own house of Redoran. When the Redoran commander said that Esquivat's adoptive father, Councilor Athyn Sarethi, would surely bestow such praise that a statue might even be built of him, Esquivat finally broke and his laughter filled the air. He accepted the number of wine-skins being passed around, and soon he become comfortably drunk.

"We're heroes," Esquivat slurred when he came to Elinhir's side, "who knew that all you had to do was kill a god and you'd become a living legend."

Elinhir, who did not indulge in alchohol, couldn't help but correct the drunk knight, "it was Reranil who slew the Devil, not us. Where is he, anyway?"

"He went into the Tower of Dusk. He said he needed to catch few hours rest before we went home." Anabelle had come up to the two men, and to Elinhir's annoyance, she was also slightly drunk. Linking her arm in the High Elf's, which caused Esquivat to glower at the two. "I wouldn't mind some rest myself, but I don't know when these blasted dunmer will let us go." The simple celebration on the Red Mountain side of Ghost Gate had moved to the safe side and then had erupted into a full blown party, even attracting a group of Ashlander hunters who were eagerly embraced by their settled kin. Anabelle had a pleasant thought, now was not a time of hate, but to mend broken fences.

"I'm tired," Elinihir muttered before disengaging himself from Anabelle, who was pounced upon by two handsome Armigers, "I think I'll follow the example of our leader and go catch some sleep. Suran is a long way off." At the mention of where the four adventurers made their home, both Esquivat and Anabelle felt exhaustion finally hit. Their shoulders slumped and their eyes got heavy. "So it seems I'm not the only one out here that needs rest. Come, lets leave these blasted dunmer to their celebration."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

3E 431, Desele's House of Earthly Delights

Reranil sipped from the bottle of brandy contentedly. He knew that Desele had really pulled out all the stops to welcome home her favorite customers and friends from Red Mountain. Reranil, along with Esquivat and Anabelle, had arrived about two days before, showering Desele and her girls with coins and expensive gifts. Reranil had even promised to pay for an expansion of the sleeping quarters, for which he was now receiving free brandy for. Only Elinhir was absent, having been sent ahead to Vivec on the request of the Archcanon. Reranil still thought it funny that his friend and Saryoni had managed to strike up such a friendship, but he was glad.

"You see this axe? This axe was the weapon that slew Dagoth Ur! Cut his limps clean off then beheaded him!" Esquivat was telling the story again to curious patrons and dancers who were eager to hear a first-hand account of the titantic battle between the Nerevarine and the Sharmat. The patrons cheered, and Esquivat found himself the center of womanly attention as they begged to hear about how he went toe-to-toe with one of Ur's kindred.

He was about to launch into the story when Reranil called out laughing, "for the sake of Sanguine, Esquivat, stop using my axe to attract women!" The little crowd around Esquivat erupted into laughter when the knight flushed with shame. Reranil sighed and stood, taking his brandy with him, and moved over to Esquivat. Taking back his ebony axe, Reranil saved Esquivat from embarassment, "of course, I wouldn't have even had the chance to bury this axe into Ur if this crazy fool hadn't decided to fling himself at Araynys as soon as we stepped through the portal. Gave me the chance to put the Devil down." Esquivat flush again, this time with pride, as Reranil praised him for his heroism. Reranil was interrupted when the door leading outside was flung open, and Anabelle stepped through.

"Sorry I'm late, Desele, people kept wanting to shake my hand." Anabelle was carrying a number of large packages and bags. "Would someone mind helping me get these to the storage room?" Three of the patron within the gentlemens club leapt to their feet, taking advantage of the chance to serve Anabelle, and soon the girl was free to carry on. She could easily pick out Reranil and Esquivat in the crowd, as they were both clad handsomly, Esquivat in blue and white, and Reranil in his tradtional black and red.

"Ah, look who is here!" Reranil detached himself from his admirers and moved to Anabelle's side, whispering into her ear, "take my place over there, it's more fun to hear others talk for me." She giggled and did as he said, joining Esquivat in recounting their adventurers on Red Mountain. Reranil then went back to his table and sat down, continuing to nurse the wonderful brandy. Hours passed with this, Reranil getting slowly drunk and comfortable as Esquivat and Anabelle told yet another story about Red Mountain. It was almost eleven when the door was flung open again and the a heavily robed figure came through. Reranil could tell by the height and perfect poise that it was Elinhir, come to share news from the city and Saryoni.

