1 Sun's Dusk, 3E426
Today I found myself in the familiar territory of Tel Mora, the place where men are apparently not allowed. This time around I know that it is because of the bizarre orders of Mistress Dratha, the councilor I went to see in hopes of getting her vote. The fact that I am not a man at the very least helped... I hoped she wouldn't hold it against me that I was one in a past life. I am told she is the oldest of the councilors, sustaining her life through taboo, disgusting necromantic arts. Of course, Telvanni don't have much of a concept of reverence. On my way in her attendants were quick to warn me that she's getting a little strange in her age and advised me against upsetting her.
Her desire to have more women in power took precedent over just about everything else, shouting out loud enough for the whole tower to hear about how wonderful it was that Nerevar had returned as a woman. Of course she'd give me her vote, she said, having an assistant take down everything by dictation and only penning the signature personally. I thought to myself while I waited for her to find the proper words... I had never considered it from that angle. Is really that strange? Everyone else seems more hung up on the fact that I wasn't born here than with my gender. I suppose it is fine though since it earned me a decent advantage here. I didn't have to negotiate this one at all, it was just handed to me.
This allowed me enough time still left in the day to make a visit to Tel Vos, the tower twisted around a grey stone almost Imperial-looking building. This was the home of Master Aryon, and he turned out to be more ambitious and intriguing than the others I had yet met. He didn't just want to know if I was worthy of the title of Hortator, he wanted something for himself out of the deal too.
The wizard had us both sit down and summoned an attendant in with a bottle of comberry wine and glasses for both of us, and started to explain. See, Aryon had aspirations of becoming the Archmagister of House Telvanni. The current Archmagister, Gothren, would never name me Hortator. He has a most annoying habit of instead of simply telling people no, delaying them indefinitely. And as one of the long-lived Telvanni wizards, he feels he has all the time in the world to do so. When I asked what he suggest I do, I was told, "Kill him."
I admit I was a bit taken aback. Would this not hurt my standing within House Telvanni? To which I was assured this was their traditional way of handling political disputes. Gothren would not be an easy kill, a powerful magister surrounded by attendants, but I saw little alternative if what Aryon said was true. I might very possibly be ageless thanks to my contact with Corprus and literally have eternity to wait, but the rest of Vvardenfell and Morrowind do not. I agreed to do what he asked and to show his faith in our deal, he went ahead and wrote his vote, even though if he took over I would not necessarily need it.
But before I take care of Gothren, I am going to need to see Mistress Therana down in Tel Branora, far to the south, further south than Molag Mar even. I thanked Aryon for his hospitality and advice and decided I would make camp in the Grazelands tonight as I was already here.
I wonder if the Ahemmusa are doing well in their new shelter. I wonder of the affairs of the Urshilaku and Erabenimsun, and hope Falura is still happy with Kaushad among the Zainab. I wonder if Caius is in any trouble in the Imperial City, and if Nels is thinking of me and if he treasures that earring. Do my fellow warriors in the Fighter's Guild wonder where I am? And perhaps, somewhere, does anyone I met in the Temple not despise me? I'm not sure why I am thinking about this. Maybe it's because meeting people like them are part of what drives me forward now, the first real friends and associates and otherwise I ever really made. I'm fighting not just for my own freedom now, but theirs, too.
2 Sun's Dusk, 3E426
As if the Sharmat himself is reminding me he exists, I woke well before dawn to the beginnings of an ashstorm starting to bury my supplies and me. I had gotten far from enough sleep but had no choice but to get on the move. Wrapping cloth around my nose and mouth for easier breathing as well as less constant ash taste I set out for what my compass determined was south.
What started off quite unpleasant only got worse the farther I went, and being excessively tired was no help. I found myself again on the rocks of Molag Amur so I knew I was on the right track, when I dropped the compass. Immediately I began to search for it, but the ash was so bad I couldn't make it out. My blood ran cold when I both felt and heard a telltale 'crunch'. My compass was in pieces.
Even if I was able to recognize any landmarks, I sure wouldn't be able to see them. With no visibility at all and the storm not showing any signs of abating, I had no choice but to press on, now with no way to tell which way led to Tel Branora.
What followed was hours of trudging along and hoping to Azura I wasn't going in circles. It felt like days. There was no water to be seen and I ran out of that not long after my clumsiness doomed my compass. I had no idea where I was or where I was going and I had already run my water-skin dry. I grew delirious from the exhaustion and the storm and the thirst, cursing Dagoth Ur in my mind with every step. And eventually, I began to wonder if I would die out there. Every time I thought this I tried to urge my pace to pick up, as it would have been a dishonorable and pointless way for the entirety of my efforts to be lost.
Soon, I heard a humming. At first my mind was playing tricks, but then I could feel the humming, too. I had felt that before, but where? Then I saw, right as I nearly touched it. The Ghostfence. Now I had a landmark. I began to follow it for lack of any other way to go. Eventually, well after it had gotten dark, I found myself at Ghostgate, the Temple fortress outpost and the only way in and out of the fence. Though my tongue was parched and my body aching from weariness I was hesitant to go inside. It was the Temple, after all, the faithful and devoted who have named my existence heresy and my quest an insult. My need was great, but so was my apprehension.
After a bit I decided that dying because I had refused to even ask for help was overrated. I swallowed my pride and went in, remembering not to hide Moon-and-Star although that was my first instinct. It was the same hostel I stayed at when I'd come here for my own pilgrimage and felt the eyes of the other pilgrims on me. I assured the innkeeper I wasn't there to start anything, that I just wanted water and rest, she nodded and accepted my coin but seemed unwilling to speak to me. Stares would avert the moment I tried to catch them but there was little I could do, and the room stayed silent the entire time I passed through. And for once, I couldn't keep my chin up, watching the floor all the way to my assigned quarters.
I've stayed holed up by my bed ever since, afraid to even ask around to see if I can't acquire a working compass but thankfully I don't really need one for now. Come tomorrow I'll just follow the volcanic ravine back to the roads and get everything I need in a settlement that isn't quite as unfriendly.