Utilizador:Dave the nord/My Fanfiction/The Illunibi Incident

It was early morning the 17th of Heartfire. Berenaur Hlenrel woke to the smell of moist leather, as he did every day of his miserable service to the legion. The same as every day the first thing he uttered to himself was “Damn this legion”. He dragged himself out of bed wearily out of bed to the sound of the breakfast horn. He could of sworn it was earlier than 4:30. Fort Buckmoth seemed as unhomely as ever. “I hate Middas” he mumbled as he began trudging his hard leather boots down to the mess. What was it today for breakfast? Stale bread and sludge composed of Hackle-Lo Leaf same as always. No change there then. He longed for adventure, slaying monsters and rescuing wenches from dungeons, but all he got was “Help! Someone stole my sweetroll!” from the most pathetic of bakers. The Legion didn’t tell him that when they recruited him. “Adventures beyond your wildest dreams” they said. The best he had ever got was slave smugglers in a cave in Seyda Neen, and even that wasn’t as fun it sounded. After he finished his sludge, he went out into the courtyard for briefing. Raesa Pullia was same as ever. Grouchy. You didn’t want to get on her bad side. The cliff racers were already disturbing the sleeping citizens of Ald-Ruhn not to mention the garrison. The briefing was the same as ever for them. Head down to Gnaar-Mok and patrol the area up to Khartag Point then turn back to Ald-Ruhn and continue everyday guarding of the Gates, Town and Manor District. That was it. Like he said he hated middas, everything about the patrol was boring and repulsive. At the end of the patrol he had to empty the spore pods and bog water out of his boots and leave them to dry for the next day.

If you haven’t already guessed by this point, Berenaur was a Dunmer or “Dark Elf” as the westerners call them. His hair was long and bound in a pony tail to the back of his head, making putting the helmet on a little more than a bit difficult. His face bore two tatoos he had recieved on his 19th birthday, both in a sweeping motion dow his face, one blue, one white. He was 28 years of age, this coming Frostfall, and even that birthday he wasn’t happy to see. He wasn’t happy every day of service he did to the legion. The pay was bad, the beds were hard as stone and his roommate s’wit, Ulvids Selvrom, tormented him near every day with his story of how he used to be an adventurer until he took an arrow to the knee. Why then if you had taken an arrow to the knee would you decide that guard duty was better than adventuring? It was either that story or the one purely to tease Berenaur about how his cousin was out fighting dragons and what did he get? Guard duty. Guarsh*t is what he thought of that story.

Anyway, getting back to our story, Berenaur started the scouting patrol as normal, trudging through the ash, into the grassland swamps wearily, hoping that Azura would grace him with a single drop of Sujamma when he got to Gnaar-Mok. No such luck for a legionnaire like me he chuckled half-heartedly to himself, trying to make himself feel better, but failing direly. The stink of whatever was rotting in the bogs, and now in his boots was unbearable as ever and it was worsened by the pus from his blisters seeping out into the liquid. Now you know why he hated his life in the legion. Now you know why he wished he was out there fighting monsters. Little did he know that he would be shortly, for his life.

As soon as they got to Gnaar-Mok, Berenaur’s patrol asked about any disturbances with the local watch, and moved on to Khartag point. The marched off the rotted wooden planks that were being used as pathways, and onto the grassland swamps again up to Khartag Point. He could of sworn that for a second, near the large rock known as Khartag Point that he saw something move. Something that looked almost human, but when he looked back it was gone. “What was that?” stammered Berenaur. “What?’’, Ulvids whisperedback to him. “N-Nothing” Berenaur replied. “Just my Imagination thats all.”. “Quit trying to scare me Berenaur’’ hissed Ulvids. But Berenaur was too lost in thought and scared to respond. As they walked further and further along the spit of land, Berenaur became more and more frightened, he could feel his legs shaking in his greaves, but he dared not protest against their route, for fear of the cold wrath of Raesa Pullia.

