CHAPTER 4
All was dark. Murky water stung his eyes. He didn't want to open them again. All that he had seen, had endured, and now the overwhelming weight of a new truth. Masser. The great moon. The sacred dead body of an ancient god had been his prison all along. It was too much to accept. The fountain's distorted silence was better than the screaming reality waiting for him above.
Then a voice broke the veil. It was calling for him from deep within his own memories. Nevertheless, he could hear it echo “Xak! Xak!”
And to this he whispered “Rhone.”
-----
He shot awake, arms and legs kicking to reach the surface. He felt nothing. It quickly dawned that he was not in fact drowning in a fountain. Somebody had buckled him into a leather seat, but this time he didn't feel restrained. To his front and right were wide glass panes through which he could see the outside world passing by fast, faster than his eyes could comprehend and the best he could do was follow the mesmerizing dance of red and blue lights swirling past.
“Xak!” A voice just to his left broke the daze. “Thank Nocturnal you're awake. You had me worried we'd gone through all this trouble for nothing.”
Next to him sat a woman, a Dunmer with a sharp face and strained brow. Strands of damp, shoulder-length dark hair hung over her brilliant violet eyes like fangs. He could see fresh drops of fountain water fall from her chin onto her bosom, laid mostly bare with a black cloth tank-top.
“You...” He paused to cough, finding his voice hoarse. “saved me?”
The Dunmer shot Xak one brief look, as though refusing to admit it. “You've been in shock. That's no surprise, I'm afraid. Nirnwalkers aren't meant to see the city so suddenly.” She kept her attention out the window ahead, gripping a small wheel-like control in both hands. “Try to stay calm. It helps to think of life back on Nirn. Trying to understand any of this so soon will overwhelm you again.”
“Is this room moving? Who are you?”
She smirked. “So much for patience. This 'room' is called a car. I'm driving it. Think of it as a horse carriage with no horse, and much, much faster.” Her voice was soothing yet tinged with an icy chill and a sharp accent he could not place. Still it was the best sound to touch his ears in a long time. “And my name is Karliah. You are Xak Theril. And for the time being, we are friends.”
Xak echoed the word “car” beneath his breath. A new word for a new world. He still didn't know how an entire city got on Masser or why he was taken there or why he was tortured or why anybody wanted to rescue him or what exactly was done to him during all of Dr. Adrus's experiments or how Karliah knew his name. But at least he knew what a car is.
Then memory struck him. “Wait, Karliah... I know that name. You used to work with my uncle Brynjolf.”
He saw her crack a mischievous grin. “I told you it helps to keep your mind on the familiar. Your uncle and I used to lead the Thieves Guild in Skyrim. Had to deal with some... baggage, but we turned the whole operation around.”
Xak's eyes ran up and down her figure and he didn't care whether she saw him do it. The stories his uncle told him as a boy made her into a fairy tale, a shadow goddess who could swipe a coin through a keyhole and charm a prior into lust. Now here was the great Karliah in the flesh. The smooth, slender midnight-colored flesh. “Brynjolf said you were dead.”
“And he should know better than to count me out twice.” The sharpness in her tone could have cut glass. “Hopefully he has better faith in you. Could be a while before he sees you again.”
“What's that supposed to mean.?”
“I'm one of the best damn thieves to ever live and I'm not afraid to say it. I've got royal blood in my veins and the favor of the Night Mistress on my side,” She took her eyes off the road to bear into his. “And I've been stuck here nine years.”
Nine years? That's when Brynjolf said she had been killed, Xak recalled. How could somebody stay sane being trapped in this cruel and bizarre world for nearly a decade? For that matter, could he? “Can I at least know what the hell is going on? Is this some sort of Telvanni stronghold? What could they possibly want with me? And for that matter, what do you want with me?”
“Xak, stay with me!” Karliah rested a hand on his trembling shoulder. “I know this isn't easy, trust me. I promise we're going to explain everything for you. You just need to take this one step at a time.”
“Fine, let's start with this: Where are you taking me?”
“Fair enough. I'm taking you to the store.”
“A store.” Xak sighed sarcastically. “A store that sells what?”
She shrugged. “Trinkets, odds and ends. That sort of thing.”
