There's a certain rite of passage that occurred in every Huntsman's-slash-Huntress' lives: no matter how handy their Semblance may be (and especially so if theirs is less than optimal, in politically correct terms, or absent altogether), a moment would come when they really wish they had something else for their Semblance; whether at death's door or just mildly annoyed at some inconvenience, the thought eventually touched everyone.
Though his "rite of passage" had gone and passed long ago, Jaune Arc was currently experiencing such a moment himself, lamenting the fact that he didn't have something speedy for a Semblance, because he really, really needed to get to the portal to Vacuo, or else he'd be dead – just like his friends, just like one of them, whose tragic demise he had to see to personally, in particular.
Sadly, Jaune was not equipped with a handy speed-based Semblance, so when the bridges in wherever Ambrosius had sent them to started collapsing, the knight ended up just short of the portal. With a yelp, he fell down into the gaping void, the last victim of this calamity.
Or so the witnesses (or rather, just one of them, stricken by both grief and now guilt) would claim.
In reality? Well…
The moment Jaune felt his body go numb, then explode with pain while falling in the Void, he understood he was probably going to die. Hundreds of pinpricks enveloped every bit of the boy's skin, it felt like constantly stabbing all the way through.
Jaune, still in freefall, grit his teeth at the sensation. There wasn't really anything that could be done about this situation on his side; and, if he was going to be brutally disintegrated, or torn to shreds, or both, then, perhaps, it was for the best to accept the fact and ride it out until the unfortunate end. When a particularly big-sized pinprick bit into his chest, triggering a burst of pain in his heart, Jaune imagined a flash of orange hair and bright, hopeful green eyes – the very ones the fire in which he'd snuffed out himself.
If the physical pain wasn't going to do him in, the mental surely would. He was a killer now, and not the kind Yang and Blake were – part self-defense, part revenge. He was a friend-slayer – worst of the worst. Jaune resolved himself to his fate. He deserved it, and whatever gruesome end came next, he'd try to meet it with dignity – or what was left of it.
Only…the end never came. Suddenly, the pain lessened, then disappeared altogether. With a part-relieved, part-surprised sigh, Jaune opened his slightly teary eyes. The Void around, previously at least somewhat tinged with color, was now so dark the boy was struggling to see the lower half of his body; on the bright side he couldn't see but could feel, it seemed like he was no longer freefalling, instead descending at a very leisurely pace.
A sound of heartbeat assaulted his hearing. It wasn't his heart, that much he could tell – every beat, slow as they were to come, pulsing with sheer, unrestrained power. Amidst the blinding darkness, the heartbeat, initially faint, steadily became louder the further down he went. Eventually, got so loud, Jaune was forced to cover his ears.
Only it didn't help – the heartbeat seemed to be solely in his mind now, scrambling his thoughts into mismatched mush.
"Augh!" Jaune hissed, scrunching his eyes and wiggling about in nothingness, "Stop!"
The heartbeat unrelentingly continued for a few more torturous moments and then…it ceased. The silence, the contrast were so deafening, it took Jaune a few seconds to realize something:
He was on solid ground.
With his senses slowly coming back to their senses, Jaune opened his eyes and realized something else:
He was looking up at a blue sky; blue sky that was very quickly turning blood-red. Those were never a good sign. At this moment, his smell came back with an unpleasant surprise: stench of ash, so overwhelming it forced Jaune to sneeze and momentarily regret having a nose in the first place.
Such an assault on his senses knocked the knight out of his stupor, and he quickly sat up to assess his surroundings. What he saw hadn't exactly instilled confidence – before him were endless mounds and hills of charred, ashy wasteland; the only landmark was a seemingly huge force field barrier some distance away, circling around the area. Jaune imagined the barrier to be Hardlight Dust-powered, but something was…off about it?
Still, it was somewhere to go to.
"Ah, crap," Jaune silently cursed as he noticed how badly his mostly-white clothes were marred with ash while getting up; while laundry day wasn't high on priority list right now, walking around looking like a discount Grimm wasn't that appealing either. Suddenly, a strong gust of wind hit him in the back, almost sending the boy down to the ground again. Managing to keep his balance, Jaune turned around and froze at what was before him.
