Legend of Zayden: Nerevar Rising
Chapter 1: Awakening
Whether dream or reality, his first memory is one of torment…
He awoke in a numbed state. He felt nothing, his mind a clouded soup and all senses lost to him. He only knew that he was alive and breathing. Slowly his senses began to come back… The air smelled and tasted of dirt. Wind blew stinging sand against his face and body. It howled like a siren of Oblivion. When the man finally regained sight he was immediately blinded from the swirling dust. He was only able to see for a brief second, but all around him was blood red skies.
With his eyes now shut tight he rolled over and crawled to his feet on shaking limbs. The sand felt like it was constantly shifting beneath his feet. Once more he opened his eyes and attempted to see, this time using his hands to shield some of the winds. It helped just well enough to see through the storm. Around him all he could see was the same maddening blood red haze, whipped up in a frenzy by furious winds.
The sand began to move faster. Standing now became a constant struggle. Once he had managed a moment of stability he stepped forward into the fog of the unknown. He knew not in what direction he was heading, nor toward what. He only hoped more steady ground lay ahead. He drudged onward, legs made from jelly growing ever weaker and exhausted. Visibility could not have been any more than a couple of meters. There was absolutely nothing to know one's location with. Such a place could truly drive a man-
ACCEPT YOUR PUNISHMENT
… mad.
A voice ripped through both the air and the man. The man spun about to see who had spoken. No one else was around. No one close enough to see. The man licked his parched lips and tongue and thought for a moment if he was hallucinating. The sand was now beginning to firm up. He could now travel with greater-
MOON AND STAR SHALL FALL FROM GRACE
The voice now sounded closer. It chilled the man's heart to ice and immediately dropped him back to his knees His limbs began to shake once more, now not from exhaustion, but from fear. To hear the voice again would-
WHAT WAS OF THE PAST SHALL BE RECTIFIED
HE OF THE MOUNTAIN SHALL RISE AND SPREAD
ALL OTHER GODS SHALL FALL IN HIS WAKE
THIS WORLD WILL KNOW UR
Tears filled the man's eyes, mixing with the flying sand and blinding him once again. A dull pain washed over him that rendered him helpless and without any strength. He howled from an anguish unlike any he had felt before, and he knew in that moment it was caused solely from the voice itself. The man fell forward and plunged his face into the sand, filling his mouth and eyes. Further and further down he pushed. Maybe, he thought, if he could suffocate and kill himself, his torment would end. It would be worth it to stop it all, if only for a moment. He gasped for the air he denied himself.
He now begged for death. Welcomed it.
Let it all end.
Please...
The man felt a hand grab the back of his neck. It violently lifted him up back to his knees. He now gasped for breath, coughing up sand and unsuccessfully blinking it from his eyes. He could now just barely make out a human-like figure before him. It reached out and gently brushed more of the sand and tears from his eyes but the man could still not see clearly. The figure spoke to him.
YOUR DEATH SHALL COME BECAUSE IT IS JUST
The figure gently reached out with thin, dagger fingers to touch the man in the center of the chest. With effortless ease the hand plunged into the man's chest. The man made one sharp gasp from the pain but otherwise remained motionless and silent.
But as soon as the pain came it vanished. In its place was new numbness that flowed through the man's body. He blinked once and the world around him changed. Gone were the blistering sands and winds, the howls, and the figure with the dagger hands. In its place was a calming, golden dusk sky, a forest of slim impossibly tall trees, and the wafting of pollen in a gentle breeze. He looked down to see a carpet of fiery autumn leaves making a path forward to a small dell and a small pond a few meters ahead, its waters an odd greenish blue.
As soon as his eyes fell upon the water it began to slowly brighten and glow. It emitted a soft hum, like a mother's lullaby to their infant child. Then, from below the surface, a new figure began to rise. This one was a white silhouette, vaguely feminine in shape. It rose up through the water's undisturbed surface and above it until her toes hovered mere inches. Then, with an almost aquatic nature, the figure wafted forward toward the man, whose mind was still too emotionally shattered to let him say or do anything.
Gently, once within arm's reach, the figure raised a hand toward the man's face. He winced and braced for yet more pain but none came. He was only met with the silken caress of fingers against his cheek. He looked up to greet the silhouette with his gaze. Although it had no facial features to speak of, he felt as if it was smiling down at him.