This is when Xak felt the room – the car – finally begin to slow down. Karliah reached for a panel of blue lights and knobs between them. Turning a dial filled the car with a strange ambiance, a sequence of soft drums, piano keys and electric beeps laid beneath a woman speaking in a gentle rhythm. The more Xak listened, the more he could see candlelight, the flow of seas at night, alluring blue eyes, a pair of hands drifting behind his shoulders and the touch of familiar lips on his. The intoxicating sound sank him into a sea of sweet memories, and Xak knew it was music.
-----
He felt his whole world shift as the car came to a stop. Karliah shut the machine down with a turn of a key.“This is our headquarters. We can get you some rest, some food, and most of all some answers. I'm sure you're equally starved.”. She exited the door on her side and, after watching Xak fumble trying to figure out how a car door works, opened his.
Xak emerged into a place a far cry from the brilliant Telvanni tower he escaped from. The black-paved road was narrow and silent save for the distant groans and screeches of traffic beyond the alley. Shadows of decaying columns of brick and steel stretched into the sky on both sides of the road, like a child seeing how high they could stack building blocks. The faces of flickering neon signs echoed in forgotten puddles along the street. In a way, it felt like being back in Bravil.
Karliah made her way up a set of steps towards a small gray four-story shop. The red sign above blared “Belethor's”, with the
l and
t noticeably dark. Xak probably could have cracked a joke about bee whores if his spirits were lighter. Instead, he paused at the sidewalk, waiting for Karliah to notice he wasn't following any further. She turned to him from the shop's door.
“What's wrong, Xak?”
He shuffled uneasily, glancing left and right down the alien roads. “How do I know I can trust you?”
“I saved your life. I treated your wounds. I know your uncle. And you still don't trust me?” she said with both hands to her hips and disbelief in her face. “So you're not as stupid as you look.”
Her heels clacked powerfully with each step until she was a mere breath away from him. Wisps of her perfume filled his senses as she drew close, closer than he'd let a woman be in a long time. As he gazed into the purple nebula of her eyes, he felt her press something solid and cold under his chin, round and hollow like a bottle of wine. Then she pressed harder, and he knew it was not.
“Let me introduce you to my other favorite three-letter word. This is called a
gun. I don't care how good you think you are, if I pull this trigger you
will be dead before you can blink. I could kill you right now, or I could have killed you at any moment on the way here. I could have just let you drown in that puddle I pulled you out of. So as long as you're alive, you know I have no intention to hurt you. Better damn well hope it stays that way, understood?”
Xak breathed down the cold metal barrel. Then he nodded.
“Good. Now let's get you inside.”
-----
The shop was cold and dry, lit with pale lights dotted along a tiled ceiling. Rows of shelves were populated with artifacts both Tamrielic and alien, from swords and soul gems to glass screens and dyed textiles. A loose bell above the door announced Xak and Karliah's arrival. From behind the counter, a man practically leaped from his seat at the sight of them. “By the Eight, you actually made it!” He exclaimed running towards the door. He was slim for a nord in his mid-30's with stubby traces of red hair along his scalp and doe-eyes retreating into his bold brow.”Is this the guy?”
Karliah tapped impatiently. “Sigurd, the phrase?”
“Oh, right.” Sigurd flustered. “Have you seen the Twin Lamps?”
“They light the way to freedom.” responded Karliah, in what sounded like her thousandth time doing so.
“Wait a minute, I know you!” Xak injected. “You were the voice in my head back there. You talked me through the escape.”
“Glad I can finally introduce myself properly. My name is Sigurd. I work for Belethor.” Xak gave his name in kind, and they shook hands. “It sure was a close call back there. A lot of what happened wasn't supposed to happen. The Ceph caught onto us quicker than we expected.”
“The Ceph? Are they the ones behind all this?”
“Yes and no.” Karliah locked the shop doors behind them and flipped a plastic “
Closed” sign. “The Ceph are the elite military force of House Telvanni, named for those cephalopod-style helms they wear. I'm sure you saw plenty of them on your way out. Escaping them unarmed is no mean feat.”
“And if the Telvanni had managed to catch you, you would be on your way to join their ranks by now.” warned Sigurd in a wavering voice. “To be frank, I thought this plan sounded far too risky from the start.”
“Call it gambler's luck, Sigurd. In this case, we killed two birds with one arrow.” Karliah patted the nord reassuringly. “Not only is Xak alive, but he's more than proved himself capable to join us.”
“Woah, wait, join you?” Xak alarmingly backed away from both of his rescuers. “I didn't agree to anything. I don't even know who you people are!”