A mountain. A giant, ash-black mountain menacingly stretching high into the sky, filling up his vision entirely. It was a sight Jaune would love to enjoy more, but the sound of howling winds picking up meant that finding shelter was the more important objective. Another, much stronger gust of wind hit the boy head on, who, unprepared, fell gracelessly on his butt; this time, however, it did not relent, becoming more powerful by the second. That's when Jaune noticed the quite ominous swirls forming straight above the apex of the mountain.
It was no mountain. It was a volcano; and from the looks of it, one about to erupt.
"Shit!"
The ash storm descended upon him like a swarm of angry insects – ones that didn't bite at least, though it was a meager positive. In a split second, Jaune was blinded and coughing his lungs out, desperate to rid himself of ash.
It didn't help in the slightest; whatever Jaune managed to cough out was swiftly replaced as the storm picked up in strength. He needed to find shelter, fast, or he'd choke to death. Still coughing and covering his eyes, Jaune tried to run for the barrier.
He didn't make it far – a sudden, acute burst of agony in his heart and a similarly sudden feeling of overwhelming weakness across his entire body made the knight drop like a rock. Jaune clutched at his chest, feeling his Aura activate to repair whatever damage there was to his body. The pain lessened somewhat; the weakness got only worse.
With what was left of his strength, Jaune rolled onto his back and stared at the blood-red sky above, and coughed weakly as the storm around him picked up. So this was how he was going to die now – choking on ash and being buried in it. Some part of him, in his rapidly-malfunctioning brain, found the similarity between ash and cinder to be funny. Maybe he was dead. Maybe Cinder had killed him, somehow, and was now projecting these visions into his fading self for no other reason than to be cruel.
As Jaune's vision dimmed, the last thing he saw was an absolute, proboscis-faced abomination slowly hovering towards him.
"I greet you, Vemyn. Is this the one?"
"I greet you back, Dagoth. One of the loyal servants brought him to the citadel. He was right where you'd pointed us to, already halfway buried below the ash."
"The Heart had pointed me, in turn. Leave him here. I will see to his questioning personally when he wakes up."
"If he wakes up. It takes no divine sight to spot the Blight festering within him, and he looks quite wimpy."
"And yet, already he is doing much better than most, is he not? While I see your point, I am condfident this young man will pull through."
"As you wish, Dagoth. Shall I leave Sunder with you before I depart?"
"It is not yet time, dear brother. Keep hold of it for now. I may turn this precedent to our advantage yet."
Jaune hadn't quite expected to wake up again, at least not amidst the living; and, if the continued stabbing pain in his chest and the feeling of a lungful of ash were anything to go by, he still was.
Well, at least one of those things he could help. The sound of his coughs reverberating threw Jaune for a loop, before he opened his eyes and realized that he was no longer at the mercy of the raging mountain, but rather in a cave somewhere.
"I see you are awake now."
Jaune yelped as the voice, silky smooth yet filled with power, boomed in his ears, and the cave as a whole, and scrambled to get up, hands flying to where Crocea Mors had been hanging at his hip, only to realize in fright it was no longer there.
"Are you looking for this?" the voice boomed once again, from the opposite side of the cavern. Jaune looked into the lingering darkness and his breath hitched as the knight realized what it belonged to: a towering, incredibly muscular ashen-skinned person (if it could be called such) with vicious-looking claws instead of fingers donning a huge, ornate golden mask. It was holding Crocea Mors and walking towards Jaune slowly. He took an unconscious step back, but then willed himself to stay put despite the incoming advance, no matter how many nightmarish scenarios his mind went through in those few tense seconds.
"Oh. Pardon me," the figure suddenly stopped. "Most impolite to leave a potential challenger without his weapon."
