Prologue
Sun's Dawn 3E 429
In a tower in the Azura Coast region, the heart of Telvanni country, a man is standing overlooking his life's work. His name is Divayth Fyr, and in ten minutes he is going to die.
The tower itself is typical of the Telvanni style; isolated and organic, the structures are grown by magic and alive in their own right. Telvanni mages are solitary creatures. They run their households by their own rules, away from the eyes and ears of others.
Divayth Fyr's life work is the Corprusarium on the lowest level of his home. He is not quite a scientist, nor a healer, nor an alchemist, but perhaps a strange mix of the three. Occasionally rumours of his connections with the Psijic Order circulate. That he is an accomplished practitioner of magic there can be no doubt, but though many people know of his experiments, few know of the Corprusarium. It is even rarer knowledge that Divayth Fyr has actually created a cure (of sorts) for the Corprus disease; in fact at this time only four people in all Tamriel are aware of his discovery and its implications. One, of course, is Divayth himself. The second and third are an Imperial Blade Spymaster and his young charge, both sworn to secrecy. The fourth is a Dwemer, a well-kept secret himself.
Divayth Fyr has not used his creation to cure the diseased wretches in the Corprusarium. He has distributed it twice, and found it successful. But that was a year and a half ago now, and since then Dagoth Ur has been defeated and his blighted realm purged; there is no longer any threat of Corprus from Red Mountain, and victims of the disease are no longer plentiful and disposable to Ser Divayth. They have become an endangered species, a dying breed. To cure them would be to eradicate them, making his long years of research meaningless – not to mention the fact that the Dunmer still consider this infliction to be the work of the Divine. And so in the past year he has extended the vaults below Tel Fyr and collected every last remaining Corprus victim on Vvardenfell – almost a hundred, and each as precious to him as a diamond.
During the last few months, Divayth Fyr has achieved another milestone in his experimentation. He has known for a long time, of course, that not all the symptoms of the affliction are a hindrance. Greatly advanced strength, speed and endurance, for example; immunity to all other diseases. Two days ago he created an elixir that infects the drinker with Corprus; a refined Corprus that contains only the benefits of the disease, without the unnatural growth of the body and the pain that follows. Two days ago he turned Corprus into a blessing instead of a curse, and now he has decided to test it.
He has upwards of twenty samples of the elixir in his cabinet. He decides he will run a trial on a test subject, and if all goes well, drink the elixir himself. He is surprised, therefore, that upon reaching his cabinet every single one of the sample phials is missing.
"Master?"
He turns to find his daughter standing in the doorway.
"Delte, have you or any of the other girls tampered with my cabinet?"
She looks puzzled. "No, we know not to go near your experiments. Master, has your visitor gone already?"
He pauses. "Visitor?"
"The man in the black robe. The slaves let him in a few minutes ago. He said he wished to speak to you."
Fyr tears his eyes away from the empty space in the cabinet slowly. "I have had no visitor…"
Both father and daughter hear the tinkle of a sample-phial and the drawing of a dagger too late.
As no-one knew about the Dwemer in the Corprusarium, no-one realised that he vanished the same day. Fishermen and travellers who noticed an unusual lack of activity around Tel Fyr, or perhaps a faint wisp of red smoke drifting from its highest tower, would leave well alone. As we have noted, Telvanni mages are solitary creatures.
Three hundred leagues away in the easternmost province of High Rock, the imposing castle of Shedungent thrusts its crumbling arms into the wilderness. No animals come close to this formidable structure. Fetid lichen hangs limply from the battlements, like broken wrists. The castle extends for many more miles underground than it does above, but the most interesting thing resides in the audience chamber only yards beyond the entrance.
Nulfaga.
There was a time when the name Nulfaga was familiar to everyone in High Rock, from the humblest peasant to the Illiac royals. But the passage of time has rendered Nulfaga decrepit, older than any Breton of her time, and her part in the history of the Illiac Bay is all but forgotten. As her senility grows her immense power becomes wayward, unfocused, unchecked. She neither wants nor has the means to receive news of the outside world, retreating instead into the decaying warren of her mind.
So when the black-robed visitors arrived saying they had come to take care of her, she did not object or send them away, thinking that King Gothryd of Daggerfall must have finally remembered his grandmother and lavished some affection on her. The robed strangers were quiet and helpful; they brought food, eased her out of her filthy rags and into clothes of good craftsmanship, kept her company, healed her loneliness. They were her guardians and companions. In return, she spoke freely to them of arcane secrets that ten years ago she would rather have died than revealed – but these strangers were so kind, and their curiosity so simple and innocent, that she found it a joy to teach them all she knew. As their curiosity grew, she divulged her magical art with willingness and affection...
Never noticing the impenetrable seal that appeared on the castle door.
Or the increasingly dark nature of the knowledge her helpers sought.
She did not notice the particular interest they had in Aetherius, the magic-plane, the Aedra-home over which Nulfaga had extraordinary knowledge and control. As time went on and she came to rely on her carers more and more, their influence over Aetherius grew as did their influence over her.
Nulfaga saw none of this. Her loneliness was cured. She was the happiest she had ever been in her life.
Back on Vvardenfell of Morrowind, the Tribunal god Vivec was deep in contemplation.
It was rare not to find Vivec in contemplation these days. Since the Heart of Lorkhan – the source of the Tribunal's godhood – had fallen to the Nerevarine's fury a year ago, his power was slowly but surely waning. How, it was difficult to say; as none of Vvardenfell's residents had ever become gods, naturally no-one could say what it would be like to stop being one.
A mortal's mind is not built to encompass the consciousness of a god. It is easy to see how such an unnatural state would cause extreme deterioration; indeed, some say this is how Nulfaga's madness began. Closer to home, it is undoubtedly the cause of the once-benevolent Almalexia's fall to insanity and her subsequent tragic demise.
Like his fellow Triunes, Vivec must now face the waning of his divinity without the presence of the Heart. And as with them, it would surely crumble his psyche. Perhaps it has already begun. Perhaps that is why, when the black-robed messengers arrived, he welcomed them where he might once have not.
The robed figures stood quietly in the High Temple, watching the god carefully. His huge liquid eyes were open, but he made no move to acknowledge his visitors. The robed figures were patient. They waited.
Time passed. Something in the eyes of the god seemed to change – a subtle shift of consciousness, a flicker of recognition. Gradually, his head moved. He looked from one robed figure to another as one who has come out of a long sleep, disorientated.
He spoke slowly. "I summoned no-one."
The middle figure stepped forward. "My Lord, we have been sent by the Archcanon Saryoni."
His only reply was a blank, golden-eyed gaze.
The middle figure continued. "We have dire need of the wisdom and benevolence of our Lord. Your people are in grave peril. An enemy has come upon us."
The god had almost slipped away from the conversation, but he surfaced at this solemn pronouncement. "An… enemy?"
"Your people have need of your love and counsel, your Grace. Will you come with us and aid them in their hour of greatest need?"
A spark ignited in the god's eyes. If nothing else, he had always been devoted to the welfare of his beloved citizens. "Their hour of greatest need… Yes. Yes, I shall come. You shall tell me of this enemy on our way."
The robed figures bowed low.
The Archcanon Saryoni himself discovered the absence of the god the following week. Confused and desperate, possessing the rare knowledge that two of the Tribunal had already met untimely ends, he kept the disappearance to himself. He debated what to do by day, and drank large amounts of sujamma by night.