“We...” came a voice from the rear of the shop, rough and boisterous like sandpaper on dragonscale. “... are the ones who light the way. The illuminaters of hope, the igniters of defiance, and the pathfinders of freedom.” Out from the darkened doorway stepped a middle-aged breton, square-jawed and grinning widely between a graying lambchop beard. He paced steadily to Xak, arms raised as he gave his grand announcement. “We are the Twin Lamps.”
“I bet you were waiting back there this whole time just to make that speech.” said Karliah with a roll of her eyes. “Xak, let me introduce you to-”
“Belethor! I'm the leader of this here revolutionary outfit.” The man seized Xak's unsuspecting hand in his thick worker's glove and shook like an overeager child holding a rattle.
Revolutionary. Xak hadn't heard anybody say that name with pride since the Stormcloaks were running rampant. The three people before him were a far cry from the rugged, battle-hardened mascot of a revolution he had come to expect. “So, you folks are rebels of some kind?”
“Not some kind, the only kind! Sigurd, get some tea ready for our guest of honor. And Karliah, could you fetch some dry clothes? Poor Xak here looks he'll catch his death soon.” Both obeyed their orders wordlessly. Xak noticed Sigurd walked like a seasoned slave while Karliah shot a look of tired contempt as they vanished through the same door. “Now, let me get a look at you, son.” Belethor clamped Xak's cheeks and twisted his head around, inspecting every corner of his squished face. Xak fought the instinct to punch him out. “Ah ha! And a breton to boot! Got some nord eyes in you, but nobody's perfect.”
“Look, Mr. um... Belethor,” reasoned Xak, breaking free from the man's awkward hold. “I didn't come here to sign up for your personal army. Karliah said you'd have some answers for me.”
“And I'd hate to disappoint the lovely Karliah. Come, we'll give you the guided tour.” He motioned for Xak to follow him through the shop, around the counter and beyond the back door. It took a moment for Xak to conclude he didn't really have a choice.
“So, who are you exactly? A salesman or a rebel leader?” he asked, jogging to catch up down a dark cement hallway and up a set of concrete stairs.
“Both. Ten years ago I ran a nice little shop in Whiterun with Sigurd. Now I'm in charge of the greatest threat to Telvanni rule on the whole planet. Funny story, really.”
“So this city on the moon really is a Telvanni hold.” Xak wasn't sure whether or not that surprised him anymore. “That's quite a feat for a House that went extinct two centuries ago.”
“You know your history. Of course it's really more their-story.” Belethor answered with a huff. They had climbed four stories of stone steps now and came up to a blue keypad-locked door at the summit. “The truth is, not a single Telvanni lord died during Red Year.”
“What about the Black Marsh invasion? I've traveled Morrowind myself. The towers, the cities, everything that once belonged to the Telvanni is gone.”
“Don't get me wrong, the Argonians know how to burn stuff,” After punching in a five-digit code, the door swung open before them, revealing the flat paved plane of the rooftop. In the center sat an airship, perched like a raven awaiting death below. Xak could instantly recognize the same kind of thrusters on the back as the ship the Ceph used to snatch him, but from there it was a different beast. The jet-black ship was thinner, with a narrow hull that curved toward the bow like a hawk's beak and wings that curved into blades like that of a cliff racer's. “but if you think some of the most powerful wizards in history were brought down by a bunch of angry lizards – Ah, no offense Fists.”
Beside the door, an argonian huffed at the shopkeeper. “Watch your tongue lest you see just what an angry lizard can bring down.” With his arms folded, he greeted Xak with little more than a glance. His jade eyes seemed to glow against his sandy-brown scales. “Is this the guy?”
“Xak, meet our aerocraft, the
Almalexia.” Belethor ushered to the airship, completely ignoring the fuming reptilian behind him. “It's kind of like a boat that sails on air. You'll see what I mean in a bit. The Argonian here is Stands-With-Fists, our demolitions expert. Just call him Fists if you want.” Xak finally offered a hand to Fists, which he hesitantly shook. As far as argonians go, Fists was a well-built man, and his grip reminded Xak of a bouncer he once hired for the Scamp.
They had little time for pleasantries as Belethor practically dragged Xak to the aerocraft like a kid who couldn't wait to show off his new toy. It was easy enough to climb the small ramp at the ship's stern, but once inside he could feel the claustrophobia infecting him. The Almalexia was a rowboat compared to the Ceph's aerocraft. He had to slouch just to stand properly and the metal ceiling still nabbed at the back of his neck. Somehow, three people had already managed to fit into the cockpit, and with Belethor and Fists bringing up the rear there was little room for Xak to move but towards the bow of the ship.
