Authors note: This story is harmoniedusoir's fault and I mean that in a good way. I was in the process of writing a description of someone seeing corprus for the first time when I read her story "The Messenger". For the first time I saw that trooper who made it back from Illinubi as more than just a faceless victim. So I added a chapter where someone brings back the news of this tragedy to that trooper's family, and just to make it even more tragic, I added a fiancée. I then went on to write other chapters in that story.
In the back of my mind was that fiancée, still stunned and weeping and disbelieving.
Standard disclaimer: I do not own Morrowind, or any of the other wondrous creations of Bethesda Softworks, however I certainly lay claim to misspellings, mistakes, tweaks, spells and characters of my own invention. I play with a number of mods, and when something specific appears in my story based on a mod, I will do my best to give the mod author credit.
~~The News~~
Vyctannya Hastien stood on the stool in the front of her mother's clothier shop, hands covering her mouth. The pinned length of rose colored fabric that was to have been her wedding dress slowly unraveled to the floor with a silky whisper.
"Dyus." She whispered softly. No one heard her.
Beside her stood her mother Millie Hastien, hands still full of pins, eyes on the reluctant speaker standing against the wall of the shop hear the doorway. Near the door stood Aditte, Vyctannya's twin, her right hand clutching, white knuckled, at the bracer of her intended, Alodie Jes. He had just returned from Fort Hawkmoth. He was resplendent in his new armor. His left hand was gently patting Aditte's.
The whole family was staring at a weary looking red haired Bosmer woman. She wore chitin armor that had clearly been repaired many times. Across her back were two spears, an ornate bow and a quiver of arrows. On anyone else it would have looked strange or excessive, but somehow all the weaponry seemed to be a part of this mer. Her expression was guarded and sympathetic, though she avoided meeting anyone's gaze.
She was talking to Aditte and Alodie. Explaining that the patrol sent from Fort Buckmoth to Illinubi had been slaughtered, with only one survivor.
"Dyus," Vyctannya whispered again. He had to be alive. Wouldn't she know it if something had happened? Wouldn't she feel it if he had died? "He's not dead. He can't be dead."
"The survivor," the Bosmer spoke slowly, still looking more into the distance than at any one person, "was cursed with a terrible disease. For the moment he is being kept at Buckmoth Legion Fort for examination."
Alodie was still patting Aditte's pale hand. "Examination?" He asked softly.
The Bosmer nodded. "He has corprus."
Silence spread through the room like darkness at sunset.
Vyctayna burst out. "But. He's alive - Dyus is alive."
Alodie turned as if he was going to answer, but the Bosmer beat him to it. She looked directly at Vyctannya and the pain in the red haired mer's eyes made the young Breton go cold inside.
"There is no more Dyus. There is only the twisted remnant of what he was. What is left is no more him than … than your clothing is you." She trailed off.
Vyctannya felt numb. "Other diseases can be cured. There's even a cure for blight. There are healers, there's magic. Someone can help him."
For a moment the Bosmer looked oddly embarrassed, and slightly angry. Then she said. "Divayth Fyr, a powerful wizard of the Telvanni, has studied this disease for many many years. In all that time, he has barely uncovered small parts of what he thinks it is. There is no cure."
"He keeps a place," The Bosmer continued, "where victims of this disease are kept safe, and fed and studied. Some of them are hundreds of years old, or older. They are shambling hulks, mindless twisted appetites. There is nothing of man or mer left of them." She paused then, frowning ever so slightly as if recalling something.
If Vyctannya hadn't been watching so intently she might have missed it, and she interrupted eagerly. "There is something. There's someone who is different."
The redhead looked frustrated for a moment, and then said. "I shall not raise false hopes. There is no cure. If you want him to be cared for, you could bring him to the coprusarim at Tel Fyr and he would be safe there. If you go to Tel Fyr, you could try speaking with Uupse Fyr or Vistha-Kai. They have worked with these victims. They won't lie to you."
"But maybe." Vyctannya whispered.
The Bosmer shook her head, red hair momentarily obscuring her too-knowing eyes. "There is no cure. I'm sorry."
Alodie spoke up. "I thank you for telling us. The legion should have given me this responsibility. Most of the officers at Buckmoth and Hawkmoth would have known I was coming here."
The momentary flash in the mer's eyes said that she'd thought of that. Saying nothing, she just nodded slightly in acknowledgment and then squared her shoulders and turned to face Millie. "I know Vyctannya will not be able to hear this, but it needs to be said. Dyus is lost. He's just a twisted husk of a body. Jumbled nightmares are all that is left of his mind." Her eyes seemed to go dark for a moment, "he will live like this, and keep living, unless someone does him the kindness of ending it."
Vyctannya made a small sound of pain.