"Welcome, my friend! Pull up a chair, stay awhile. Desele, more brandy!"

Elinhir couldn't help but chuckle at Reranil's uncharacteristic actions. The normally dour and serious dunmer was acting almost manish; Elinhir attributed it to having Dagoth Ur dead and gone, allowing relative peace to return to his adopted home. The High Elf admitted to himself that he enjoyed Vvardenfell, but he was quite positive that no one in their entire group felt quite the same way about the land as Reranil did. Not only was this his peoples homeland, but he himself was apart of its history directly. Elinhir thought that good, thinking back to his own home back on Sumurset, with it's rolling hills and orchards.

Pulling out a chair and sitting down, Elinhir accepted the customary water from Desele as she came by with the brandy Reranil so enjoyed. "Well, Vivec is certainly in an uproar. The house cantons, the Foreign Quarter, and even the Arena have all merged to become one giant party. There's drunks everywhere, I think I even saw a few prosttutes taking advantage of your victory. The Temple cantons, however, are silent, either because the inhabitants are at the parties or maybe because the Temple dissaproves of all these celebrations."

"Wouldn't surprise me," Reranil snorted. "How did your meeting with Saryoni go?"

"Quite well. We discussed philosophy for a few hours before getting down to business. It seems that the Temple wants to throw us a parade. He asks that we be in Vivec in three days. He also asks that your bring the Tools, so that they can be destroyed." Reranil almost spat out his brandy in reaction to that. "I say, man, what is that about?"

"If the Tribunal thinks they can get their hands back upon Kagrenack's little friends, they have another thing coming. The day I trust them is the day they are dead." Reranil had no intentions of yielding up the Tools, he had other plans for them anyway. Their was a certain man who could certainly use them to further his experiments with unfortunate victims of the Divine Disease. "They will be going to Fyr as soon as I can make my way over there. The Tools would be safest with that man, not in the hands of the Tribunal."

Elinhir could see the logic in that. While he trusted Saryoni, he shared Reranil's suspect opinion of Vivec and his fellow gods.

"So three days?" Elinhir nodded to confirm that they needed to be in Vivec by then. "Alright, we'll leave tomorrow afternoon, as soon as Esquivat's inevitable hangover goes away." Both mer cracked up at that as they clinked their cups together.

*

Come on people, don't just read. Leave a comment to make me happy.

Part 3: Morning Regrets and Knifes in the Dark

3E 431, Suran

Esquivat awoke with a start, lurching up so quickly that his head grazed the headboard behind him. Immidiately, however, he collapsed back down onto the pillow in pain. His head was pounding wuth a splitting headache, likely caused from the celebration the night before. He was trying to focus when he felt the warmth of womanly flesh next to him. Thinking that he had taken one of the dancers to be bedded, Esquivat turned on his side carefully to catch a glimpse of which one it was. The girl had curly, light red hair, and the youthful body of one of Desele's apprentices. It took him some time before he realized that this was not one of Desele's dancers lying next to him, and when he finally figured out who it was, he completly forgot his headache and sprang from the bed, tripping onto the floor when his feet got entangled on the clothes that were scattered across the floor.

The noise of the knight crashing onto the ground, and his moans of pain, awoke Anabelle from her languid sleep. She yawned pleasantly and sat up, covering her chest with the sheet, then looked over the edge of the bed and down at the prone figure of Esquivat.

"What in the name of Dibella are you doing down there, Esquivat?"

Esquivat got quickly to his feet, wincing in pain as his head began to pound anew. He was covering his nether region with what looked to be one of Anabelle's garters, and this caused the breton to flush such a deep shade of red that Anabelle thought his head was going to explode. Thoughts were now racing through Esquivat's mind. What happened last night? How did she end up in my bed? Did we sleep together? A situation like this was shameful, to both parties involved, but especially to him, who was supposed to be above things such as this as a Redoran. Moving into the corner left of the door, Esquivat finally found his voice.

"What happened last night?"

