In some ways, describing Gnisis as a town was an act of generosity that Averren would only have applied to Seyda Neen a month or so earlier. While somewhat larger than the small port town, Gnisis shared the same sense of unfulfilled capacity, the feeling that it could be a lot bigger if it had a good reason. As it was, there were only three things going for Gnisis. The eggmine, the Temple, and the Legion, in that order.
Averren stepped off the silt strider and slung his knapsack over a shoulder, looking around as he walked across the platform to solid ground. Steep sided hills ringed the town, with a small Tribunal temple sitting roughly in the center of town. Such symbolism was not lost on Averren, who had taken the time during the silt strider ride to study up on the local religious customs. As Caius had told him once, the Temple had a lot of good qualities to it. It stressed faithfulness (not only to the Temple, but to friends and family), piety, compassion, and generosity. Yet it also bred intolerance, zealotry, narrow-mindedness, and blind obedience. The paradox of how such dogma could sustain itself gave Averren a headache.
If the Temple's position in the town was a symbol, then the Legion fort, such as it was, also proved to be a symbol. From what Averren could see, the Legion's place in town was limited, only a single reinforced wall covering the southeastern corner of the town. The message was clear: outlanders and their laws were to be kept at a distance.
The only other structure that Averren could make out easily was an old oddly shaped dome with thick green glass windows ringing the top, the dome seeming to be partially set into the rock of the ridge on the north edge of the town. An entrance had to be somewhere around there, but Averren could not make it out from his vantage point. Adjusting the pack on his shoulder, Averren walked towards the Temple. Part of the cover story that he'd given to his fellow passengers aboard the silt strider was that he'd started the Pilgrimages of the Seven Graces, the recreations of the paths and trials that Vivec underwent before the Tribunal came to be. Gnisis was important in the course of the Pilgrimages because it held a sacred artifact of the Tribunal and was used as a jumping off point for the second most dangerous site of the journey, the Pilgrimage of Valor, or "the Ruddy Man" as it was known. The Temple site here was also a point in the Pilgrimages, the Pilgrimage of Justice. A comely young initiate was kind enough to give Averren a spare vial of curative potion against diseases. The actual ritual involved pouring the curative over an altar and reciting the Lesson of Justice as it was described in a book called The Seven Graces. Other pilgrims had suggested he come with them to the Ruddy Man across the river later, but Averren politely declined.
Spying a Dunmer in Legion chainmail, Averren came over and inquired where he could join up. The Legionnaire simply jerked his thumb over to the local tradehouse and walked off. Averren stood in the middle of the road, mulling where he should visit first. The necessity of finding out about the discontent in the Legion seemed like it would be more important. But as Caius had told him before he left, he had to maintain his cover story at all costs. Sighing softly, Averren walked over to the temple.
He stood at the back of a line of pilgrims, waiting as they inched their way through the temple's main chamber, where the shrines of saints such as Lothis and Veloth were usually kept. The line stretched around a corner at the far end, no doubt winding up in what would be the main shrine chamber, the one reserved for the Shrine of the Tribunal. It had been that way in Balmora, and in Ald'Ruhn, and this would probably be no different. Averren pictured the Shrine of the Tribunal in the center of the room, the altar for the pilgrimage probably off to one side. As he waited in line, his mind began to wander. Three gods of the Tribunal. Vivec, who lived in the holy city of the same name here in Vvardenfell. Almalexia, who lived in the capital of Morrowind, once called Mournhold, now called by her name. Sotha Sil, whom nobody had seen since the start of the Second Era at least. It had been Vivec who had declared the island a religious preserve, off limits to all until the last century or so. The First Era, declaring the island a religious preserve because of all the Daedric shrines, a condition of incorporation into the Empire. Daedra, still a part of the Tribunal in the form of the Anticipations and the House of Troubles. Four Daedra Lords making up the House of Troubles. Three making up the Anticipations. Mephala, the patron of the ancient assassin's guild of the Morag Tong. Boethiah, the Daedra Lord of murder. And Azura, Lady of Mysteries . . .