"I am sorry." The Bosmer said again, "I am more sorry than I can say." Then she turned and left. At the last moment she reached out and turned the little display sign from 'open' to 'closed'.
As the door was just about closed, Millie stopped her with a word.
"Cylsandra," She called softly.
The door stopped moving. The mer waited, but did not turn back.
"Thank you for telling us."
The door was gently closed.
~~The Nightmare~~
Vyctannya spent the next few hours just sitting and staring. Or maybe it was days. She wasn't sure. She couldn't sleep because she had dreams of Dyus calling out to her, or dead. Or dreams that echoed over and over Cylsandra's sorrowful words; 'a twisted husk' 'the kindness of ending it'.
She sat, holding her her lute, fingers shifting as if to make chords, but not strumming. She wanted to play something to get her feelings out, something to make her feel better. There was nothing.
She knew that there were terrible diseases in Morrowind. She'd seen serious cases of Helljoint, where the victims could barely walk. Even once a case of Serpiginous Dementia; where Ra'Virr's little daughter T'sabi had lost most of her fur to thick patches of scaly growth and been terrified by things only she could see. Luckily Tyermaillin, gentle golden-haired Altmer, had recognized it and been able to cure it.
Surely Tyermaillin, who was a very skilled healer, would know something to do? Or maybe a mage? There could be a spell. Or could someone make one?
She paced back and forth in her room, unable to sleep, twisting a drop spindle in hands that wanted to be doing something useful. Years ago when her family still lived in Cheydinhal, one of her friends, a nord boy named Vidkun had talked to her about magic. He'd said that the really skilled mages didn't just learn spells, they created new ones. Surely there was hope?
Except for the fact that in hundreds of years, one of the most powerful Wizards in the world hadn't found a cure yet.
Dyus, how can I help you?
She didn't eat until her mother Millie stood over her while she finished a bowl of saltrice and scrib. As soon as her mother left, Vyctannya went back to her pacing. He wasn't dead. There had to be hope. There just had to be.
The endless circling of her thoughts was interrupted by a soft knock on the door.
Vyctannya knew that she was being rather selfish, keeping to herself, blocking her sister from their room, but she just didn't want to face anyone's sympathy right now. She called out a warning. "I don't want to talk to you, Aditte."
The door opened, and an Imperial tenor answered. "Then it's a good thing I'm not her."
Vyctannya turned, surprised as Alodie stepped into the room. She couldn't help but notice he was wearing a grey shirt and leggings that she'd never seen before. Likely something new that Aditte and Millie had worked on. The embroidery at the upright collar and stiff cuffs of the shirt was vaguely military. It looked good. It also made her think of Dyus. Everything made her think of Dyus. "Why are you here?"
"I'm here because you don't have much time if you really want to see what's left of him."
Fear clutched at her heart with chill fingers. "What do you mean?"
With a glance at her for permission, he sat next to her on the bed. "Arnand Liric is the healer and alchemist for Fort Buckmoth. If it were up to him, he would keep Dyus alive indefinitely. However Raesa Pullia is the highest ranking officer there and she thinks it's a dishonor to his service and his dignity to keep him alive. She is pushing for what she calls a respectful mercy killing."
Before Vyctannya could object, he held up one hand to stop her. "Dyus' father died in battle. His family has a proud tradition of losing its sons and brothers that way; they're almost Nord in the way they think about it. The point is that right now he has cousins who are not yet decided. If you were to go, by virtue of being his intended, you could make this decision. But you would have to go very soon."
Vyctannya was simultaneously torn between wanting to see him, and wanting to deny what he had become. Maybe they were wrong, maybe it was some other trooper. But if that was the case then he really was dead. "I-" She didn't know what to say. She wasn't sure what she wanted.
Alodie turned so that he was seated next to her, but not facing her. "For what it's worth, I would have asked the same questions. I mean about the magic or something." He was obviously turning something over in his mind. "I think maybe, maybe something could be done for him."
Vyctannya turned on him, gripping his shoulder, wrinkling the fabric of his new shirt. "Why didn't you say something earlier?"
He shook his head, and met her gaze. "It's not my place. Cylsandra was right, there is no cure, and the coprusarium has been caring for victims for thousands of years, supposedly."
The blood drained from Vyctannya 's face. Dyus could live - as a twisted remnant of a person - for a thousand years?
Alodie took her face in his hands. "Look at me, Vyctannya. I need to tell you something. Some months ago I had a job. Not one that anyone wanted and I've had a few unfortunate run-ins about my attitude, so I took this one. I needed to do something to get back into my superior's good graces. The legion tries to maintain good relations with the Temple," He sighed. "Okay, I'm making it too complicated. Anyway, the point is that I was one of the escorts for a Dunmer pilgrim named Tanusea Veloth, to escort her out of Vivec because she had corprus."