He saw instantly that this was the worst question he could have asked. Anabelle's facial expression went from confusion, to shock, to blinding anger in the span of a few seconds. Then came the screaming. Hurt by his lack of memory, Anabelle called him all the foul names in her vocabulary, ranging from "randy son of Mephala" to "guar[censored]". Then she threw a bottle of wine at him, narrowly missing him and smashing against the wall with a loud crash. Esquivat was able to plainly see that she was not going to be calming down anytime soon, and tried to make a break for it. When he tried, though, another bottle of wine went right past his head and into the door, coating the wood in the red liquid. "For the sake of Mara, Anabelle, stop!"

"Get bent!" Anabelle screamed as she made ready to throw the last bottle of wine that had been sitting on the bedside table next to the bed. She never got the chance, for as soon as she made ready to launch the projectile, the door busted open and three more people crowded into the room. Anabelle first noticed that Desele was at the head of the little group, and she instantly began to cry, prompting the older woman to fly to the bed. "Oh, Desele, it was horrible!"

"Shhh, it's ok now, sweetheat," Desele crooned as she pulled the younger woman into an embrace, "what happened?"

"It was Esquivat, he was drinking, MORE! He tried to force himself on me!" When Anabelle began to cry, Desele turned her head and shot Esquivat a burning glare, one that promised retribution at a later time. For now, though, she settled for getting rid of him.

"Esquivat, I want you gone from my house within the hour, and I don't want to see you around here, or Anabelle, anymore. Elinhir, Gunther," she turned to face the High Elf, who had been woken up by the crashing, and Gunther, her Nord bouncer, "get this lowlife out of here." Grabbing the naked breton by the arms, Gunther roughly dragged the shamed Esquivat from the House of Earthly Delights, with the rage-faced Elinhir stalking behind them. The last thing Esquivat heard from Desele was, "Sarethi will hear about this".

Being unceremouniously thrown out into the streets of Suran, naked as the day he was born, could have been much worse for Esquivat if people had been around. As it stood, twilight was just starting to lift, and Esquivat knew that people wouldn't be waking at least for another hour, though he did hear a few gasps from the windows of nearby houses and even a few murmurs of amusment. His clothes had been tossed out after him, and he proceeded to quickly put them on before anyone decided to come outside.

"I swear to Stendarr, this is not how I expected the morning to go." Esquivat thought that Reranil might be awake by now, he usually rose earlier than everyone else, and since the dunmer mantained a seperate residence outside the city walls, the knight knew that Reranil wouldn't have heard about the whole business yet. So, with his headache starting to dull, Esquivat made his way to Reranil's manor. When he came into sight of it, however, he noticed that the door was standing wide open. His hand went instictively to his side where his sword was. Finding it wasn't there, he cursed. Thinking that his friend might need his, however, the knight scooped up a large rock from the street then entered the house.

As soon as Esquivat entered into the foyer, he heard the sounds of shuffling. Crouching down, he moved quietly through the North hallway that led to Reranil's chamber. The large oak door was cracked open. Now Esquivat knew something was wrong. Throwing caution to wind, the knight pushed himself through the doorway with a cry, intent of saving his friend, only to trip over something that was in front of the door. He slammed into the carpet on the floor. When he looked up, he found a that a black sword was leveled at his throat, he then looked up into the red eyes of Reranil, the look of fear on his face. When Reranil finally saw who it was who had busted through the door, he took his sword from Esquivat's throat and helped him to his feet.

"You shouldn't come uninvited into someones house, Esquivat, you never know when that person might mistake you for an assassin." Using his sword, Reranil pointed down to the thing that Esquivat had tripped over. The figure was clad in a very dark outfit, made of a material that the knight couldn't identify. "This one came in uninvited, difference is, he IS an assassin."

"My Gods....," Esquivat whispered, "Reranil, is someone trying to kill you?"

"Someones always trying to kill me. Today it was this fool. Tomorrow it could be Vivec himself. That is the load I must bear, however, and I have no complaints."

"How can you be so calm about all this? Gods, this man could have killed you!"

"No need to yell, Esquivat," Reranil sheathed his sword and knelt by the body, "I'm so calm because I know that this will always happen to me. Former dreamers could try to kill me, the Morag Tong could also try. But today," he picked up an object laying next to the body, a dart covered in strange markings, "I think it was the Dark Brotherhood."

*

I made this chapter more as a filler than anything else.

Sorry that this is kinda confusing. The REAL story will get picked up after the next chapter that finishes the Nerevarine's 3rd Era adventurers. I'm sure a few of you might know what it coming in the next part.

