THE ELDER SCROLLS III: PATH OF RED MOUNTAIN
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Numerous references to Elder Scrolls Lore and previous games WILL be made in this fic. I do not in any way own the rights to Arena, Daggerfall, Morrowind, or any game of the Elder Scrolls series.
Prologue
Cyrodiil, The Imperial Palace
The eve of 25 Last Seed, 3E 427
Uriel Septim VII had always seemed to be able to predict unusual events. Some thought him a senile old man, others a crafty manipulator, and still others a living saint. No matter what was thought of him, everybody could agree on one thing; he certainly had the gift of foreseeing certain events that could change the Empire forever. And now, it seemed something new was about to occur.
It was for this reason the Elder Council had been assembled in the dead of night, some even having to be "coerced" from their homes and spirited away to White Gold Tower. Needless to say, once they arrived... the Council was not pleased.
"I hope you have a good explanation of why you had me dragged all the way from my manor in Anvil at midnight?" Grumbled an irritated Duke, smoothing out his rumpled velvet cloak.
"Patience, Eiranus. I'm sure it's an emergency." Said a shabbily-dressed noble from across the Elder Council table, an amused smile playing across his face.
"That's easy for you to say, Brasta. This isn't the first time you've been brought all the way across the province in the dead of night!" shouted a rather disgruntled Dark Elf noble.
"Quiet, Helseth! I don't exactly enjoy being brought here either, but we may as well stop complaining about it and listen!" Barked Brasta, his bright aquamarine eyes shooting King Helseth a glare. As the councilors around him started to protest again, the sound of an opening door silenced them. All heads in the room swiveled around as Uriel Septim VII, Emperor of Tamriel strode into the room in a whirl of purple silk and ermine.
"Welcome, my councilors. I suggest you all take your seats now; we have much to discuss in so little time." All councilors grudgingly sat down, except for a High Elf in a red silk robe who quickly moved to the Emperor's side as he seated himself on his throne. "Now, you are probably wondering why I've summoned you here..."
"Naturally." piped up Brasta, leaning back in his chair. "What is it this time? Queen Potema's spirit is haunting Castle Dour? Orsinium is rebelling? Someone else got thrown into Oblivion and replaced by an unscrupulous mage?" He said cheekily, the last one evoking a slight frown on Emperor's face.
"No, none of that. This time, our troubles are in Morrowind, in Vvardenfell..." Brasta groaned as he thought, Oh Akatosh, not again! I've been to Red Mountain once to get the last piece of that blasted staff. I don't want to go back again... Uriel, unaware of Brasta's thoughts, continued. "Vvardenfell, ever since being opened up to Imperial settlement, is near a state of chaos. A disease known as the "Blight" has been reawakened, and is weakening both our forces and the power of the Tribunal in Vvardenfell." A few scoffs erupted at that statement- very few people in that room had a particularly view of the three "living gods" Vivec, Almalexia, and Sotha Sil; or the "Tribunal" as they were commonly known. "An organization known as the Sixth House cult seems to be behind these happenings, along with the supposed "Devil" of Vvardenfell, Dagoth Ur." The very name sent shivers down Brasta's spine- he didn't like Red Mountain. No, he hated Red Mountain, and all its nasty residents. And unfortunately for him, that was where the trouble was brewing.
"Well, what are WE supposed to do about it?" demanded Queen Elysana of Wayrest, a rather haughty Breton woman, missing the glare being shot at her by her stepbrother, Helseth.
"I suppose he has a plan already prepared to wipe the Blight from my kingdom, being the clever ruler he is. I hope I'm not being too presumptious, Your Majesty?" said Helseth in a falsely charming, oily tone, glancing towards the Emperor.
"As a matter of fact, I do. I have discovered a certain legend, which I would like to read to you..." Uriel produced a small book and gingerly opened it, lying it flat on the table. He cleared his throat, and read aloud the title, "Nerevar Moon-and-Star." Brasta could not help but notice the four dumer councilors in the room stiffened immediately, casting wary glances towards the book as the emperor read.
"In ancient days, the Deep Elves and a great host of outlanders from the West came to steal the land of the Dunmer. In that time, Nerevar was the great khan and warleader of the House People, but he honored the Ancient Spirits and the Tribal law, and became as one of us.
So, when Nerevar pledged upon his great Ring of the Ancestors, One-Clan-Under-Moon-and-Star, to honor the ways of the Spirits and rights of the Land, all the Tribes joined the House People to fight a great battle at Red Mountain.
Though many Dunmer, Tribesman and Houseman, died at Red Mountain, the Dwemer were defeated and their evil magicks destroyed, and the outlanders driven from the land. But after this great victory, the power-hungry khans of the Great Houses slew Nerevar in secret, and, setting themselves up as gods, neglected Nerevar's promises to the Tribes.
But it is said that Nerevar will come again with his ring, and cast down the false gods, and by the power of his ring will make good his promises to the Tribes, to honor the Spirits and drive the outsiders from the land..."
A tense silence filled the council chambers, until broken by a loud guffaw of laughter. All eyes turned to see King Helseth himself, mouth open in an expression of perfect mirth.
"You.. you're joking, right? That's your idea? Use an old fable invented by a bunch of yurt-dwelling nomads in the middle of an ash-choked wasteland? This is just too..." Helseth waved his hands in disbelief as he thought of an appropriate term, "ludicrous, to be real! It's just a fable told to children-"
A curved dagger suddenly impaled itself in the area of the table directly in front of Helseth, effectively silencing him. "Fable or not, Ra'basha tinks dat His Majesty may have an idea, and Ra'basha is no foolish kitten, Helseth." growled a khajiit lady who sat to Helseth's right.
"Thank you. Councilor Ra'basha." Uriel said warmly, his blue eyes turning cold for the brief minute they rested on Helseth. "It is a legend, yes- but it is the best shot we have. If we can send someone who just might be the Nerevarine, or at least appear convincingly to be so, we could use them as a rallying point to temporarily unify the tribes, Great Houses, and Imperial forces behind a common cause and end the Blight once and for all."
The silence that proceeded that statement was broken by a new voice; Arvil Dralen, the Duke of Firewatch. "Well, as ambitious as that plan is, I already see several drawbacks." he drawled. "For one, we don't even have a clue of a decent candidate to be the Nereva-"
"Actually, I do, Duke Dralen." said Uriel, eyes full of triumph. "I have seen in my dreams a certain person, born on a certain date to uncertain parents, who certainly meets the conditions of the legend..." He turned to Brasta. "Once he arrives in Morrowind, that is where you come in, my wise cousin."
"Oh?" said Brasta, raising an eyebrow. It was always up to him, as the Emperor's cousin and Champion, to do these sort of things. Not that he minded, of course.
"It is your job to make sure that the potential Nerevarine can fulfill the criteria of this legend... preferably without him dying in the process. In other words, you are to make sure that the Nerevarine survives every fight, fullfills every last mystic prophecy, condition, rite and ritual necessary to unite the houses... and end the Blight.
Ignoring all eyes on him, Brasta rose and bowed graciously towards the Emperor. "I live to serve, my liege."
Uriel smiled, and rose from his throne. "Excellent. I will give the orders to have the Nerevarine released from the Imperial Prison. Meanwhile, you will be on a ship... to Morrowind."
With that, Chancellor Ocato, who had been until now silent at the Emperor's side, spoke up. "The Council is dismissed." With that, all the councilors exited the chambers of White Gold Tower, bound for their homes... save but one. As Brasta walked out of the palace, he smiled as he thought, And so, another dangerous adventure begins.