Then the figure spoke.
THEY HAVE TAKEN YOU FROM THE IMPERIAL CITY'S PRISON
FIRST BY CARRIAGE, NOW BY BOAT
TO THE EAST, TO MORROWIND
FEAR NOT, FOR I AM WATCHFUL
YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN
-o0o-
"Hey, wake up. Can you hear me? Is… Is he breathing? Wake up!"
The male Dunmer, hands shackled together at the wrist, reached forward and gently shook the unconscious Imperial lying lifelessly atop a row of crates. "Can you hear me?" the elf repeated. "Wake up!"
After one more prod the Imperial shot his eyes open, his panic stricken gaze immediately falling upon the person standing above him. The Dunmer (elves of gray skin and red eyes) reeled back in surprise but firmly kept the gaze of his one unbandaged eye on the Imperial. The elf breathed a quick sigh of relief.
"Good, you're awake," he said, bending down to his knees. "You're sweating like crazy. Do you feel ok?"
The Imperial could not yet speak. He looked down at his arms and naked chest to see that he was indeed covered in beads of sweat. Then as his other senses came flooding back he felt that his skin was clammy and cold, his arms and legs shook, and his mouth felt bone dry. The man attempted to mouth the word "water" and after a few failed attempts the elf left and returned with a flagon. The man gulped it down fast and quickly drank a second.
With throat now wet the man could finally speak "Who… are you?" the Imperial asked the elf. The elf came back with a third, larger flagon of water.
"Jiub," he replied. "What is yours?"
The man opened his mouth to reply but was struck silent. He did not know the answer to the question. He did not know his name. He did not know his name! The man closed his eyes and strained to remember but nothing came up. Nothing!
"I'm... not sure?" he finally replied.
"Hmm, you must be sicker than you look. How do you feel?"
"Not… good." He continued to try and remember anything: name, who he was, how he got here… But nothing came.
"Well, you have been asleep for quite a while, I could have guessed as much."
"How… long, exactly?"
"The entire length of the voyage, ever since they threw you onboard." He paused. "About a day and a half, I'd guess."
"W-What voyage?" the imperial stammered.
"To Vvardenfell," replied Jiub.
This was something the Imperial could remember. Vvardenfell was a large island and the main body of the Morrowind province, located in the northeast of the continent of Tamriel. The island itself was said to have split off from the mainland thousands of years ago after a particularly violent eruption of the landmass's massive volcano "Red Mountain." Since then, while still volcanically active, the island has remained safe to live upon for over fourth centuries.
But in spite of what the Imperial seemed to know- though he knew not how he knew it- a nagging feeling in his stomach told him that this place, Vvardenfell, was foreign. This was not his homeland. What was his motherland was yet another mystery.
"Why are we going to Vvardenfell?" the Imperial asked.
Jiub gave a small, grave cohort. "This is a prison boat. We're somewhere in the stern, below deck. We're all prisoners here. Even you, probably." The Imperial's eyes widened a bit. "I'd ask what you're in for, but that, it seems, would be pointless."
The man nodded. "What about you?" he then asked the elf.
Without a moment's hesitation, the elf replied. "Murder." Again, the Imperial's eyes widened. "A lot of murder, actually. For skooma." The Imperial could not remember what skooma was but remained silent. "Bit off more than I could chew one day and, well, here I am. Lost one of my eyes for my trouble."
Feeling some of his strength returning, the man strained to prop himself upright and against a bulkhead. "Did you happen to hear what I was brought here for?" he asked Jiub.
Jiub shook his head. "No, not really. But I did notice that the guards that brought you down here were real 'stiffs.' No bullshit, straight to the point, no nonsense. Seems you got enemies in high places."
The Imperial wanted to say more, but his momentary strength was quickly slipping away from him. "I... I think I'm going to go back to sleep now."
The elf shrugged. "Sure, sure," he dismissed, getting back to his feet and heading to another group on the other side of the room. The Imperial laid back down and fell asleep mere seconds later.
-o0o-
When the Imperial awoke again it was to the loud stamp of a polearm on the floor in front of him. He looked up with a jolt to the sight of three armed guards standing before him, the one in the middle clad in finer armor.
"We've docked," the middle guard said, "and this is where you get off. Come with us and don't cause any trouble."