Averren broke his reverie as he found himself at the mouth of the central chamber, the last pilgrim yet to go. The only other people in the chamber were a single Ordinator and the pilgrim that had been in front of Averren in the line. Surprisingly, the altar stood in the center of the room where the main shrine normally would be. A tall, three sided column with Daedric script along the sides intermixed with ornate carvings depicting the story behind the Lesson of Justice. The pilgrim splashed one of the sides with the curative potion he'd been carrying, then pressed his palms against the side and recited the Lesson of Justice. A bright blue halo of light surrounded the pilgrim for an instant, then was gone, the curative completely evaporated. He walked away from the altar with a look of sublime joy and patted Averren's shoulder happily as he passed by.
Seeing nobody else behind him, Averren made a slow circuit of the room. Opposite the doorway sat a small stone reliquary on top of a large pedestal. Inside the reliquary was a mask made out of rough stone, facing out into the chamber. A finely inscribed brass plate on the pedestal proclaimed the mask to be the Mask of Vivec, made from an accretion of ash from Red Mountain that formed over Vivec's face as he slept one day. Averren glanced over at the Ordinator, who favored him with a small shake of the head. Nodding, Averren moved up to the altar and pulled out the curative potion, splashing it on the altar as the other pilgrims had done. Placing his hands on the altar, Averren recited the Lesson of Justice.
His vision took on a slightly bluish tinge as the blessing of the Tribunal was bestowed upon him, a reward for completing this part of the pilgrimage. Yet something didn't feel quite right to Averren. As the other pilgrim had shown, there was supposed to be an element of religious rapture to this moment. There was no denying that Averren felt refreshed and clean, as if no illness or injury could harm him. Underlying this, however, was a faint tingle of. . . decay, as if the blessing had come from a tainted source. At some level, Averren knew that the clean feeling would not last, probably not much more beyond that day. He knew he would probably not feel the healthy sensation in his flesh and bones by tomorrow morning. He suspected he would still feel that small bit of decay for a while yet.
Blinking his eyes, Averren glanced at the panels containing the images of Vivec and the Lesson of Justice. There was a hairline crack running around the images just inside the frame. Curious, Averren pressed gingerly on one of the panels. All three silently slid down, revealing another mask suspended in mid-air without any visible support, almost exactly like the one that sat on the pedestal. He glanced over at the Ordinator, who gave him a small nod this time. Averren reached in and pressed his fingers to the mask. This time, a brilliant blue corona surrounded him as he heard a voice whispering in his ear. The language was old, yet Averren understood it almost perfectly. He gathered that this was some sort of spell or incantation that he was being taught. As he listened, as the spell seeped into his mind, he thought he heard the voice stammering a little, hesitating before plunging on ahead.
When the glow faded, Averren pulled his fingers away and walked over to the Ordinator. "What just happened?" he asked a little shakily.
"You are twice blessed this day, pilgrim," replied the Ordinator, the tone respectful and pleased behind the full faced mask of his helmet. "The blessing of the Lesson of Justice is granted countless times in a day by the will of Almsivi, blessed be the Tribunal. Yet only a few pilgrims ever discover that the Mask of Vivec, the genuine artifact, is hidden within that shrine. It reveals itself only to a select few, and Vivec himself grants the great boon to cure diseases, from the common to almost all of the worst Blights. Truly, you are much blessed."
"Vivec grants the boon? You mean, that was his voice that I heard?"
The Ordinator nodded slowly. "Indeed it was. Hopefully, you shall not be stingy with your new gift. Share it with the world, and spread the blessings of the Tribunal to all you may encounter."
Nodding back, Averren smiled at the Ordinator and left the shrine chamber. Somehow, he felt it would not be wise to tell the zealot that he'd heard a god stuttering.
Early the next morning, Averren stood in front of General Menelaeus Darius, commanding officer of the Deathshead Legion. Unlike Sellus Gravius, Darius wore his armor, making it very clear to anybody who looked that he was in charge and ready to go at any time. Unfortunately, the sleepy nature of Gnisis suggested that he might be a long time waiting for any sort of action.
"Averren Lirondi," said Darius slowly as he read from Averren's papers. "You say that you want to be joining the Legion? Why?"
"General Darius, sir, I've come to join for a few reasons. One is to be of useful service to the Emperor and to the Empire."
