Morrowind- Chapters 4-6

[Emperor Wilbers]

The continuation of my novel. I think that I have not been putting out my best work and when I read over it again I feel that it was not nearly as good as it should be. I am going to be trying to make better chapters starting with 5 and on.



Chapter Four

   Out of all places in Vvardenfell none was more beautiful than that of the mountain tops overlooking the Bitter Coast, on the western side of the island of Vvardenfell. The slopes are steep and are treacherous for any who dares challenges nature. Many have tried to scale its walls, and all have failed, but one. Out of all that have tried only one fearless soul has made it up. An Argonian made it to the top with barely any trouble. Once to the top of the mountains he threatened nature, and the gods by extension, by building his new home atop the mountain overlooking Gnaar Mok, a small fishing village under the command of the Great House Hlaalu, one of the three organized governments in Vvardenfell.
   Some called the creature a saint; some called him unspeakable names. No one knew much about this peculiar interesting being, other than that he lived in his resort house in the mountains, and never came out. Some even questioned whether he was alive or not. He had lived in the mountains for seventeen entire years. After about the eighth year, though, people had started to forget about him, and the only thing that remained of this most interesting man was that of his sole existence in the mountains, nothing more, nothing less.
   The man had fancied himself the title of a Minister. He was a peaceful man, with no intentions on setting any major goals in life, and had reached spiritual enlightenment in his early thirties. He strived for making every day count. The minister was to the day in his fifties.
   The minister was sleeping in his chambers until he was awoken by the sunlight streaming in on his face. He squinted his eyes and sat up, stretched, then got ready for the day. He was a tall, slender man, and had appeared to be about thirty years of age. Small wrinkles in his face show that he has experienced much, and his complete composure was inviting, but at the same time intimidating, which he thought gave him a slight advantage in many situations, if he needed it, and he hadn?t needed this characteristic for  many years.
The minister left his room with a silk robe on through the main section of his house and out the back door on to a terrace. The terrace looked out on the town of Gnaar Mok. It was dawn, and there was a slight nip in the air. Dew covered the grass on the mountains, and birds were chirping in the trees. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, and exhaled. He stood for several minutes, breathing, until he sat down on a handmade cast iron chair imported from the province, Black Marsh, south of Morrowind. All of the furniture on the terrace was unique and added a very unique charm to the house, and the minister relished in the fact that it was all his and no one was there to take it away.
The Minister had spent several hours on the terrace overlooking the sea in a sort of trance. Then, a flock of birds had flown away screeching. The outburst had nearly knocked the argonian?s seat over. He rose from his chair and walked to the edge of the terrace expressionless. He leaned over gazing down into the tree tops. There was absolutely nothing popping out to him. ?Humph, Must?ve been a Rat,? he muttered.
The minister turned around and saw that he was no longer in his home. His eyes widened and his head jerked around observing where he was. Everything had a yellow tint to it. He got himself together and thought about where he was.
He could not see his house anywhere; there was no doubt about it. He was in a small field and small trees and bushes had surrounded the area. The sun was nowhere to be seen, but it was still light out. He turned around several times until on his third time round he stopped and saw a figure stand out.
Directly in front of the Argonian was a Dunmer. The minister had stepped back in awe. He had known exactly who the dark elf was. It was Boethiah.
?Good to see you, minister,? said the elf. He was about 7 feet tall, only a few inches taller than the Argonian, and showed nothing of his body form except for his face, which was menacing. The man was wearing a stylish hooded red robe that made his shoulders appear broader than they could have been and himself taller than he really was. The Dunmer?s head was slightly facing down with a grin on his face.
The minister stood motionless and did not speak.
The God chuckled. ?Is there a reason you are so pale? You seem so? Perturbed. I assure you there is nothing to worry about.?
The minister stood motionless.
Boethiah smirked. ?I have come to ascertain a sliver of information, and you are going to tell me everything.?
?What is it that My Master fancies so? I do not believe I could possibly have obtained any knowledge that would be of some convenience to you,? he said with a slightly offending tone in his voice.
?Oh don?t play that with me. I know that you have a considerable amount of knowledge that would be of use to me, but I only come to acquire a single piece of your vast collection of knowledge. Are you familiar with the tale of the Nerevar?? Boethiah asked. He started walking around the minister, and the minister?s eyes followed him.
He hesitated and then responded. ?Nothing of the sort. As far as I am concerned it is a load of folk lore that is used to get diminutive children to sleep.?
?Oh, quite the contrary, actually. It isn?t just a tale. It?s as real as you and I are standing before each other today. It is all about the hero who comes to Morrowind destined to save them from the doom that looms over. I assure you this is no fairy tale.?
?So, what is there to be concerned? I assume he is one in favor of good. What would you want from me??
?Yes, and we want to help the good, do we not? So, in the favor of good, I must ask you first this simple question. What do you know of the Nerevar??
?Nothing whatsoever. I never paid any attention to that story when I was young anyway.?
?I know you?re lying,? Boethiah said. A large smirk stretched out on his face. He stopped in front of the Minister. ?You will tell me where I can find two rare artifacts. These artifacts are crucial to the Nerevar?s cause. I want to help him, and I can?t help him without these two artifacts. You know these of which I speak, don?t you??
The Minister was sweating a storm. ?I have lived in the mountains for the past portion of my life. Do you honestly expect me to have knowing of such things?? He crossed his arms in a huff and turned to the sky to his left.
?These are not recent by any means, and I know you have a history. A history which you want to forget.? His smirk grew wider.
?I know nothing, you fool!? The enraged Argonian?s arms were stretched out behind him and his face was full of rage and terror.
Boethiah stepped back a few steps in reaction to the outburst, his countenance irritated. ?Fine, if I cannot get through to you this way, then I will fall back to other means of finding the answer to my question. Be warned, Argonian, if you cross me the wrong way, I will make sure there are no more mountains in your pitiful little existence on this wasteland of an island.? He turned with a swoosh of his robes and disappeared into the hazy mist of the morning.
The minister turned pale and fell to the ground, his eyes closing as he was falling, and into a deep sleep.
He woke up on his terrace. He glanced around making sure he was alone. He was. He stood up, brushed himself off and walked back inside his house.