Serethi Indoril was lying, collapsed on his chair and dreaming pleasantly. It was a damp and foggy night, the kind where all a person might ask for would equal up to a dry place and a fire. Serethi was now in possesion of both of these amenities and thus restful sleep was upon him. In the surreal aspect of his mind, Serethi was once again in the realm of his childhood, Almalexia. This was a good day; today Serethi was going to receive his first assignments.
Except, this time something different happened. While walking down a sun-lit street, Serethi was accosted by a beggar. "Hey, boy. Want to hear a story?" he asked looking at the blue over the Indoril's head.
"No, by Almsivi's grace, you should find a hostel, sera. The charity of this city and its Lady is not without renown."
"I might," he replied, "But there's something I have to tell you. When I was a young boy, I heard a poem. Haven't forgotten it yet, but somethin' tells me you ought to hear it:
Eightfold rising clouds
Build an eightfold fence
An eightfold Izumo fence
Wherein to keep my bride--
Oh! splendid eightfold fence."
Now Serethi abruptly woke up. However, the scratchy voice of the beggar was replaced by the rich tones of a noble throat, and the poem repeated itself in his mind. He looked around his office, and fond none were within the crab-shell colored walls. Serethi sighed, and slowly straightened the papers on his desk. The silence of the night could only remind this Dunmer that he was far away from the light and joy of Mournhold. Over the passing hour, he gloomily signed transcripts and Temple Documents to the sound of pattering rain.
Some time had elapsed when the door of the office opened. Saryoni was the one to walk through. "Patriarch..." Serethi gasped.
"Sit down, Indoril Serethi. You have served us with honor thus far and done credit to all of your family. Sainthood requires selflessness, and you serve with altruism. The recent arrest of King Hlaalu Helseth has earned you great fame with the council. Serjo Andalen and I agree your leadership shall be transported to the Halls of Justice,"
"I am to be an inquisitor?"
"Yes, if ever there is ever a great step in the career of any Ordinator, it is the office of Inquisitor. From there you will surely move to High Ordination. The papers are in circulation, but you can start now."
"Thank you very much, Archcanon; may Almsivi praise you!"
"We shall see. Anyways, I might give you some advice for the near future. It will fall under your jurisdiction to protect Vivec, and I do not know the measures you must follow. Be aware that the King Helseth has declared war on this Archcanon; he will bring it to Morrowind if his attack is proven unmitigated. You shall find support among the Dunmer, for they hate him. Truly diverse assortments of enemies wish to destroy Loranna Pyrel; she must find defense. I have already sent Armigers for this purpose, but you may wish to do more, Serethi. I bestow my most earning blessing upon you Serethi. You will find glory here, I know it."
To the dismay of the Indoril, Tholer Saryoni made the sign of recall and disappeared.
Vivec, Foreign Quarter
Dawn was racing to break the night sky, but the coolness of dark remained. Every so often the hoot of some bird or the bark of some animal could be heard. For the most part, all were asleep and unaware. Saryoni stood atop among the spires, looking out and across the land, city, and sky. He knew why he was standing on the roof of a giant building and what purpose it would serve. 'If only things could be amicably resolved' he thought, but instantly knew it was impossible. He knew for every mishap, every mistake, a scapegoat must be made. Sometimes it was not a person – a piece of equipment – but there was always something to be blamed. To keep the Temple whole, Saryoni was here. Morrowind needed the temple, there was nothing without its guidance. He was here so it would not be destroyed in a moment, so that reason might shield it. There was something else, too. Saryoni sat down, breathed the cool air in his lungs once more, and sighed. He was reminded of a poem he had heard once before, but had slipped away until now.
That was the best moment of the monk's life. Firm on a pile of firewood, With nothing more to say, hear, see, Smoke wrapped him, his folded hands blazed...
Suddenly a whirling mushroom cloud rose, Before his singed eyes, and he was a mass Of flame. Globes, one after another, rolled out. The delighted sparrows flew around like fire balls.
'Yes,' the Archcanon thought, 'If my plans are gone to waste, and all is ruin, some fragment of the past may be retained. The hyacinths, coda flowers…perhaps in an evil future some will sprout, in a place far away.' A life of service and piety would come to fruition here. If there was no need for a scapegoat, there would be no need for the Archcanon.
Tholer Saryoni cast himself from the Canton. As he fell toward the riverbank, the winds and air carried him to the ground, as if they were simply a method of transportation. He wondered, as his body neared the ground, if he was seeing Vivec waiting, with outstretched arms--