"A strange attitude for a Dunmer. Around here, most Dunmer would love nothing more than to divorce themselves from the Empire."
"I spent most of my life in the Imperial City as a student. I may have been born here, sir, but I know where my loyalties ultimately lie."
"You had other reasons for joining, I believe." Darius took a sip of Cyrodillic brandy. "What would they be?"
"Another of my reasons is that my performance in the Fighter's Guild was insufficient to please my superiors. I felt that by joining the Legion, I could gain valuable experience which I could put to use while on reserve, sir."
Darius gave a small nod. "Pragmatism. Always handy out here. Any other reasons I should be aware of?"
"Well, sir, the other garrisons wouldn't have me. They all said to come up here. If I can prove myself here, then I'll be able to get a posting at Fort Moonmoth, so that I can take care of-" Averren almost let out Caius' name, then flowed on, feigning a small cough, "Zurin, my father's old manservant."
This caused Darius to raise an eyebrow quizzically. "You mean to tell me there is a man who bears the name of the Underking?"
"A cruel joke on the part of his mother, from what I understand. Dumped him on my father's doorstep in the Imperial City at the tender of age of nine, old enough that his name had stuck in his mind and he couldn't identify himself as anything else."
"And you take care of this man?"
"He took care of me very well while I was at my studies. But he's aged badly, and I fear for his health. It seems only right I should take care of him now in the twilight years of his life. This would be a good way for me to earn some small amount of coin to send to him in the small house we rent in Balmora."
Darius stood up with a small smile. "Loyalty and sense of duty. Serjo Lirondi, I believe we have a billet for you. In fact, I am going to give you your first assignment. After you procure your kit from the quartermaster over by the east gate, you will proceed across the town to the Vabdas farm, and speak with the widow Vabdas. I need you to obtain the deed to her farm by any means necessary.. Her land is vitally important towards the expansion of the fort. If we can mirror the fortifications in place on the east side, Gnisis will be well protected from the landward side."
"Permission to speak, sir?"
"Granted, but make it fast."
Averren cleared his throat slightly. "How long has the widow Vabdas been a widow?"
"Only a couple of weeks. We found a piece of what might have been her husband's shirt near some alit tracks. The supposition is that he had a little too much to drink, took the wrong turn heading home, and ran into the alit. It doesn't take much imagination to figure out what happened from there."
"Understood, sir." Averren saluted.
"Dismissed, recruit."
As Averren walked out of Darius' office, he accidentally bumped his shoulder into the chest of an orc coming through the same doorway. The orc wore a full Imperial chainmail hauberk and foot soldier's helm. "My apologies," Averren said quickly, not knowing if the orc now ranked higher than him or not.
"It was my fault," replied the orc agreeably. "I should have shifted over to give you some room."
Something about the orc's voice made Averren stare quizzically for a moment. "Have we met before?"
"I don't believe so, recruit."
Shrugging slightly, Averren extended his hand. "Averren Lirondi."
"Kharag 'gro' Kremputro," the orc answered, shaking Averren's hand. Behind Kharag's eyes, a spark of mixed surprise and fear lit up. What was this Dunmer doing here in Gnisis?! First Balmora, now here. Either Mephala had it in Her head to play with Kharag, or some larger force was at work. He briefly entertained the idea that Averren Lirondi was an agent for the Dark Brotherhood, but then dismissed it. Those degenerates couldn't stand the thought of wearing an Imperial uniform, even if it meant the furthering of their goals. Yet this Dunmer stood before him with a writ to the quartermaster to issue arms and armor. Apparently, Averren was not an assassin, but Kharag was damned if he knew exactly what the Dunmer really was.
"Well, I need to be going, sir. Perhaps we'll see each other around."
Kharag nodded and watched Averren trot up the steps to the main door, then approached Darius' desk, laying out his credentials and saluting. "Spearman Kharag 'gro' Kremputro reporting for duty, General," Kharag rumbled.
Darius picked up the parchment containing Kharag's orders. "You are serving your compulsory service time as a reservist?"
"That is correct, sir."
"And you chose Gnisis specifically?"