Hmm... Interesting.

I would never have noticed this story had you not asked me for advice earlier, but now I sort of enjoy it, though you never made Grisa's race clear even after you killed her off... I'm guessing she was an orc.

Huh, I thought I did. Oh well.

Thanks for commenting

You did make it clear, it's just only mentioned a couple times and pretty subtly.

I really like these. Though one thing I think could be added Is a little back history on the characters.

There isn't supposed to be a back story on them for awhile. I purposly wrote it like that.

I would imagine the backstory will be added in memory and such. Currently I'm just hoping to see the next installment, as this is some excellent writing.

Part 4: Madness of a God

3E 432, Clockwork City of Sotha Sil

Reranil's arm was bleeding, badly. If it didn't get looked at in a few hours, the dunmer thought, he could very well die in this forsaken place. He could hear the fabricants scuttling behind him, trying to catch up to the swift-paced Nerevarine, and Reranil almost thought they would. Never in all his years had he been in a worse situation than this, at least at Red Mountain, his friends were there to lend him aid if he needed it. But his friends were dead, all dead. Elinhir had been torn apart by the monstrous fabricants not long after Almalexia had sent them to the city. Anabelle hadn't lasted much longer, as she was killed by a trap that Esquivat had set off. The knight's death hadn't come for much longer, but came it did. The guilt of causing Anabelle's death, and being trapped in that hellish city for only the Gods knew how long, had finally driven the breton over the edge. As the two men had taken the time to rest, Esquivat began to blame Reranil for Anabelle and Elinhir's deaths. He had finally worked himself into a rage, and drew his sword upon the Nerevarine.

The fight hadn't lasted long. Esquivat was a fair warrior, able to out-match a decent amount of opponents, but he was not even close to Reranil's caliber, for not only was Reranil an excellent swordsman and fair with the axe, he knew how to cast devastating spells. Esquivat only lasted a few minutes before he was reduced to a bloody mess against the metallic walls of the city. The fight, however, had done damage to Reranil as well, mentally if not physically. Having to kill a man that was his best friend, along with seeing two people he considered a brother and daughter murdered, had finally erroded the Nerevarine delicate mind, and when he was assaulted by a group of fabricants about an hour after the fight, he completly lost his head. He had dropped his new blade, the sword Trueflame, and taken his axe from his back. It was as if he was fighting Dagoth Ur again, for he didn't fight like a dunmer, but fought like a blood-crazed nord.

That style of combat was effective against the fabricants, there bodies not able to withstand the sheer strength put behind the blows of that ebony axe, but for every creature Reranil killed, two more would manage to rip through his defenses and do him harm. The fights like that lasted far into the Clockwork City, and soon not only was his armor close to jagged pieces of ebony and steel, but his limbs were ripped and bleeding. When the Red Haze had finally departed, Reranil felt sapped of all energy and had collapsed upon the cold, hard floor; he had passed out from blood loss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hello!" Reranil called out. All around him was darkness, and the Nerevarine felt a chill run down his spine. "Hello," he called out again. No answer. Suddenly, the solid mass that Reranil was apparently standing on gave way and he felt himself falling; falling ever deeper into the darkness. He must of reached the bottom of something, for after a time he felt himself hit another solid mass. Pain ran up his arms and down his legs. He couldn't move, and he could feel himself growing sleepy, regardless of the pain. He would have fallen asleep if a voice hadn't called out to him. The voice was strong, powerful even, certainly male. It was not a slight whisper, but a voice filled with authority and charisma.

"You aren't through yet, Nerevarine!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reranil awoke with a gasp and in shock. His red eyes were wide open as he took in what was around him. He was in some sort of hallway, possibly a dwemer ruin. His left arm was in pain, as was his head, but never had he felt quite as well as he did now. It clicked, he was in Sotha Sil's Clockwork City. Every thing that had transpired in those hellish halls came rushing back to him, but he managed to look on them with a dispassionate eye. Now was not the time for regrets or loss of self-control. Sotha Sil needed to be stopped, and he was now the only one still able to do it; he would grieve for his lost companions later.