By this time the sun was just beggining to beeak the tip of its warm brow over the horizon, and the star of Azura was clearly visible in the sky. As they continued closer and closer to Khartag point, Berenaur searched for it in the overhanging fog. He wasn’t looking up when it first begun. Suddenly Ulvids, who was marching in front of him slammed to a halt, as did the rest of the patrol. To Berenaur's horror, standing in the silhouette of Khartag point were several figures. “Who goes There?’’ shouted the patrol leader. “Friend or Foe’’. All he got back was a distorted groan. “Who goes there?” shouted the patrol leader once again, although this time in a more worried fashion. No reply. For what seemed like hours they stood, frozen in fear and suddenly, as the sun the sun broke the shadow of Khartag point, their faces were revealed. And they were no men, but corprus monsters and lots of them. At that point, Berenaur felt more scared than he had ever been in the entirety of his life. Then, at the worst possible moment, more appeared from around them and converged on the patrol. Ulvids was dragged away by one Hulking Lame corprus who dragged him by the right pauldron to the ground and began to hideously disembowl him. In a panic, the patrol ran in different directions, looking for cover or to hide form these monsters. Those who stayed to fight were overwhelmed and maimed and most who ran were torn back to the monsters by the iron grips of these beasts. Berenaur dropped his sword and shield and ran. He didn’t know where he was running, just away from the monsters in general. He and some other men threw themselves into a nearby cave to attempt to escape the carnage and that was the worst mistake they ever made.

They stumbled down a slippery stone pathway into a pool of freezing dirty water where they stayed. After a short time the screaming outside ended and left in its wake, a chilling silence, followed only by the sound of the feet of the monsters, dragging seemingly closer and closer to their patrol. “What the f**k was that” whispered one of Berenaur’s fellow scouts. “I don’t know but it sounds like they’re headed this way” hissed another. “We’d better get moving then.”, replied the first. “Azura preserve us” whispered Berenaur in quiet, shaky voice. The remainder of the patrol, now trapped inside the cave agreed to move further into it in an attempt to escape the creatures outside, however one was not moving, knees in arms on his rear, rocking himself back and forwards repeating the words “He is awake. He is awake.” over and over. They were forced to leave him behind. Their fears were confirmed, when they heard him screaming shrilly and brutally behind them. The creatures had entered the cave.

As they got further and further into the cave, more and more of them were picked off by ash slaves, lurking in the tunnels. After a long while stumbling fearfully around the cave, they came to a room, lit by red lanterns that smelt like it had come straight from Namira herself. Bells lay on pedestals, next to great hammers inscribed with the Characters Xeswj Javxi Tehh Oexi, roughly translated into the language of men and mer, These Daedric Characters spell the words: Sixth House Will Rise. One brave or otherwise foolish soul, picked up one such hammer and armed himself with it. As they drew further into the room they saw the worst yet of their torments, a man with his back turned to them sitting, legs crossed. As they drew close the figure started to talk “And who might you be” he said in a blood chilling voice. The legionnaire with the hammer drew closer and said in a brave voice “Fort Buckmoth Garrison Scouts of the 3rd Division. What sort of twisted man are you, living in this cave?”. Their was a short silence before the man stood up “Oh” he chuckled coldly, “I am no man” at this point he turned around revealing his face. He was an it. At this point, the one holding the bell hammer still, ran forward yelling, hammer raised above his head, attempting to kill the thing. Seconds later, the hammer hit the ground with a clang and rolled around for a second before lying still next to the now lifeless body of the legionnaire. As the corprus monsters appeared from behind them, Berenaur grabbed for the hammer and suddenly stopped with his hand around it. The thing had paralyzed him with a spell and he could but watch as his remaining comrades were brutally slaughtered around him. For the first time in a very long time he was alone. As his arms and legs loosened he made a last attempt to strike out at the thing. It grabbed the hammer with un-matchable strength and tore it from his hand then dropped it. It then continued to pin him up against the wall by the neck and hiss coldly in his ear the words “I am Dagoth Gares, Servant of Lord Dagoth Ur. Go now, back to your leaders, and tell them this: Lord Dagoth Ur has awoken, and from Red Mountain, the Sixth House will rise once more, and take Morrowind.” Berenaur felt cold. Colder than he’d ever felt, and as Gares dropped him to the ground the light began to fade.

Epilogue: For anyone wondering what happened afterwards, Berenaur awoke to discover he had been disfigured, and was infected with the dreaded corprus blight. He stumbled back, losing his mind to Buckmoth Legion Fort, were he told Raesa Pullia of Gares’ message, and soon after died, insane and disfigured. These events led onto the Nerevarine defeating Dagoth Gares at Illunibi (the cave in which Gares resided) and then catching corprus, miraculousy surving it. But that however is another story for another day.

A fanfiction by Dave the nord