The Imperial looked around for Jiub. All the other prisoners in the hold were standing and had their backs pressed against the walls. Jiub stood against the opposite wall of the Imperial. He offered no more than a shrug and a warning. "Better do what they say..."
Upon still shaky legs the man rose to his feet and the two other guards bound his hands behind his back. The three then led the Imperial out of the small hold into the next room, a storage area full of burlap sacks and wooden crates. He was led the ship's entire length, up a steep narrow set of steps to the next deck, and back down the entire length again. This level was of crew living quarters, the walls lined with bunks. At the other end of the ship was another set of steps leading to a hatch.
One of the yet unspoken guards went ahead of the group, climbed the steps and opened the hatch, letting in a blinding stream of sunlight.
"Get yourself up on deck," said one of the other guards, "and let's keep this as civil as possible." He then gave the Imperial a strong shove forward and he climbed the steps to the top deck.
It took the Imperial several seconds to regain his vision but before he could he was already being led across a gang plank to a creaking dock that connected to the land. Before he and the guards got halfway down the dock, another soldier was there to meet them. By then the Imperial's eyes had adjusted and he could see.
"Here his is," said the first guard, handing the soldier a scroll. "The 'high priority.'"
The soldier took a moment to unfurl and read the document and, once satisfied, nodded back. "Very good," he replied, turning his gave to the man. "So you finally arrive." He then turned back to the three. "This document is incomplete. This man's name and place of birth are left blank!"
"We know, Sir," said the first guard. "We asked the same thing when he was given into our custody back in Stonefalls. No one would tell us, no matter how much we asked. I don't think they knew either." The soldier groaned and looked through the document again. "But Sir, he has an official seal. So it shouldn't matter if-"
"Don't insult me!" the soldier snapped. "You drake-a-day-rent-a-cop! I know very well what this seal means! I'm not fresh off the teat!"
The three guards stiffened in attention. "Yes, Sir!" the same guard shot back.
"Leave us! I'll take him from here." The three nodded at once, in unison, and headed back to the boat.
The soldier, rolling the scroll back up, walked behind the Imperial and grabbed him by his bound wrists. "Head forward into the census office," he commanded. "No sudden movements or you'll be in a world of hurt." The Imperial was pushed and led forward to a stone and plaster building, a plaque next to the door reading "Census and Excise Building."
Inside was a room full of stocked bookshelves where another pair of soldiers stood and, against the opposite wall, was a desk and an old Breton man standing behind it. He was dressed in a long, dirt brown robe and his hair was balding and white. The Imperial was led into the middle of the room in front of the desk and ordered to halt.
The first soldier walked past the man and handed the old man the scroll. He quickly reviewed it. "It's incomplete," the old man said to the soldier.
"Yes, Sir," said the soldier. "I said as much to the men on the ship and they said they were given no information on the prisoner as well. All they seemed to know was that he was indeed a 'high priority.'"
Unimpressed, the Breton with scroll in hand walked out from behind his desk and approached the Imperial. Their eyes met and he glared slightly down at him. "This document had no name," he stated. "Do you have a name, prisoner?"
The Imperial said nothing and was rewarded with a swift hit to the back by the soldier, knocking him to his knees. "Answer the census agent!" the soldier demanded.
The Imperial stood back up and managed a reply. "I don't know."
The Breton raised an eyebrow. "Don't know?" he asked. "Or won't tell us? Or maybe you were dropped on your head too many times as a child!?"
"I. Don't. Know. I don't know my name nor my homeland, my place of birth, my life before waking up on the ship! Nothing!"
The Breton reeled back slightly but maintained his stare. "Keep your temper when speaking to me, Imperial!" he snapped. He mused for a moment before continuing further. "... But I think you are telling the truth."
"Thank you," the Imperial sighed.
The old man huffed and returned to his desk, taking a moment to look at the document again. "Destination: Balmora," he muttered aloud. "Very well then. Perhaps someone there will have answers." He rolled the document back up and placed it on the desk. "Correspondence will need to be sent to Balmora. I'll send out a courier by silt strider by dusk tonight. In the meantime, hold the prisoner in a cell."
"Yes Sir!" the soldier barked back, grabbing the Imperial by the binds again. "Forward, prisoner!"