“And let me introduce you to the graceful Jarri, our pilot.” announced Belethor as they crept into the cockpit. A thin, weathered Redguard woman at the front swiveled in her chair to greet them. “Fargoth and Lathirec are tagging along too.” He motioned to the aging bosmer and black-clad altmer sitting on opposite ends of the room.
“Hmph. With a name like 'Jack' I was expecting a Redguard.” jested Jarri in a bold voice.
“It's Xak. Sorry to disappoint you.”
The bearded, stubby wood elf to his left shot from his seat, sporting a neighborly grin beneath his black eyes. “Well I for one think it's swell to have another Breton around! Good to meet you Xak!”
“Thanks...” Xak noticed Fargoth had a handshake like a seasoned Hlaalu businessmen. “Haven't I seen you somewhere before?”
“Oh, I've been all over. From Gideon to Cheydinhal to Seyda Neen to Dawnstar to Ebonheart to Cloudrest to -”
“Ebonheart! You were waiting at the docks when my ship pulled in five years ago. Said somebody stole your lucky...” He snapped his fingers in recollection. “Pants!”
“Ah yes! I remember that day. That was almost as bad as the time those guards stole my lucky ring. That was back in...”
“A word of advice,” Erupted the black-clad altmer Lathirec. “don't encourage Fargoth. Just learn to tolerate him. The rest of us have to.”
Xak turned to him with suspicion. He had seen this kind of uniform before. It was one of the few sights of Tamriel he wouldn't have missed. “Tolerance. That's funny coming from somebody wearing a Thalmor insignia.”
“Ah yes, it must be so satisfying to finally be able to hurl insults at a Thalmor agent who no longer has the unquestionable authority to have you sent to a torture chamber.” Lathirec's tone was as sharp as his jutting cheekbones, words carved in the sophisticated accent of the Adlmeri. “Go ahead, let all that pent-up political rage go and spew it on me like an adolescent's wet dream. But you'll soon come to learn that the Aldmeri Dominion were much more comfortable bedfellows than the Telvanni.”
“Fellas, please!” Belethor stepped in between the two, ushering Xak down onto the nearest available seat. “Xak's had a rough day, as I'm sure you can all imagine. Let's all just buckle down and enjoy the ride.” With no protest from the Thalmor agent Lathirec, Belethor sighed and turned back to Xak. “Well, now that you've met everybody, we can show you around town.”
Xak glanced around at the crowd of six in the narrow ship. Despite the lack of leg room, something was missing. “Shouldn't there be a Khajiit here? When I was in that tower, there was a Khajiit who helped me escape. A girl, blue eyes, light fur...”
“Ah, Kai,” nodded Belethor “She's one of ours, alright.”
The ramp at the ship's rear opened to reveal Karliah, carefully juggling a cup of tea as she shut the hatch behind her. “We have some dry clothes ready for you whenever you want to change,” She said offering the tea to Xak. She herself had already ditched the wet tank-top for a cloth v-neck hoodie. “I figured you'd want an explanation before anything else.”
“Thanks babe. Say, has Kai checked in yet?” Belethor asked her, but only got a solemn head shake for an answer.
“Don't worry, son. She'll be back soon.” Fargoth reached over to pat Xak on the shoulder, nearly knocking the teacup out of his hand. “In the meantime, hold onto that tea tight. This part could be bumpy.”
With the doors locked and seven on board, the
Almalexia whirred to life. The thrusters growled as Jarri triggered the ignition, aligned the flaps and prepared for takeoff. The ship's cabin shook tremendously, and Xak couldn't help but imagine the last moments on Vvardenfell before Red Mountain's eruption as the room around him quaked.
Turning to Jarri, he had to shout over the roaring engines. “He said you're a pilot. What does that mean?”
“It means I'm the one who steers this bird and nobody else.” She orchestrated a series of buttons, levers and switches faster than Xak's eyes could follow before settling her hands on a control stick between her knees. “Handling an aerocraft isn't like handling a boat. You have to think 3D.”
“3D?”
“Three-Dimensionally. Up, down, left, right, back, forth, diagonally, and all the rest. That's how a lot of things work here.” Trying to picture it didn't help Xak's fortitude as the ship began to rise and a strange, deep sinking sensation hit him in the gut. “Back on Nirn I used to be a ship helmsman. Seemed like a good transition.”