"If you'll look, sir, the orders state that I may report to any garrison of my choosing, since there is no pressing need at the present time for any post in particular. I chose Gnisis because it is closer to the action, comparatively speaking."
A small snort came from Darius. "Seems to be a popular reason to come up here lately."
"Also, sir, with the large component of orcs here in the Deathshead Legion, I felt I could serve without causing any undue alarm on the part of my superiors."
This made Darius nod. "Yes, I can see how an orc guarding the main hall in Ebonheart might cause a minor stir in some circles."
"Additionally, sir," continued Kharag, "it was this or Wolverine Hall. And to be blunt, sir, I want to keep my distance as far as the Telvanni are concerned.
"Can't say I blame you." Darius scribbled a signature to the orders, then handed Kharag a scroll. "There's not much happening right now, so I'd like to have you act as a courier. Not exciting, to be sure, but a comparatively easy assignment to start, help you get back into the swing of things. I just need you to carry that message to the village hetman in Khuul. This is merely a friendly letter, asking him how things are going and if he needs any assistance from us. I expect a terse and polite reply in the negative, but one never knows. Get moving, spearman."
"Yes, sir!" It took almost every muscle in Kharag's body to keep from breaking out into a grin.
A few hours later, Averren found himself at the Vabdas muck farm on the west edge of Gnisis. He wasn't having a civil conversation with the widow Vabdas, however. From his perspective, he was taking fire from her.
The instant she opened the door, she scurried away. When Averren poked his head in, she flung a small pot at him, the crockery breaking on the lentil above his head. Since then, she'd thrown countless pots, plates, and bowls at the door, trying to make him go away. As far as first assignments went, Averren could not claim to be having much success. The Dunmer widow simply refused to listen to reason. She didn't care that Averren represented the law. She didn't care that the Legion wanted to make her farm the site of their new fortifications. Every logical, reasonable, pleasant sounding argument Averren could think up came back with another piece of pottery.
"Widow Vabdas!" Averried cried as another pot smashed into the doorframe. "This is really not helpful! I just want to talk!"
"I'll show you helpful, you Imperial thug!" Vabdas screeched, sending another piece of tableware at the door.
"Woman's got more crockery than a potter's shop," growled Averren under his breath. "Widow Vabdas, I'm sorry for your loss, but this is really not the proper way to greet an Imperial official!"
"Improper!" The woman seemed to cackle furiously. "Is it any more proper to steal a murdered man's farm from under the feet of his grieving wife?!"
Poking his head back in, Averren flinched as a bowl shattered above him. "Did you say your husband was murdered?"
The question stopped the barrage momentarily. "Yes, I did! I say it because I know it!"
Averren pushed his head in further. "And how do you know this?"
"Because I see the ghost of my dead husband in my dreams. He calls out to me, weeping because he's been murdered and his killer still walks free."
Looking at her hopefully, Averren asked, "Would you like to tell me about it? Catching murderers and dispensing justice is what we in the Legion are supposed to be doing, after all."
The widow cocked her arm back, but let it drop lamely. "A couple of weeks ago, my husband went out to the eggmine. He often worked there part of the day to help supplement the farm. He was going to go in to sneak out a couple of kwama eggs. We needed food, and there was a merchant who would buy them under the table without asking any questions. Those eggs would have fed us for a day or two by themselves, but the money would have bought food for a month. He went into the mine one day, and he never came out. A few days later, word about the kwama queen contracting a Blight disease came out, and the mine's been effectively cut off ever since."
"So, how is it you know your husband was murdered?" Averren asked gently.
"I see him in my dreams. I can hear his voice, crying out to be discovered and avenged, wailing that he can't rest. His ghost calls out to me. But I cannot do anything to bring him relief."
Averren now stood in front of the widow, his helmet tucked under his arm. "Widow Vabdas, I am going to be blunt with you. What you've told me, I believe it, but I will never be able to convince General Darius of it. Nevertheless, I will try to find your husband's body and bring it back. I will try to prove that he was murdered. And I will try to bring him the rest he calls out for."
The widow looked at him, hope and disbelief mixing in her carmine eyes. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because I know how important it is for the truth to come out, in any situation. And because I know just how powerful a dream can be. I will find out the truth in this matter. You have my word."