Jaune watched as the figure held its clawed, bloody palm out and Crocea Mors, still sheathed, started slowly floating towards him; and the while it kept speaking, "Very exquisite craftsmanship, I must say. Shield acting as a sheath is a simple, but brilliant idea. You, however, have my condolences regarding the state of your blade; though, I must assure you that neither I, nor my followers are not at fault for its' condition."
So suddenly enthralled was Jaune by this mysterious person speaking, he almost missed the moment Crocea Mors floated into his hands; only once his palms felt the familiar weight and texture of the sheath, did he snap from his trance.
"Oh, uh…kinda my fault the blade's broken," Jaune admitted sheepishly, setting his weapon back on the belt.
"I see. Now, I imagine you have many questions you would ask of me, just as I have as many, if not more, to ask you, if you would answer."
"Uhhhn," Jaune replied unsurely, still on guard even with his weapon, despite this thing's apparent friendliness. "How about a question for a question, then? To keep it fair, I mean."
"That is generous of you to offer," the figure responded. "A question for a question? Very well. As is customary, to the challenger goes the first blow; or, a question, in this case."
Jaune relaxed. "Great. So, uh, who are you?"
The figure raised its' hand up and conjured a green bolt, sticking to the roof of the cave and illuminating both of them in a sicky-green shine. "I am Dagoth Ur, leader of the House Dagoth and true God of these sacred lands. I would ask you the same question in turn."
"Jaune Arc. Wait, you…did you say you're a god?"
Dagoth Ur tilted his head, ignoring the last remark "Hmmm…your name is of Breton origin, yet your features are obviously Nordic in nature. Interesting…but forgive me, and ask your next question."
Jaune grimaced internally. Those sounded like nationalities, or races, and he had never heard of each of those; plus, his present companion seemed to think himself a god. Well, maybe it was some faraway corner of Remnant…and maybe Dagoth Ur was just unwell in the head…
Oh who was he kidding? All clues so far pointed to him likely being far from home. Still….
"Where am I?" Jaune asked.
"Right now? Deep underneath the ground, in the bowels of Red Mountain," Dagoth Ur studied Jaune's reaction, "but I'll assume that is not enough. You are inside Red Mountain, in the very center of island of Vvardenfell, province of Morrowind, rightful home of the Dunmer. Does that sound more concise to you?"
Jaune stared blankly, his face turning pale. "I'm sorry, I have zero clue where that is. I'm…not on Remnant, am I? Uh, planet named Remnant?"
"I'm afraid not. Our planet goes by the name of Nirn, existing amidst the mortal plane of Mundus."
Sweet Oum. Jaune's short, shaky exhale was filled with dread. "I don't think I'm from your, uh, plane of existence at all."
Dagoth Ur nodded. "I shall allow myself to be somewhat surprised, despite your arrival being heralded by the Heart."
Jaune perked up at that, recalling the strange memory of a heartbeat while falling through the Void. "What-" He didn't get to finish, as the stinging in his chest, manageable before, reached a new height, making him slide down the cavern wall, heaving heavily for breath.
"Oh my," Dagoth cast another light ball from his palm and moved closer, inspecting him "What is this? Fascinating."
Jaune looked down to see his Aura flare and flicker constantly, like a dying lightbulb. "What's…happening to me?"
The masked being cleared its throat. "What happened to us trading questions as per your suggestion?" Jaune visibly slumped and groaned, which made Dagoth Ur chuckle. "However, since you have already answered my question regarding your origins, I shall answer yours."
A swriling ball of ash appeared (Jaune would normally be amazed at the blatant displays of what could only be magic, but he was too miserable right now) in Dagoth's palm, as he studied it closely. "You, my dear guest," he spoke, letting the ball deform and observing the ashes drifting to his feet, "seem to have contracted the Blight – or at least, that is what it is to most. To followers of Dagoth Ur, it is a divine blessing."
"I feel like I'm dying," Jaune coughed, grimacing at hundreds of pins assaulting his lungs for that.
