Chapter 5 – Interlude 2; How The King Came Into Play
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Castle Wayrest, High Rock, Sun’s Height 3E397. It is 32 years before the present day. Morgiah is 21.
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There was a restlessness in Wayrest; it had been building up to a peak since Fiery Night. Morgiah could feel it.
There was something wrong with the emperor. Everyone knew it, although it was seldom spoken of. Rumours came of his out-of-character behaviour, his untypical comments and decisions. It was as if another emperor had taken over and was living under his skin. Morgiah remembered her brief audience with him two years ago, with Helseth and her mother… it had been just before the news of their father’s death, and their move to Wayrest.
And she remembered how quiet her mother had been after that, as if she were carrying some terrible burden. The presence of Eadwyre lifted it, but only slightly. It was obvious that Barenziah knew more about the emperor’s condition than she was letting on.
And now rumours, more rumours all over Tamriel, not to mention High Rock, of something (or someone?) happening to turn the tide against this strangeness, and the digging up of old artefacts… Morgiah had heard tell that the Oghma Infinium had been found.
As soon as she had heard this, she had gone to the library to look up the lore of legendary artefacts. She had so far found information on the twenty or so of which were considered the most powerful and important. And there, right in front of her, was a description of the Oghma Infinium. The knowledge-giver. A ‘tome written by the Ageless One, the wizard-sage Xarses - All who read the Infinium are filled with the energy of the artifact which can be manipulated to raise one’s wisdom to that of near demi-god proportions… if he can brave the might of the Daedra Prince Hermaeus Mora, the giver of the Tome.’
Morgiah usually tried to stay away from gods and goddesses, demi or not. She didn’t want to be a demi-god. She just wanted the knowledge.
But Hermaeus Mora…
She knew it would never amount to anything. They were just daydreams. Silly, grandiose fantasies. But it was hard to keep from thinking of it. So hard that during her next tutoring session in the library, she was uncharacteristically uninterested in her revision of what Karethys called ‘Cultural Study’. She was looking lazily across the quiet room, at the patterns on her tutor’s cloak.
“That’s a pretty brooch, Karethys,” she said vaguely. “An unusual rune. What does it mean?”
Her tutor seemed to hesitate. “It’s… a symbol. Of devotion.”
“To what?”
Karethys turned a perfectly level gaze on her. “A leader,” she said unhelpfully, easing a book onto the shelf. “Your last hour is finished,” she continued, as if nothing had been said. “You may spend the afternoon as you wish. Would you like to stay in the library? I shall leave the windows open for you.”
“Thank you, Karethys. I think I might.”
The tutor retired and shut the door quietly; Morgiah got up and browsed along the shelves. She felt like something different today. History, maybe, or something more frivolous – she was in a fanciful mood, and the library, the view from the windows, even the weak daylight glow of the oil-lamps seemed adventurous.
She returned to the table with a pile of books from dusty and forgotten corners, picked up the oldest and dustiest of all, and began to read.
Creation myths… old monarchs… the continents over the sea… the shaping of the lands… the migration of the elves… old heroes, old tyrants, old figureheads, and the symbols of their power and domination…
She blinked suddenly, staring at the familiar shape that had appeared on the page before her. She had seen it only moments before. The rune on Karethys’ cloak-clasp.
“…a symbol. Of devotion.”
Morgiah pulled the book towards her, curiosity and excitement rising through her. The commentary next to the symbol described it as a rune of questionable meaning and origin, apparently incorporating aspects from Altmeri and some form of ancient Breton. At one tyme thys symbol maye have been prominent, it told, and although now yt ys more obscure, yt ys no less commone. At one tyme certaynly yt was recognysed as the syne of allegyence to that Sorceror, that Worm Kyng, who trycked the secrets from the pawes of the gods to learne his craft.
Morgiah sat back. Something strange had happened to the room, or to her – she suddenly felt as if she were looking into an abyss, or falling into the sky. As if some vast space and distance were laid out before her. Worm King. Worm King?
“…a leader.”
It was as if she was putting one foot onto a bridge that would lead ahead of her whole life.
She cross-referenced ‘Worm King’ in the library indexes, and with the results began to search the shelves.
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Palace North Wing, Mournhold, Morrowind, 7th First Seed 4E 429, Present Day.
Helseth looked across the desk at his interviewee. The person was wearing a black robe which all but obscured his face, and was sitting motionlessly and quiet.
“You do, then, understand the implication of this project?” Helseth asked him.
“I am aware that its successful implementation will drive the n’wah from the land,” replied the figure. “That is enough for the Sixth House Dreamers left behind at Dagoth Ur’s demise. You have given us a focus; a means to achieve our end. I do not fully understand what you intend to do, but I stand by you nonetheless.”