Standing up was an ordeal in and of itself. Weighted down by his sundered armor, he lost his balance more than once. Eventually, he shed his pauldrons and cuirass, and with the regained mobility, lifted himself to his feet. Looking around near him, he located both his axe and sword, along with his pack. Grinning, he knelt by the pack, and rummaged through it, eventually locating a bottle. The bottle contained a special salve, concocted by Nibani Maesa before Reranil had left for Mournhold. The salve, as Maesa explained, would heal all but the most severe wounds upon ones body. Even though his wounds were bad, Reranil was sure that the salve would assist him. Fortunately, he was right, and not long after it had been applied, the salve began to take effect and the dunmer could feel the gashes starting to scab over. He then thought it prudent to take a short rest, if only to allow the salve to work more of it's magic.

An hour passed before Reranil stood up from his rest against the hallway wall, and set off back towards his goal. Defeat Sotha Sil and save Morrowind....again! He was lucky in that no more fabricants seemed to stalk him, and his made it to the Dome of Sotha Sil without engaging in anymore fights. What greeted him almost drove him back into insanity. There, within the Dome, was Sotha Sil. However, this supposed madman was no longer among the living. His face was contorted and rotting, and his body hung from thick wires that came down from the ceiling. To endure so much, the loss of his closest friends, and maybe even coming to Deaths Door itself, Reranil thought it unfair that he should arrive to fight Seht only to find him already dead.

"Well, well, well. Look who it is, little Reranil." Reranil looked about himself frantically, trying to locate the source of that mocking voice. "What? You do not recognize my voice?" The disembodied voice became angry, "how dare you forget my voice! The voice of a god!" There was a bright flash, one that temporarily blinded Reranil. When the light finally receeded, Reranil first saw the terrible mask, with it's long tusks and demonic carvings, then he saw the slender, golden body and flaming red hair. Before the Nerevarine stood Almalexia, dressed for war.

"By the Eight and One!" Reranil muttered as he looked on the terrible beauty that stood before him. Reranil could easily see what had so attracted Indoril Nerevar to this woman, but the Almalexia that Reranil knew wasn't there anymore. The kind, matronly goddess had been replaced by a warrior-woman, a sword very much like Trueflame dangling from her hip. The Nerevarine guessed that it could only be Hopesfire, Trueflame's sister sword, given to Nerevar and Almalexia at their wedding by Dumac Dwarf-Orc.

"Nerevarine. Here it ends. This Clockwork City was to be your death. You were to be my greatest martyr! The heroic Nerevarine, sacrificing all to protect Morrowind from the mad Sotha Sil." Alma laughed, and while her body was perfect, her laugh was far from it. She then grew very serious, and her voice raised to a shrill, "But you live! You live!" She drew Hopesfire, prompting Reranil to draw his own sword.

"What in the name of Clavicus Vile is going on? What happened?!" Reranil temporarily forgot he was talking to being that could very well end him with but a thought. She continued to advance. "What do you plan to do? Kill me?" Reranil laughed at the akwards gallows humor of that, "I don't think that would go over to well with the people of Morrowind."

"Fear not. I will tell the tale myself when this is done. I will tell my people how with your dying breath you proclaimed your devotion to me, the one true god. Your death will end this prophecy and unite my people again under one god, one faith, one rule by my divine law."

"And do you really think that the king would even believe you?"

"The puppet king will lay down his arms and bow to my will. Those who do not yield will be destroyed." Now Reranil was sure that Almalexia had lost her mind. If she was supposed to be the Mother of Mercy, then he wasn't seeing it. All he was looking at now was a woman touched by Sheogorath, and possibly the instrument of his own death.

"How did you get here?" Reranil wasn't quite willing to fight yet, so he stalled for time, "no intervention works here."

"The Mazed Band has allowed me to travel to this place. Here, I slew Sotha Sil. Here, I summoned the Fabricants to attack Mournhold. I will be the savior of my people! I alone will be their salvation!" Reranil hadn't even asked for most of what she had answered with. Though, it was a insane persons way to answer a question than much more than what was truly needed.

"What makes you think I'm just going to let you kill me? You forget, I slew Dagoth Ur, a being even all the Tribunal couldn't defeat! And even if I do fall, I highly doubt that Vivec will believe your story."

"None may stand in my way. Not you, and certainly not Vivec. He is a poet, a fool. I will deal with him when I have finished with you." Reranil then asked what she had done to Seht, "Sotha Sil...he always thought himself our better, shunning us, locking himself in this hole. He spoke not a word as he died. Not a whisper. Even in death, he mocked me with his silence! But I think you will scream, mortal. For now, you face the one true god."