"That would be what I had designed it for, along with ease of spread through the ash," Dagoth Ur confirmed nonchalantly, shocking the knight, "though I must say, whatever boon you possess right now that makes your body resist the disease – it is quite intr-"
"YOU WHAT?" Jaune interrupted angrily, jumping up. "You made this…disease? What kind of-"
"What kind of what, Jaune of Arc?" he was interrupted in turn, "What kind of god am I? Merciful, benevolent and kind – but only to those who deserve it."
"But that's not right," Jaune didn't relent, "If-if that ash storm outside was what infected me, then what if it reaches someplace people live?! You can't just-"
Dagoth voice, still calm and charismatic, interrupted him again, "You know nothing of history, of laws, or current situation in these lands. You are, by all means, a newborn child into our mortal plane; and yet, without knowledge and context, you already seek to judge me; most unwise thing to do."
"Then enlighten me, your divine majesty," Jaune spew out, "because I fail to see how what you're doing right now is anything but evil!"
"I would, but I shall not," the self-proclaimed god dismissed him. "For one, as an interloper, it is your duty to educate oneself on the history and customs of Morrowind, so as to not appear as ignorant as you act now; and two, it would take long, wasting what precious time you have left to act.
"I will permit myself to give you a comparison, however" he kept speaking, "so that you understand where I come from. It is obvious that, wherever you come from, civilization exists – cities, kingdoms, empires, so on. So I ask of you to imagine this: your homeland gets invaded by a malignant, cancerous growth of an empire. Its' hound dogs rape and pillage the lands, while the mongrels on top impose cruel laws and forbid your traditions. Would you not," Dagoth faced Jaune, and, though his face couldn't be seen, the knight felt their gazes collide, "want to free what is yours?"
Jaune was at a loss of words. "I-I guess but through killing even your own people?"
"House Dagoth are my people now," Dagoth Ur sighed, the sound muffled by his mask, "and everyone who welcomes me and themselves into it. But enough – we shan't speak more of this until you have a better vision of our lands. Your time runs short."
"What do you - the Blight…" Jaune realized, as another gout of pain left him breathless, "my Aura can take care of it."
"Is that what you call it? I felt a miniscule spark of divinity within you – then that must have been this "Aura" you speak of. Your body and soul are a battlefield between two divine blessings – but it is quite evident yours is losing."
Having caught his breath, Jaune patted his pockets, looking for this scroll. After a few nerve-wracking seconds where his already aching heart dropped with each pocket coming up empty, the little device was finally in his hands, though switched off. Dagoth Ur observed with interest as Jaune pressed the power button. Nothing happened.
"What? Come on…" Jaune hissed, pressing the power button a few more times with the same result.
"Having a little trouble, are we?"
"No, I just- need to check my Aura…" Sweating and with shaking hands, Jaune unlocked the back panel to check for any damage. The wiring looked fine, but the battery seemed to be completely fried; Jaune quickly took it out to inspect the thing closer. He realized it wasn't just fried – the Dust was gone altogether.
"How?" Jaune breathed out, then leaned back onto the rocks as the obvious answer came to him.
Dust didn't work beyond Remnant's limits. He was in a whole other dimension altogether. Figures.
Slipping the now-useless piece of plastic back into his pocket, Jaune, mentally exhausted, wiped his sweaty forehead, cringing at how weak he was feeling. "What now?" he asked the golden-masked deity. "Can't you cure it? Since you're it's creator?" he uttered the last word with pointed vitriol.
"It would be against my very being to do so," Dagoth Ur proclaimed, "for why should a God dispel his blessings?"
"Real nice blessings if they're killing me."
"Ah, but only those in my service and under my care will see them as much. And, forgive my bluntness, am I correct to assume you have no desire to be either of those?"
"After what you've shown me here? I don't think so," Jaune spat out, fighting off his nausea as he got up and ran a hand through his disheveled hair.
Dagoth Ur shook his head, the golden mask glowing sickly-yellow in the lighting. "I have not shown you all I could, and wanted to, to change your mind; but I respect your vow. If such really is your decision, then you'll be relieved to know that you can find respite from the Blight beyond my domain."
"You mean, I can get cured?" Jaune inquired hopefully.
"Indeed, though I would not call it such."