“Then as a devoted subject you deserve that understanding,”
Helseth confirmed, knowing well the etiquette of such situations. “Are you familiar with the history of Tiber Septim’s uprising, and of his use of the Dwemer golem Numidium?
“I know a little of the lore,” replied the figure, his mouth just visible under the hood of the cloak. The lips were very red. “Septim used the heart of his battlemage, Zurin Arctus, to create the heart of the golem Numidium. Using this monstrous weapon, he forcibly pulled the provinces together to create his empire. I hear the same golem was also involved in the so-called ‘Warp of the West’ nineteen years ago, but how or why I do not know.”
“You are correct, although you do not know the full extent of Numidium, or its influence, despite the fact that it is now irreparably broken and scattered throughout Oblivion.” Helseth sat back and laced his fingers together. “First, its construction. The Dwemer obviously took care of the mechanical side.
However, two artefacts were needed in addition. The Totem was a device that the emperor held, in order to direct and control the golem. The Mantella, as you said, was the device placed inside Numidium – its heart, if you will – without which the golem would be useless. Through my extensive studies I have concluded that this heart, this Mantella, is a kind of enormously powerful soul-gem. Numidium’s mantella was powered by the soul of Zurin Arctus, and was the source of the golem’s vast potential.”
“You explain well,” said the Abandoned Dreamer. “I understand now. You wish to create a Numudium for yourself, using (I assume) the remains of Akulakhan, the shattered golem in Dagoth Ur’s chamber at the centre of Red Mountain. You’ll forge your own empire.”
“Yes,” said Helseth.
The Dreamer drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “And Vivec and Bagarn?”
“Essential,” Helseth confirmed. “Now Sotha Sil has unfortunately met his end, Vivec is the most magically adept and only individual within our grasp capable of making these two artefacts. Bagarn is obvious. No mer could outstrip a Dwemer when it comes to mechanics.”
“And when Vivec has served his purpose, you will use his soul to power the new mantella?”
For the first time, Helsth seemed uncertain. “No,” he said slowly. “That is… a problem. Vivec is mad, and highly unstable. An unstable mantella means an unstable golem, and that could be the death of us all.”
“Then who?”
“There are several options which come to mind,” Helseth said thoughtfully. “The obvious, and most impossible, is the emperor himself. But though the unrest in Cyrodiil City has not escaped my attention, even I am not so brave, not to mention foolish, as to attempt such a feat. Besides, he is old, and weak.”
“I next considered Nulfaga,” he continued, “who is now (with my greatest gratitude) in your full control. But of course Nulfaga presents the same difficulties as Vivec – though immensely powerful, her mind is grossly unstable. I would not use her unless all other options were exhausted.”
“It seems you are running out of candidates,” remarked the black-robed figure. “We could perhaps have soultrapped Divath Fyr, had you warned us.”
“I did think of that,” admitted the King, “but we had then no means to trap a soul as powerful as Fyr’s. We would have needed a mechanically completed mantella, and so it would have been necessary to keep him alive and in captivity until it was made. That would have been impossible. Silence, stealth and, utmostly, surprise, were our only weapons against him.
Even then I believe it was a closer shave than you would like to admit.”
The Dreamer said nothing.
“But there is one other,” murmured Helseth, narrowing his eyes in thought. “When I resided in High Rock, in the province of Wayrest, we had rumour of an age-old being – a sorcerer – now known chiefly as the leader of the Necromancers. Have you heard of what I speak?”
“Once or twice,” said the Dreamer slowly, “though I believed it was little more than a legend.”
“It is a legend; but it happens to be a true one. I have the fortune to know someone whom I suspect may have had dealings with this leader at some point –”
“Who?” interrupted the Dreamer, forgetting himself.
“– which if my suspicions are correct,” Helseth continued, ignoring him, “we may use to capture and subsequently soultrap this being. It’s a long shot, but difficult though it may be, I think it could be the best.”
“And who is this person we might use to bring us closer to the Necromantic leader, your majesty?” asked the Dreamer, deferential in the face of his lapsed humility.
Helseth said nothing; his face was in shadow.
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Castle Wayrest, High Rock, Last Seed 3E397. Back in the Library, 32 years before the present day.
Three hours later, Morgiah was entranced.
Necromancers. That was it. This Worm King, or King of Worms as he was more commonly known, was the leader of the Necromancers, and had been for as long as memory permitted. Where had he come from? No-one knew. No record stated his birth and parentage – had he even been born at all?
The oldest dates in which she had found references were thousands of years old. This was beyond Dunmer, even Altmer, life span. But he was certainly not a Daedroth…
‘Tricked the secrets from the paws of the gods.’ What did it mean?
First and foremost, of course, was that the untranslatable rune was undoubtedly the badge of a Necromancer. Morgiah sat back, and let out a breath she’d been unaware of holding.
So, Karethys, she thought. I wonder what other secrets you’re keeping?
On to the next chapter