Almalexia launched herself at him, Hopesfire held high. It appeared she was going for the killing blow right away. But Reranil knew what to do, he had been fighitng for most of his life, and the last two years had been the most intense of all. Instead of blocking the blow with the blade of Trueflame, Reranil simply evaded the blow. With a large portion of his armor gone, that wasn't as hard as it would have been. He still felt the blue flame of her sword graze him, but the deadliest part, the blade itself, only cut through air.

While the goddess was seeking to regain herself, Reranil flung himself into the fray, using quick swipes of Nerevar's sword on the more exposed parts of Almalexia's limbs, her arms. Reranil remembered the words of an old trainer, Ulms Drathen, "if you can damage an opponents arm enough, then you do not even need to kill them, for the battle is won." Reranil immidiently saw that while the tactic was sound, it would take hours before Almalexia would show any signs of losing use of her sword-arm.

Enraged that Trueflames blade had touched her, Almalexia anewed her insane assault upon the incarnation of her husband. This time, Reranil was unable to evade the blade, and Hopesfire managed to cut past the light mail coat that Reranil had worn beneath the heavy cuirass. He recoiled in pain as the goddess ripped the blade back and swung again, this time connecting with his arm. It struck Reranil suddenly then, why Hopesfire and Trueflame drew no blood when they connected with the body, the enchantments placed upon the blades, of fire and lightning, cauterized the wounds before they could even begin to bleed. The wounds were still painful, but unless the blade cut deep enough, no devastating damage could be done. Reranil knew what he had to do now. Jumping back, Reranil flung Trueflame aside and pulled his axe from his back. Almalexia had been advancing upon him, but stopped when she saw the Nerevarine draw a barbarians weapon.

"What do you now, Nerevarine? What makes you think that if Trueflame, the Slayer of Gods, can't kill me, a savages weapon can?"

Reranil grinned then, made somewhat into a grimace by his bruised face, but it was still a grin. "I killed Dagoth Ur with this."

Almalexia took a step back when Reranil shared this information, and he knew that he had managed to frighten her, if only a little. Not waiting for a response, the Nerevarine launched himself at the goddess, axe held back. The weapon slicked into her undefended legs, dropping her to her knees. But Reranil knew the fight wasn't over, and he was right. She quickly regained herself and attacked back, if somewhat clumsily, and cut deep into Reranil's left side, elicting a cry of pain from the dunmer. But he didn't stop or back up, he just kept pushing on.

Neither knew how long the battle lasted. But eventually both combatants, Nerevarine and Goddess, collapsed to their knees, svcking in air as if they had just been holding their breath while swimming. The axe in his hands felt needlessly heavy, and Reranil couldn't help but let it fall to the ground. Almalexia was more fortunate, for Hopesfire wasn't nearly as heavy as an ebony axe. Her warmask had been badly damaged, enough to reveal a good portion of her now scarred face, courtesy of Reranil and his axe. But the smile she had was triumphant, she knew now that the Nerevarine wouldn't be able to fight back.

Using the last ounce of stamina she had left, she lifted herself up and shambled over to the kneeling warrior, and raised her blade high. She didn't see the blow coming.

Having a concealed dagger was something that Reranil wondered about, and it wasn't until after he had fought Barilizar that he had thought to carry an extra weapon with him. Now it stood him in goodstead. For as Alma raised her sword high for the deathblow, she left her chest wide open, and Reranil took the chance. Springing up with what he had left, he plunged the dagger straight into her heart. He saw her eyes fly open, then saw life slowly drain out of them as he repeatedly stabbed at her heart. Even when she went down, Reranil continued to stab her, anywhere he could. The Red Haze had returned. He thrust the blade into her chest, her stomach, her head, anywhere. Blood covered Almalexia's corpse, himself, and the area around them, some even managed to spurt onto the hanging body of Sotha Sil.

When the Red Haze finally receeded, Reranil looked at the mutilated body beneath him. He just stared at it, somewhat shocked that he could even do that. But what he set out to do, he had done. He had killed a mad god, though not the one he was expecting. Stumbling to his feet, Reranil retrieved Trueflame and his axe, then on a whim he picked up Hopesfire. His eyes then caught the Mazed Band. The simple ring with which Almalexia had used to kill Sotha Sil and release terror upon Mournhold. It was his only way out. Scooping the ring from out of a pool of blood caused by Almalexia's severed hand and fingers, Reranil put it upon his own finger and felt the enchantment. All he said though was one word, "out".