"In that case," Jaune started walking towards the only door he spotted in the cavern, "I will be on my way. I guess thanks to to you for saving me from being buried under ash – even if you're the one who caused it."
"You are, of course, free to leave, but doing so now would be quite unwise," Dagoth Ur stopped him. "First, you are quite deep underground, so finding your way up will take more of the precious time you have so little of; besides if you do get out, you will find yourself in a place where you're not likely to last more than a minute; and second, there is something else I would show you. It is quite important, I assure you."
Jaune sighed and stopped. "Fine, so long as you let me get to safety later. "
"I did not rise to my station through treachery and deceit, that much you can be sure of. Now, come." Dagoth Ur waved his hand and Jaune felt his mind flop – one moment he was in the cavern, the next he was…somewhere else, his senses in disarray.
Curse his motion sickness. Jaune crawled to a nearby edge and vomited whatever was in his stomach – then backed away from the edge in fright as he realized it led to a deep pit filled with lava.
"Do try to not lose your stomach in my presence again, thank you," Dagoth's voice brought him back. The he heard it.
The heartbeat. The very same one he'd heard already.
Jaune looked up in a flash, taking in the sight before him. A giant cavern, submerged in ominous, dark-red fog a fire pit underneath, a gigantic, semi-built humanoid monstrosity made of rock, hundreds of ashen-skinned people moving back and forth in an endless stream, bringing stone and carving it into the golem bit by bit, and at the center of its ribcage, at the center of it all – a heart that beat so strongly, Jaune could feel the vibrations in his bones, even though he and Dagoth were across the only bridge from it.
"That-that's what I heard!" the knight exclaimed, "I heard it when I was falling to this place! The-"
"The Heart," Dagoth Ur took over. "The heart of a dead god-progenitor. The single most powerful thing in this realm, radiating perfect divine energy with every beat. Magnificent, isn't it?"
Ominous came to Jaune's mind first, though he didn't voice it this time, instead settling for "It's…overwhelming."
"I can understand why it would be, for a mortal," Dagoth Ur conceded, his hands clasped behind his back and thoroughly enjoying the sight. "But the reason I gave brought you here, to the heart chamber, was for you to understand that it can also be your salvation."
"What do you mean?"
"I have spent countless aeons studying the Heart, getting familiar with it," Dagoth Ur faced Jaune, conjuring a small, see-through projection of the organ in his palm, "so when the it sang and beat in rhythm of your arrival, I listened…and I understood how to sing back."
Hope swelled up in Jaune's chest, momentarily overpowering the Blight's continuous ache. "You know to to send me back?"
"I do…yet I cannot do it," Dagoth Ur answered solemnly, crushing the rpojection in his disfigured hand.
"Why not?" Jaune despaired.
"It is possible," The masked God reassured him, "but not at the present. I will explain now in short, but you must give me your full attention, for I do not wish to repeat it twice.
"The heart, despite its divine origin, is a fickle thing, and requires three ancient artidfacts, three Tools of a long-gone genius, Kagrenac, to be manipulated successfully: Keening," he projected an image of a dagger with an icy blue blade; "Sunder," this time, it was a heavy-looking ebony hammer; "and Wraithguard," finally, an extremely-ornate bronze glove.
"Of those three, I already possess Keening and Sunder; however, as they have been crafted and tuned by their creator to withstand and manipulate divine energy, the potential they hold inside makes them extremely fatal to wield for everyone – for me it is but an inconvenience, however one I cannot get around. The problem, as you surely have guessed, is that Wraithguard is not in my possession. Without Wraithguard, I cannot put the tools to use. Without Wraithguard, I have but a fraction of control over the Heart, and, thus, cannot bring my plans to fruition. Without Wraithguard, I am unable to help you.
Therefore, I offer you this: bring me Wraithguard and I shall send you home."
Jaune stayed silent throughout, absorbing the information, then narrowed his eyes. "You want this Wraithguard to, what? Spread of your Blight around? If these storms were born without the tools, I can only imagine what kind of sick shit you'll do with them. And let's not-" he paused as another Blight attack hit him, "let's not ignore this giant monster you're building. Like hell you can force me to do anything for you."
