The Aftermath: Entry #8

25 Morning Star, 4E 199

Drusus Varo, Overseer of the Ascadian Isles Expedition

I had another one of those dreams last night, with a quirk: I was a Dreugh. At first I didn’t realize this and wondered what I was doing floating in the water who-knows-where. I looked ahead of me and saw the rocky coast of an island, blocking the morning sun. A massive stone gate was carved into the rock at the center. Its mouth gaped at me to reveal an entryway.

Then a boat crossed in front of me and blocked my view. A fishing boat. In it was the old Dunmer woman I had seen before. It was then that I realized I had been here before, except now I was in the water, not the boat. By elimination, my previous dream was through the eye of the second person in the boat.

And that second person smiled down at me. It was another Dunmer woman, but younger and much more familiar. It was Mehra (or at least her spitting image). When I had my first dream about this place, I hadn’t even met Mehra.

What she said made no sense though. She told me that the morning dawn and dusk is our “call to arms,” and that we would “protect the moon from a vengeful hero.” I looked down and my lobster claw-hand was holding a queer blade made out of sea stone. The sun was higher now. The boat passed, and that massive stone gate had closed.

This dream was much more vivid than my last one, and I rose to the feeling of a burning, unnatural anger towards Lideg and all of the Synod mages. Cirelmo, Vira, Ervis, Gallius, Saenus, the whole lot. But mostly Lideg. I saw him sitting there writing his damn scribbles, and by the Divines I could have torn him to pieces. That only lasted a couple seconds but it must have shown. A few people close by were eyeing me funny. So I stood up and declared it a day off. I said we needed to take some time and get organized, wash up, regain our confidence.

So I got to work on my petty tasks. I arranged the search reports in my folio. I used tar to paste together bits of glass, stone, clay, and metal from the slowly expanding stash of artifacts. I brushed dirt off of human skulls and hipbones. I wrote labels and put things in boxes. I washed my clothes. At some point I engaged in conversation with Mehra (hadn’t forgotten her appearance in my dreams, but it seemed crass to mention). She told me she was taken to Cyrodiil as an infant and had no visual memories of Morrowind, but that she maintained correspondence with her mother until Red Year. Mehra didn’t treat the disaster as a touchy subject, probably because it was two centuries ago.

Still I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I just stuttered out that I wish I knew more about Morrowind’s history (I’m not sure about that, but it is true that I don’t know jack about Morrowind). She gave me a book. Said it would make things clearer. So I spent the evening skimming that. Eventually my feigned interest turned into real interest and I spent hours with my face in the book. I’ve just opened the chapter about a Nerevarine prophecy, but Vira says it’s midnight, so I’ll go to bed and resume when I can.

Previous entry: http://www.reddit.com/r/teslore/comments/2daiyv/the_aftermath_entry_7/

First entry: http://www.reddit.com/r/teslore/comments/2cx8v6/the_aftermath_entry_1/

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