"I understand Alodie, other people have gotten it, and-"
"No, you don't understand. She was sane. She had marks of the disease, enough to show that she had it, but she wasn't twisted by it. She wasn't driven mad by it. She was quoting complicated bits of scripture at me the whole time we spoke."
She stared at him. "Why are you telling me this?"
He looked down. "Maybe I'm giving you false hope," he admitted, "but Dyus Varrio was a friend of mine. He saved my life more than once. And you are the only one who can give him a chance, if there is one."
It was on the tip of her tongue to say 'why me', but he'd just told her why. As Dyus' fiancée she was the closest relative he had. The only one who could fight for this chance. If it was a chance.
Alodie continued. "Tanusea went to the corprusarium. She's probably still there."
She nodded silently.
"If you decide that you want to see Dyus, and it would have to be in the next day or so, I will escort you. I've already talked to Aditte about it."
He patted her hand, and then silently got up and left. The door closed softly behind him.
Vyctannya looked at the door, and then stood up. She'd hidden long enough. More than long enough. It was time to act. Even if she was not entirely sure what to do.
~~Officially Speaking~~
Vyctannya waited until Masalinie 's shift was over for the day. The petite Breton was running her fingers through her disordered hair and looking frustrated. She smiled on seeing Vyctannya, and then her smile faded. "I'm so sorry." She said.
Vyctannya accepted the implied hug. Then she asked. "Could I speak with you about ... learning about magick?"
Masalinie raised an eyebrow, and then glancing around, said. "I was just about to stop by the Eight Plates for a bit of a drink. Come with me."
Once outside the Guild Hall, she took Vyctannya by the hand and hastened south.
"I thought we were going-" Vyctannya began. After all the Eight Plates was just a block or so to the north.
"Trust me." Said the mage, and that was all she said till she had not only led the way to the Lucky Lockup, but had rented a room and cast several spells whose effects weren't anything that Vyctannya could detect.
Vyctannya pursed her lips. "I hadn't thought this was going to be that hard of a conversation. I mean don't you just sort of look at me, or test me and say yes I can learn magick or no I can't?"
Masalinie bit her lower lip. Then she gestured to the small rickety table where two chairs and a bottle of Greef waited for them. "Actually, no." She said. "I have to explain something, and I need your word that what I tell you does not leave this room. I could be in ... well, a lot of trouble. Dangerous trouble."
"Of course," Vyctannya placed her hand on the other woman's. "I'm not trying to get you to break rules or do anything dangerous."
"Okay."
They sat there. Vyctannya could see that Masalinie was very uncomfortable, so she just waited.
Finally, Masalinie ran her hands through her short unruly hair and said. "Anyone can learn magic."
Vyctannya sat there for a moment.
"What?" She must have heard wrong.
"Anyone." Masalinie said, and then she let out a long slow breath. "It's not can you. It's should you. Because magick is the energies of ... of everything. If you open yourself to attempt a work of magic that is beyond what you can," she paused, looking around the room as if for inspiration. Eventually she said. "beyond what you can carry, then your body, your life pays the price."
Vyctannya's mouth opened, but she didn't actually say anything.
"Yes," Masalinie answered the question that the blonde Breton was not daring to ask. "If you cast a work of magic that is too powerful for you, you can die of it. Or worse."
"What could be worse?" And then Vyctannya went silent.
"Lots of things." Muttered Masalinie. "And there is more. The guide of mages was formed mostly to fight against this really powerful necromancer."
"I'm not exactly sure what that is, anyway. Something to do with the dead?"
Masalinie nodded. "Death is natural. Taking a spirit that has died and forcing it to wear a dead body that originally belonged to someone or something else is not. Or even shoving it back into its own body, or its own bones."
Vyctannya hadn't really thought about it that way. She felt nauseated.
The other woman waved a hand. "That's not the issue anyway, it's just that the mages guide sometimes takes a dim view of anyone who isn't actually part of the guide doing any magic because they might be doing necromancy." She sighed. "And especially here on Morrowind, getting into the guide, and progressing and all that is sometimes more about who your family is and who you know. Dunmer like to take things slow, and they tend to start training mages very young." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I'm not explaining this well."
"That's okay. I know that I won't be able to suddenly understand all the subtle workings of a magical guide in one conversation. So just tell me the main points." Somehow Masalinie's caution made Vyctannya want to get started. Get moving. Something.
"Okay. Summary. Ranis isn't going to let you into the guide, because you are too old. Which is not to say you can't learn magic. Just not there. Well, technically you could come to the guild and say you had some magical skills, and purchase some spells, but that's not what you need."
Vyctanya admitted. "I don't know what I need. What I will need."