Dagoth Ur regarded him curiously. "I am not forcing you to do anything. With my divine might, I very much could, but Dagoth Ur prefers his servants go come unto his service willingly, on their own accord. It is but an offer you are free to ignore. As, without Wraithguard, there is no conceivable way for you to head home, I welcome you to try and carve your own path into our world. Moreso, I should add, that, even if somebody else brings Wraithguard in my possession, you will be free to come here, to my abode, and I shall happily send you to whence you come from.
"But," Dagoth Ur paused, looking up, "there's always the question of that happening in your lifetime. This battle I am waging has lasted centuries, and will likely last many more; and Men have such short lifecycles."
Jaune watched as the masked madman raised his hands up; watched, as dark, ominous swirls reeking of ash and corruption rose from the Heart and all the way to the top – to the surface; watched, as countless workers? slaves? stopped all at once and began praying; then, when he seemed completely absorbed in the process, very slowly reached for his scabbard.
"It would not be a wise thing, to attack me now, at the center of my power," Dagoth Ur idly commented, without getting distracted, "it would be a shame to have a new arrival to our dimension – an infant, if you will – slain so early, wouldn't it?"
Jaune froze, hand just on the pommel of Crocea Mors. "How did you-"
"Omnipotent. Omniscient. And quite immortal. I hope you weren't counting on killing a god; and with a broken blade no less?" Dagoth Ur spoke with clear arrogance, finishing his ash-storm ritual and facing Jaune again. "Now, do you accept my proposal, or shall I send you away?"
The blond stared back, frowning and silent, thinking it over.
"How do I know you won't betray me if I do bring you the artifact?" was the next logical question in order.
Dagoth Ur let out an amused chuckle, his voice lighthearted. "What purpose would the act of me betraying you serve? I will have no problems shaping the heart with the Tools to accomplish your request. Unless you, out of nowhere, decide to pledge your loyalty for me, you will serve no purpose after bringing Wraithguard. In fact, taking into account the unjust animosity you have already accumulated for my cause, it will be better to have you gone quickly, to stop any further interference in my plans and designs."
Jaune, despite himself, snorted. "And you're telling me all that talk isn't just euphemisms for killing me once I bring you Wraithguard?"
"Even gods can rarely fumble their words and meanings, it seems," Dagoth Ur straight up laughed. "I do apologize for that. To make you understand, one reason in particular why my followers abide me is because I am fair and just in my dealings and promises, as I can afford to be. Take into account our conversation before this point – I have been nothing but truthful with you," he vaguely pointed towards hundreds of laborers in the cavern, toiling endlessly and tirelessly on the stone giant, "All of my subjects – I rule not through fear, but respect. Were I to go back on my word and slay someone who helped bring about the height of my power for simple convenience's sake, I would lose all that respect I worked hard to gain – from each and every single one of my followers. Need you any more reassurances?"
Jaune was stuck in an endless cycle of indecision.
On one hand, Dagoth Ur did seem to be open and somewhat trustworthy; then again, so had Ozpin, until the walls around him fell and he could no longer afford to be anyone else but a paranoid hermit with several millenia worth of secrets.
On one hand, Dagoth Ur was incredibly charismatic and easy-to-like; then again, so was Cinder fucking Fall, until she showed her true face.
Every time he came up with an argument to go along with the self-made God, some memory of his past experiences ruined it. It was a bloody back-and-forth, in that it left Jaune bloody exhausted, mentally, as ever-growing Blight within did physically.
Finally, he made his decision.
"Okay. I…I accept, I guess."
"Wonderful. Now, then, let's get to our business. Before two of the Tools of Kagrenac came into my hands, all three were held by the other Gods – the Cursed False Gods of Morrowind," Dagoth Ur mentioned the last bit with uncharacteristic hatred, "It was they who, so, so long ago, when the Heart had been fought over, poisoned the mind of my close friend and comrade, Indoril Nerevar, and turned him against me," Dagoth's voice picked up in intensity; some of the workers, Jaune noticed, have stopped to observe, "It was they who treacherously backstabbed and murdered Nerevar after my mortal self had been slain; it was they who sought the power of the Gods through the Heart and the Tools; and, finally, it was they who, for all their supposed divinity, bent their knee to the Empire vermin and let its' rodents trample our lands!"