Energy swirled around him and for a few seconds, he felt himself in a weightless world, then he felt the ground beneath his feet, and saw the night sky above him. He could feel the cool wind blowing the humid air about, and he knew then that he was free from that prison created by Sotha Sil. He looked up and saw the towering temple of Mournhold, empty now of its goddess, as it would be forever more. The white roof had been severly discoloured by the artifical ash-storms that had raged through the city not to long ago, and the ground beneath him was covered with the annoying substance. When he turned around, though, he caught a sight he wasn't expecting. There was Azura, looking the same as she had looked when she appeared to him beneath Red Mountain.

You have done well, mortal. The death of Almalexia is a boon for all of Morrowind, though it may take time for this to be understood. She would have betrayed the Dunmer as surely as she betrayed all those she loved. This was her curse, and this was her undoing.

Weep not for Sotha Sil. He shed his mortality long ago, and I am certain his death was no small relief to him. These gods lived with the burden of a power no mortal was meant to possess.

Your work in Morrowind is not finished, Nerevarine. Vivec still lives, but I believe his time grows short. Protect my people. Defend these lands. The skies of Mournhold are clear once again. Let these people suffer no longer. Now go, mortal. Embrace your destiny, and go with my blessing.

She didn't give him the chance to respond as she faded back into Oblivion. Something felt wrong though, some of her words had disturbed him. "Vivec still lives," she had said. Reranil sighed, he didn't think he could kill another god.

3E 432, the Palace of Vivec

Vivec was sitting in meditation when he heard the door swing open. He felt himself now in the presence of power, but also in the presence of an unhappy soul. "Nerevarine," for only Reranil Sarothen could be like this, "what do you back here?" Reranil moved forward into the light. He was wearing nothing but a set of common clothes and shoes, but in his hands was a weapon that took Vivec's breath away. "Is that Trueflame?" He sounded amazed, "I haven't seen it in years. Nerevarine," he looked from the blade to the grim face of Reranil, "something is wrong." Minutes passed by as the Poet studied Reranil carefully. "I see you know something that you choose not to say. That's your right. And perhaps I do not have to be a prophet to imagine what it is that you do not say, Nerevarine."

"I found Sotha Sil....He was dead. As is Almalexia." Reranil just blurted it out.

"That is very sad. I presume she killed Sotha Sil. I thought she might harm me. And I presume she tried to kill you, Nerevarine. It is all very sad. But death comes to all mortals." He paused, then added, "except you. 'Neither Bight nor Age can harm him. The Curse of Flesh before him flies.' You will never die, Nerevarine, not by the passing of the moons, or by plague. It also seems that you can not even be killed, for I know of no other who could defeat two gods. I see your friends are not with you, I must presume they have fallen," Vivec say Rerani's face flinch as if he had been struck, "they will have my prayers, Nerevarine, for they were good people who served you faithfully."

"The Prophecy says that I will cast down the Tribunal, does it not?" Vivec hadn't been prepared for the quick change of subject.

"Yes, it does. I am mortal now. In time, death will come to me, Nerevarine -- perhaps even at your hands. It is futile to deny one's fate. But, nonetheless, I'm afraid I find it all very, very sad that it should end this way, something that began in such glory and noble promise. If you mean to strike me down, know that I will defend myself." Reranil just shook his head, his eyes dropping to the floor.

"I have grown tired of all this killing." With that said, Reranil set drew Hopesfire, and along with Trueflame, approached Vivec. "I commit these two into your care. I have no need of them where I am going."

Vivec regarded him thoughtfully as he took the two swords, "and just where is it you do go now, Nerevarine?"

Reranil had already turned and was starting to walk out when Vivec had spoken. He turned his head to look at Vivec, and smiled, "I've always heard Tear is a nice place to live."

*

And so ends the 4 part prologue of Against the Wind. Now the real story can begin. Holy crap, that kinda rhymes.

Killing everyone off is usualy frowned upon. In this case, I think it was a major plot mistake.

Their deaths are necessary for a future plot point.

Ok. I think you can make up for it then.