Masalinie nodded. "Exactly. You need to understand what you are doing, and you need to understand how to explore on your own. So. In Labor Town there is an Argonian called Only-He-Stands-There who would train you further, because he believes anyone with a need for the art should be taught."
"Would train me further?" The phraseology hadn't been lost on Vyctanya.
"Yes." Masalinie admitted. "He's reluctant to do the initial teaching sometimes, but if you show him that you already know at least one small magickal working, he'll take you further, and he really is a good teacher. So, um, you are going to buy your first spells from me. I'll teach you how to cast magic."
Vyctannya felt a shiver work its way down her spine. She wasn't sure if she was excited or nervous or maybe both. "When?"
"Now." Masalinie stood, and wiped off her palms on the sides of her robes.
"But," Vyctannya stood stiffly, looking around. "There's no, um, arcane altar or whatever you call them."
Masalinie looked startled for a moment. Then she smiled, and said. "I keep forgetting you weren't born here."
"I was born and raised in Cheydinhal," Vyctanya said. "The head of the Mages' Guide there was an Altmer named Falcar. Really tall, even when he was sitting if you know what I mean. Kind of a scary sort. Anyway, before we moved here, I used to know a young Nord who was starting his apprenticeship with Falcar, and so I heard little bits about the Guild Hall and how Falcar always insisted on doing things The Right Way."
"Sounds a lot like Ranis," Masalinie said thoughtfully. Then she nodded to herself, stood up and brushed her hands off against her robes again. "Okay. Um. First I'm going to teach you just a little magick. It will let you accelerate your body's ability to heal itself from an injury."
"But the altar?"
Masalinie shook her head. "That's not how we do it here. I'll show you." She stepped close to Vyctannya and held out her hands, left palm facing the ceiling, right palm facing the floor. "Put your hands on mine. It doesn't matter if we lock fingers - it just has to be palm to palm, and the energy will flow in a sort of a circle. It can be kind of hard to feel it at first."
Hesitantly, Vyctannya put her palms to the mage's.
"Now the first thing I'm going to do is cast the spell so you can feel it. You aren't injured, so it's not going to do anything, but the healing energies will be pretty easy for you to feel." After a second, Masalinie added. "You might want to close your eyes."
The mage could feel cold sweat coming off Vyctannya palms, and a slight tremor going through her. "Think of it like listening with your hands." Masalinie made her voice gentle. "I've seen you use a drop spindle. So think of me as making the thread, and you are close enough to touch it. You can feel it going through your fingers; feel all the little fibers coming together to make a good strong thread."
So Vyctanya imagined that, imagined having carded daedra silk and somnalius bolls and then twisting it onto a drop spindle. She could feel the cool smoothness of the silk, the subtle brush of the smnalius fibers. Somehow it was even stronger then when she spun them. She could feel the cord in a circle, around between her hands and Masalinie's, gentle movement.
Then it faded.
She opened her eyes to see Masalinie smiling at her. "You felt it, didn't you?"
"Yes," She said hesitantly. "It wasn't so scary as I imagined." She felt her cheeks go pink. "It was very nice."
"Now listen again, Vyc, because you are going to try it too."
Vyctannya swallowed. "Okay."
By the time Masalinie was done with her, Vyctannya had been able to cast the healing spell, as well as a strange little enchantment that called into being a jagged dagger made of some coppery material that felt more like bone than metal. It didn't stay long, but it felt very comfortable in Vyctannya's hand.
~~In the Dark~~
Late that night she sat on her small bed. She stared across the dimly lit room at the other bed where her younger sister Aditte lay sprawled, limbs akimbo and hair tangled across the pillow. She thought about how happy Aditte had been to see her Alodie, her knight in shining armor. Envious tears trickled down Vyctannya's cheeks, and she wiped at her face with the back of her hand.
Dyus had been the only survivor. He was supposed to the hero.
She was supposed to be the maiden. If anyone was going to need saving, it should have been her. And a kiss by her knight was supposed to be all the saving she needed.
She had known exactly who she was, and had known the path her life would take. She hadn't thought of herself as a person who could fight, or ever would. Or do magick. She wasn't supposed to be someone who needed to do any of that.
Cylsandra's sorrowful comments echoed in her memory. 'Cursed with a terrible disease', 'there is no cure'.
Alodie had been honest; the hope he offered was unrealistic and unlikely, and that was the best case. The only chance. Maybe not even a real one.
Quietly, so as not to wake her sister, she laid back onto the bed. In the morning she would talk to Only-He-Stands-There, and then Tyermaillin, and then she would ask Alodie to take her to Fort Buckmoth, and to Tel Fyr. In the morning.
Early in the morning.
She stared at the ceiling and didn't sleep.