Out the center of Dagoth's palm, a projection of a yellow-skinned, scantily clad woman with...long pointy ears (Jaune had to blink to ensure he was seeing right).
"Almalexia," Dagoth Ur whispered.
The projection changed to that of an ashen-skinned man in long white robes, elaborately-designed mask on his face.
"Sothia Sil."
Finally, it switched to a man both yellow and dark-skinned, the border running straight down the middle of his body.
"Vivec. Together, they form the Tribunal of the False Gods, though ALMSIVI is what they, and many poor souls deluded into their worship, prefer to call themselves. Hmph," he crushed Vivec's projection in his palm. "For a long time, they held the Tools, using them- no, molesting the Heart with them to hold onto their divinity. Now that I have two of them, the False Gods' divinity is in danger; they are scared, and desperate no doubt. Your best chance of finding Wraithguard would be in possession of one of them."
"Wait, wait, wait," Jaune interjected, "A living god has what you need? How am I even supposed to take something from a God?"
"That is something you will have you deal with yourself," Dagoth Ur answered very unhelpfully. "Without the Heart's power fueling them, all three are considerably weaker – and, most importantly, mortal; however, fighting a God head on would be a foolish, if bold, endeavor, though with the most direct results," he made a show of tapping the chin of his golden mask, the faint metal dings echoing throughout the cave, "I would advise you to not rush this business at all, and gather your wits and strength. While I have little doubt of your martial prowess, that alone will scarcely be enough against a divine being, even a bastardized one."
"That's…not helpful much," Jaune shook his head, feeling dizzy right away.
"In that case, there is another opportunity you may target," Dagoth Ur continued, "Every once in a while, a challenger comes along – the reincarnation of my faithful old friend, Nevervar, prophesized to bring an end to the False Gods – and to me; many have tried, though none have succeeded. I have felt the arrival of the newest reincarnation, not too long before your own. This one's path, whoever they may be, will obviously take them to the Tribunal. Were I you, I would study their movements, and strike if Wraithguard was to come in their possession, one way or another."
One of the workers above them slipped off the edge; to Jaune's astonishment, instead of plummeting to his doom, with a flick of the god's wrist, he was swiftly suspended in midair and slowly returned to the platform, where he was caught and pulled back by the others.
"How?" Jaune asked, then paused. If Dagoth Ur was a god, and he certainly did some godly things, and it couldn't have been a Semblance, and Ozpin performed similar feats once he invaded Oscar, then…"Magic?"
"I would think it obvious," Dagoth Ur tilted his head, "Or does magic not exist in your lands?"
"No. Not, uh, in the form you do it."
"Ah, how sweet it is to be a god. But magic is not limited solely to divine beings. Or was it not the case for you?"
"Nope. Hold on," Jaune did a double take, "You're saying anyone can use magic? E-even me?"
"Exactly. Though I know not how it will happen given your unique…circumstances, but if you do find some aptitude for arcane arts, it would be in your best interests to pursue them."
Okay. There was a real possibility he could learn magic. That was at least something to look to. Still, Jaune wouldn't have much time to daydream, as the Blight within reminded of its existence with a particularyly nasty wave of pain.
Right. Jaune Arc was still terminally ill, hopefully only for the time being.
"You've said I'm running out of time," Jaune gasped through gritted teeth, taking shallow breaths. "And I sure feel it; so if I'm really doing this, I'd like to know where exactly these gods are."
