Hey. Name's Gaius, Imperial Paladin. AKA Nerevarine, AKA Hortator, AKA sort of a big deal. Just to give you an example, you know that guy Dagoth Ur? Yeah, the big bad, the Sharmat, the leader of the Sixth House. There's two reasons he hasn't breached the Ghostfence and killed you yet. The first is that he's lazy and spent hundreds of years sitting around twiddling his weird-looking thumbs when he should've been building Akhulakhan. The second is that I kicked his ass.
So yeah, I float around in my Battlespire (Yeah, I have a Battlespire. Deal with it.), killing monsters and saving the day, because even without Dagoth Ur you people can't take care of yourselves and there's constantly new trouble afloat. I don't resent you or anything; I mean, I get plenty of cool stuff saving you guys. Even if you don't give me anything I'm so damn charismatic I can induce a frothing rage in you and make you attack me so I can kill you and take your stuff. I'm basically God of Vvardenfell.
Introductions aside, I'm here to tell you about my most recent adventure. This tale begins at the Vivec Fighters Guild. It's an old organization, steeped in history, and I'm it's guildmaster. Pretty much. My rank is technically Swordsman or something, which I'm told is pretty low, but I know it, they know it, we all know it. I run that place. I'm the Nerevarine, remember? So I head in, business as usual, men want my babies, women want my respect, everything's normal.
"Oh, it's you..." I'd recognize that sigh anywhere. Lorbumol gro-Aglakh, one of the higher-ups in the guild, and the one in charge of payroll. I'd like to take a moment to give you an impression of what this imposing specimen of Orc looks like. Basically, he looks like a Frost Atronach covered in moss. It's completely ridiculous what this man has done to his body, there is no way all of these muscles are his. I'm convinced he steals them from other guild members. You have to deal with people like this delicately, gild your words in silken misdirection. You can't just say what you want straight up. His fists are blunter than your words, you won't win that fight. I tried to communicate with him.
"Need a job." Simple, effective.
"Yeah, I got one, Gaius," he muttered. And that's how you deal with Orcs. He continued: "Sent a guildmember, an Orc by the name of Nar gro-Shagramph, to get a Juicedaw Feather Ring for a client. He hasn't come back and I need you to find out what his problem is. Get me the ring, and I'll get you 100 shiny drakes."
I gave him a level stare, eye to eye. "Juicedaw Feather Ring, huh?"
"Yeah, you in or not?"
He didn't seem to get what I was saying. I tried again, "What is this, some kind of hazing ritual? Messing with the new guy? Let me guess, Nar's gonna tell me the ring got eaten by a yellow-bellied snipe or something and I'm gonna have to strip naked and cover myself in scrib-jelly to hunt it down, right?"
The Orc glared at me, eyes bulging, biceps bulging, abs bulging, pants bulging, damn he is ripped, "What in Oblivion's name are you talking about, Swordsman?"
I decided to level with him. I put my arm around him in a friendly way and turned him around where we could discuss things man to man and the lower ranks couldn't hear us. I also couldn't help but feel his arm. It was insane. His arm was as big around as an Ogrim's dick, and almost half as muscular. I swallowed my mounting horror and told him the deal. "Listen, man. I'm an experienced adventurer, I've been around the block a few times. I know bullshit when I see it, and there is no way this "Juicedaw feather" thing is real. You totally made it up, I can tell."
He pushed me away like I weighed two pounds, and roared, "Gaius, stop this foolishness! I gave you an order, now follow it or I'll be forced to demote you!"
I roared back, "Demote me?! How thick are you? I'm the Nerevarine, bi-"
I honestly don't know what happened next. I woke up in the Hlaalu canton canalworks in a pile of teeth. I'm pretty sure they were mine. I mean, I suppose it's possible someone subdued me, stole my teeth, and left someone else's scattered around me, but I'm not sure why they'd do that. I'm going to consider "I got all my teeth punched out" the official explanation for now. Next to my teeth was a note stamped with the Fighters Guild signet, reading "Nar is somewhere in the Hlaalu plaza. Find him and get the ring or you're out of the guild." I'd have to teach this guy a lesson one day, after I grew my teeth back. He was seriously out of line.
For now though, he had me by the long hairs, short hairs, hell, all of the hairs. I decided to go along with the hazing. Up in Hlaalu plaza, it wasn't hard to spot Nar. One distinguishing quality Orcs share is their stature. They're all large, powerful creatures worthy of even a hero's respect. Also, they're bright green. I strode up to him and began the intricate ritual of conversing with a creature who could knock your head off without realizing it.
"I need that ring you got."
"Ain't got no ring." He was lying, you could practically smell it if it weren't for the omnipresent odor of sweat and rage.
I parried and riposted. It was an elegant and graceful duel of words, a duel I couldn't afford to lose. "I know you got the ring, man. Give me the ring."
He snorted, "Fine, take it. Don't even want it anyway, it's stupid." A wise decision, yielding to a superior foe. I took my prize and analyzed it with my expert Dweomercraft (Not to be confused with Dwemercraft, which is how dwarves make babies). He was right, it was total bullshit. 50 feather for ten seconds on activation. Some client was going to be pissed when he got this thing.
I returned to the guild, presented Lorbumol with the ring, and received my payment. As I headed back to my Battlespire I noticed the sun seemed to shine a little brighter, and the spring air was a bit fresher. The world was just a little bit safer, all thanks to the Nerevarine.
Wait, wait. The men wanted my respect, and the women wanted my babies. I got it backwards.
--THE END--
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Topic: Quest for the Ring - A Morrowind Story (Slight Main Quest Spoilers) (Read 738 times)