The Dark Path: Story of a Dunmer – Part 13

• Posted by ricardo maia April 23, 2012 - 773 views

       I prayed to Lady Mephala - or is it Lord this time? you can never be certain when it comes to the Manyfaces - not because I loved her, though I still did, nor because I expected to find any mercy on her cold heart, which I certainly  didn’t, but because I knew the Webspinner would be interested in listening to my proposal. You see, mom, I might have an offer designed to satisfy her penchant for strife and intrigue, and still make sure the two branches of my Family – her Family, too – would survive to further spread dissension and despair on this old corrupt world. I went to the shrine inside the Brotherhood sanctuary, where we keep the remains of our reverend Night Mother and I fell on my knees. I’ve come to understand a little of the Gods’ minds lately and I know their despise for us surpasses even their hunger and greedy for the benefits they can reap from our willingness to serve. Thus I humbly knelt before the coffin and I prayed: “Sweet Mother, hear this son who has drank hatred and blood in your breasts! Sweet Sister, hear this brother who you’ve led to the darkness to steal his innocence! Sweet Mistress, hear this lover whose mind you’ve poisoned with your lips and your whispers!…”

       There was no hint of lie on my lips, Mother. I really meant every word I’ve said – the Princess of Lies would not be deceived by any mortal tongue – but I didn’t spill all the truth either. So, when she agreed to my proposition and gave me the token I was asking for, I felt a hidden rush of joy and pleasure, because I had at last obtained a small advantage over the Gods. Was I being a fool for trying to entangle the Spinner? I don’t know, but I could clearly see that any hope of victory for our people lies only, as always did, in the favor of our Gods. And I could see also the only way to obtain their favor is to lure and entice them with baits they need to satisfy their wicked appetites. Like Saint Velothis, I’m playing the most dangerous game ever, and put on the table are my soul and the future of our people. To my accounts,  my soul was already promised to Azura, Mephala, Molag Bal, Nocturna, Mehrunes Dagon and Boethiah – I think Sheogorath would settle for my sanity. I wonder what kind of arrangements will they make in Oblivion to share this insignificant little soul, those arrogant beings who are not in the habit of forgiving debts or sharing anything? Whatever it is, I’m sure I won’t like it.

       So I went to Windhelm once again, but this time in a mission of peace – well, kind of. All roads, even the secondary paths, forest shortcuts and mountain tracks were blocked and well guarded now, forcing me to take the way through the wilderness bordering the Velothis Mountains, a region so full of dangers nobody had thought about wasting a patrol to guard it. I spent a week to make a journey that would normally have taken two days. The main gates were impossible to trespass now, but I had grown up in that old city and I knew there was a small passage through the wall on Harbor District that would lead directly to the Grey Quarters. I just waited for the dead hours of the night, crossed the half-frozen river and sneaked inside the walls, looking for a friendly house. I knocked at Revyn Sadri’s door - he was the Guild’s fence in the city, and the best source of information about Windhelm’s underworld I could get.

       There were new people in the ghetto. They had come secretly just two months ago, before the enactment of martial law and the closing of the gates. They were living in hideouts beneath the city - on the old sewers, where else? - and never went out on daylight. They could be just a bunch of vampires, I thought, but those people were too well connected to be bloodsuckers. In just a few months, they already had some supporters among old and respectable dunmer families, so I had to consider they could be the people I was seeking. I was worried when I went down to the sewers. Would they even allow me to get close and talk to them? Because that was just what I needed to fulfill my mission here. I had with me the unmistakable proof of Mephala’s favor – the holy Ebony Blade, its edge washed with the blood of countless innocent, its grip stained with the sweat of the many killers who had wield it. The blade had never known cleaning, nor the touch of water, so it was as dirty in looks as in essence, but its edge would cut through faith and trust as easily as through flesh and bones. They would have to take into account words said by the holder of that blade.