"Of course, of course, don't let me keep you," Dagoth Ur chuckled, "but before you so urgently depart, I have something else that will be of much use to you." He snapped his fingers, and, instantly, one of the many nameless workers ceased his toiling and sped up towards the masked deity with a wrapped item in his hands; though, instead of giving said item to the masked deity, he handed the wrap to Jaune. Accepting the gift, Jaune looked at the face of the person, only to recoil in fright and disgust – the eyes and nose were gone, hollowness stretching deep into the skull in their place. As quick as he arrived, the poor soul rushed back to his workplace, leaving only a lingering sense of unease in the air.
Hesitantly, Jaune unwrapped the item. A map – it was a map, of a large island, no less. A bunch of dots were strewn all over the place, and the surrounding, smaller islands, with inscriptions above them, but those were written in a language Jaune had no idea how go read.
"Uhhh," he pointed helplessly to the map, "I don't understand this language."
"It is of no issue," Dagoth Ur declared, concentrating, then sent a green, swirling magic ball out of his hand that hit Jaune head on. The knight felt an intense headache for a brief second; once the worst of it had passed, he opened his eyes to look at the map again, only to realize that the inscriptions were quite understandable now.
Magic.
"The spell will last for quite some time, however I would advise gaining even the most rudimentary knowledge of our language before it wears off," Dagoth Ur said. "Now, it is known for a fact that, of the Tribunal, only Vivec resides here, in Vvardenfell," he pointed to a huge marker off the south coast of the island aptly named Vivec. "The other two reside in the capital city, Mournhold, on the mainland Morrowind; you will have to find your own way there, if the need arises.
Unless you have further questions, I will send you here," the god pointed to a location named Ghostgate, not far off the center, "and after that, you will be free to travel whereever you please. Do you?"
Jaune breathed in as deep as he could, absorbing the information. "...I do" he responded, "I...you're evil. What you're doing here, what little I know, js evil. I don't think anything will change that impression. But...why? Why are you helping me?"
"It is the most pragmatic thing to do," Dagoth Ur replied, observing the work of his followers. "What have I given you here? My time? Time is meaningless to me now. My answers? Likewise. This map? Please. What I have given you is nothing compared to what I potentially gain from you. It is that simple."
"That's...pretty fair, actually," Jaune nodded. "I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be."
"Very good," Dagoth Ur turned to Jaune. "However, I must inform you, Jaune Arc. Though loosely, you can now be considered an agent of House Dagoth. The Empire that, sadly, controls most of the land on Vvardenfell, considers all members and associates of my House to be its enemies. While I will relay the news to my followers within the Red Mountain that you are not to be harmed so long as you do not make an enemy of my House, in the interest of keeping your cover up, I shall not do so for any of my agents on the rest of the island, so they will be hostile to you."
"Great," Jaune groaned, "so what am I supposed to do then?"
"I'd rather you not kill them, but if that is what it takes to keep Imperial dogs and their supporters ignorant of your true allegiance, then it shall be so."
Jaune spared a fleeting glance at Crocea Mors. "I'd rather not kill anyone at all."
"A noble idea, though one likely to fail."
"I think I'll manage."
"Very well, I am not the mortal one here, after all," Jaune got the impression that Dagoth Ur was smiling behind his mask. "Oh, and one last warning," he spoke while preparing to cast a spell, "Once you leave, I would think twice about allying yourself with the False Gods. I am truthful and fair as I can afford to be; they cannot. They will grapple onto any opportunity to keep their divinity through empty words and false promises. More than once, throughout history, The False Gods chose to use treachery and betrayal in their dealings, and they're very likely to do so with you as well. Should you choose to fight on the Tribunal's side, not only will you never come back home, but also, should they succeed and I fall, you will likely also be discarded and thrown away. Remember this."
With a whooshing sound the spell was cast, and the world lurched once more.
Morrowind is a pretty trippy game, ngl. Red Mountain area is so cool though, and with appropriate music, such as /TLlIuVWRxn0 ? Chef's kiss. Inspired me to write this.
also I'm marking this as complete for the time making, while I work on sth else. I know very well about my poor track record of stories I've started and never finished, for one reason or another.
EDIT 2023-07-08: Fixed a bunch of mistakes and typos all over the place. I remember now, I was editing and uploading it while drunk. Go figure.