The man was let out the room through another door, down a narrow hallway to an even narrower set of stone steps leading downward. They ended in another narrow, stone hallway with wooden doors on both the left and right every few feet. He was taken to the second to last door on the left, the door was unlocked, and the Imperial's hands were unbound before he was unceremoniously shoved in. The door shut behind him with a dull thud.
"Dinner is served in three hours," said the soldier as the lock clanked shut. "It may be a few days until correspondence comes back from Balmora. I suggest making yourself comfortable." He chuckled the last sentence as he turned and walked away. "And if you need to shit, give a yell. Otherwise, keep your mouth shut!"
The Imperial wanted to say something, scream something in protest, but could not find the strength to do so. He turned and took assessment at his new accommodations. The floor was covered in long, unsecure wooden boards. A small, barred hole near the ceiling bled in a beam of white daylight and a shallow, man-length pile of straw was the bed. The room was quite devoid of anything else.
Again the Imperial wanted to shout in anger, frustration, and confusion. It only seemed like a mere few hours ago he had awoken it was seemed another world without foreknowledge, allies, or anything but the clothes he wore. For the first time a feeling of helplessness washed over him, instantly replacing all anger and frustration. Now all the man wished to do was cry. So he retreated to the straw bed, laid himself down, curled himself up into a ball, and did just that until he fell asleep once again.
-o0o-
When the man awoke for the first time in his cell it was night. He looked around to see that a small, burning candle had been set up in the opposite corner next to a bowl of liquid with a spoon in it. A guard must had come as he slept and delivered the items. The Imperial crawled over to see that it was a thick beef and bean stew, now cold and a thin layer of congealed fat covering it. He scarfed down the meal regardless and not long after that he returned to his bed and sleep again.
When he awoke again it was morning and this time it was by a banging on the door. "Breakfast!" shouted a voice from the other side. "Against the far wall!" The Imperial clamored to his feet and did as instructed. A moment later the door opened and a plate of two hard-boiled eggs, a small bowl of soggy oats, an apple, and a flagon of water were lightly tossed in. Once the door was shut the starved man clamored over and once more ate his food with great speed.
When he finished eating and a guard came back to collect his utensils, he informed the Imperial that there was a respectable library back in the room he was first led into from the dock. If requested, he could have books brought to him to help pass the time. The Imperial took up the offer and asked for a "Guide of Vvardenfell." The guard grinned, knowing exactly what book to retrieve, and not long after came back with a single thick volume.
The Imperial wasted no time in looking through the heavy text. The book was fairly comprehensive, complete with maps and various local histories. His method in research was by no means methodical or meticulous. He spent much time hopping from subject to subject, using the index to search for words and phrases more than reading the articles themselves. Nevertheless he did so for hours.
His dedication to his reading, however, was just as haphazard as the method. For every one-third of time spent in reading two-thirds was spent spacing out and day dreaming on what he had just read. No matter his own personal will to learn, he could not bring himself to keep studying for any extended periods.
This continued into the evening and into the next morning and afternoon. By this time, the Imperial began to become aware of a growing uneasiness within himself. He quickly surmised that it was mostly due to his state of captivity and hunger, but he knew something else was at play. What it was he was not sure.
By dawn of the next day, coupled by his now persistent hunger, the Imperial's agitation had grown worse. He could still not exactly explain the source. It caused him to act needlessly hostile to the guard when he brought breakfast later than yesterday. His anger, however, was quickly doused when the guard gave a command.
"Eat and drink quickly," he barked. "Our courier has come back from Balmora. And I hear you are to be released soon." The Imperial ate quicker than he had the previous days and once finished was led back up the narrow stairs to the first room where the Breton stood waiting.
"Ah yes, we've been expecting you," he greeted. "We've received word from our informant in Balmora as to your purpose here in Vvardenfell. We cannot divulge too much here, but suffice to say that as of now, your status as prisoner has been officially revoked." A grin quickly swept over the Imperial's face.
"But make no mistake-!" added the Breton. The Imperial's smile vanished. "You are now under order by the Imperial Legion and failure to do as you are now instructed will be met by punishment of death." The old man paused to allow the threat to sink in. "You are to meet up with said informant in Balmora, by which time you will be under his command." The Breton reached in a drawer of his desk and retrieved the same scroll from before. "The informant has been tasked to send a letter to us if, after a week, you have not reported to him. If that happens, we will find you and put you to death." In spite of the old man's age, he spoke with a stern viciousness.
"Yes, Sir," said the Imperial with uneasiness. "Who am I to meet?"
"The document states as much," he replied. "When you arrive in Balmora, present your document to a guard and they will bring you where you need to go." He reached for a writing quill. "Now, before you can be officially released, you will have to be recorded. Your documentation is mostly in order with the exception of two crucial points: place-of-birth and name. We've taken the liberty of estimating your birthplace: northern Cyrodiil. You look like an Imperial but hold a slight Nord accent. This is the best we can do.
Now for your name. Let's try this again...What, Imperial, is your name?"
Again the Imperial paused and said nothing. The Breton groaned in frustration. "Unbelievable," he sighed. "You truly cannot remember your own name, can you!?" The Imperial shook his head. "Well our informant wishes to see you as soon as possible so if you cannot remember, you're just going to have to make one up!"
Before the Imperial had a chance to reply, a guard on looking in a corner of the room called out. "Give him an elven name, sir!" he called out. "Help him feel not too much like a stranger!" The other two guards in the room joined the first in a hardy, snarky chuckle.
The Breton remained unamused but pondered the thought for a brief moment. "Probably not a terrible idea," he thought aloud. "How about... Zayden, then?"
The guard that brought the Imperial back up the stairs cleared his throat. "Sir, I'm not sure that even is a real elven name."
"Close enough!" he snapped with impatience, scribing the name down onto the scroll. "Like I said, we haven't much time." Once finished and the ink dried he rolled it back up and handed it to the guard standing behind the Imperial. "Take this and 'Zayden' to the captain to officiate the release."
The guard took the document and barked back a curt "Yes, sir! Get moving, 'elf!'" The guards laughed once more as the Imperial was let out of the room and turned right, away from the hallway that led to the dungeon, and into an adjacent building.
Another Imperial man was waiting, standing behind a table covered with neat and orderly stacks of paper. "Gravius, sir!" the guard greeted, handing over the scroll. "The prisoner."
Gravius looked over the scroll impassively. "... Zayden?" he finally asked, looking to both the Imperial and the guard.
"It was Socucuis's idea," the guard.
"Hmm." Gravius smirked. "And I thought the old man lost all humor years ago... Very well." With a scrawl of an ink quill and a wax stamp the scroll was officiated. Gravius turned his direct attention to the Imperial.
"Listen well, 'Zayden.' You have been officially released from Imperial Legion custody. As of this moment, you are a free man." The guard behind the Imperial unbound his hands and Gravius handed the scroll to him. "That being said, according to this document, you have guidance from Emperor Uriel Septim VII himself."
The Imperial was stunned stiff. "The emperor?" he asked.
"Indeed. You have been tasked with meeting an informant in Balmora."
"Yes, I remember. It seems I have very little choice in the matter. If I refuse to meet up with him, I'll be killed. You have all made that quite clear." The Imperial's agitation was as strong as ever, and now on the cusp of freedom he wanted nothing more than the process to speed up.
"Indeed," Gravius repeated. "But that is the extent of your duties. Once that is complete, you will indeed be freed."
"Very well," the Imperial replied. He attempted to ask again who he was meeting. "Who is this informant then?"
His second attempt at finding out a name worked. "A man by the name of Caius Cosades. I cannot tell you exactly where to find him, but as far as I know, he is no stranger to the city. Ask around and someone is bound to tell you his whereabouts." Gravius turned around and opened a small chest on a shelf in the wall. After a moment of clanging metal he turned back with a small coin pouch.
"Soldier," he addressed the guard. "Take these funds and take Zayden to the trade house. Get him some clothes, supplies, and some weapons. Make sure there's enough for him to take a strider to Balmora. Once you're done, report back to me."
"Sir!" the guard called back. With one hand he took the coin pouch and with the other prodded Zayden to the opposite side of the room to another door that let, finally, to the outside world.
[Author's Note] This is a complete rewrite of a story of the same title, posted by me on this site by this profile years ago. If you enjoyed that story or were currently enjoying it, I have now since deleted it and am starting over. I apologize for any inconvenience. Looking back on the story I was unsatisfied by its quality and wanted, if for no other reason than my own personal satisfaction, rewrite the story and, with any hope, the other in the series and more. I hope you enjoy this new telling.