At some point it hit Xak with no small shock that the
Almalexia was no longer on the ground. Through the wide-eyed windows of the cockpit he could see the brick walls around him sinking faster and faster. His tea swirled like an angry storm as the ship went aloft, warmed up its thrusters, and then shot straight into the sky with him holding back the urge to scream.
The brick walls gave way to spiraled rooftops. The rooftops gave way to towering spires. The spires gave way to a skyline of great winding structures erupting from the entire horizon like blades of grass, and beneath the skyline emerged a city. A city shrouded in darkness yet twinkling with life in lights more numerous and beautiful than the starry void above. Winding streets and elevated highways raced between the towers and smokestacks like veins. The golden lights of traffic and of the purple nebula swirling in the night sky painted themselves on the glass skin of every skyscraper, like a living portrait of heaven and hell. The ship stopped at a comfortable height, giving Xak the chance to take in the pure scale and beauty of the world he had just been thrown into.
“Mother Mara! It's massive!”
“Welcome to Nuveloth, kid,” Belethor unbuckled his seat and stood without a care next to Xak. “the last great Telvanni hold, for better or worse.”
Even the sight of his own world Nirn hanging in the sky couldn't compare to the marvel of the city stretching across the moon's face. One look was enough to shatter every limit Xak knew of human civilization. It was like reaching into your pocket and finding an entire thriving nation in there. “How is this possible?”
“To be honest, we don't know exactly how Nuveloth became what it is today. This city is short on scholarly authors.” explained Belethor as the aerocraft swooped back down into the jungle of brick and glass, hovering just above the rooftops towards the tallest towers at the very center. Xak noticed the whole city seemed to form a perfect circle. “Most of what we do know comes from hearsay, the old-timers, or the Telvanni themselves.”
The brick buildings turned into glass offices and neon billboards as they entered a high-end metropolitan region. At one building, the ship came to a halt, level with a tall billboard, mostly yellow except for the portrait of an aging Dunmer and Daedric characters in bold font. It was Karliah's turn to stand. “I can tell you that Nuveloth and all its creations began with this man, Indoril Nerevar.” The ship circled the billboard like a cautious predator. Xak could make out traces of the man's face, spotting sunken red eyes and a slim black goatee on his chiseled chin. “Not the original Nerevar, mind you. In 3E 427, this Nerevar came out of nowhere and united the Great Houses, vanquished the monster Dagoth Ur and went on to kill a few Gods.”
“Wait a minute. You're talking about the Nerevarine?” Every schoolboy knew the story of the reincarnated St. Nerevar, but the stern-faced dunmer of this propaganda poster wasn't anything like he pictured the ancient hero.
“Formerly the Nerevarine.” It was Karliah's turn to talk, her voice sharpened with contempt gazing at the billboard. “In the years that followed, the people of Morrowind lauded him so much that he abandoned his given name and accepted Indoril Nerevar as his title. His birth name was lost to time.”
“Yeah, so he went a little nuts with fame, but he stayed busy.” narrated Belethor. “After the province finally got quiet, he left Morrowind on some sort of expedition and up and vanished in 433. Most assumed he left for Akavir.”
“That same year, the Oblivion Crisis devastated Tamriel. Just five years later was Red Year, the eruption of Red Mountain. Then the Argonians invaded and tore down whatever was left.” lamented Karliah. Jarri pulled a sharp turn away from the billboard and back to the airways, narrowly missing another aerocraft as it made its way past a pair of corporate offices.
“So he picked a good time to go on vacation.” Xak joked nervously. His teacup still trembled in his hand.
“Not exactly. In the years before he vanished, Nerevar was studying the Propylon chambers of Vvardenfell.”
“The what?”
Fargoth jumped at the opportunity to explain. “A Propylon, it's a kind of ancient technology used to create portals between two places. You walk through a Propylon in one building and instantly end up in a different Propylon across the country. I tell you, Morrowind was full of them.”
“The ancient Dunmer used them all the time, but they obviously didn't build them. Nerevar wanted to find the source. The original Propylon portal, known as the Nexus.” Karliah stood in the middle of the deck, arms folded and completely unfazed by their breakneck speed. “Safe to say he eventually found it, but can you guess where that Propylon took him?
“To Masser?”
Belethor gave him a congratulatory pat on the shoulder. “Bingo. We're not sure when or how he did it, but Nerevar spent years here before there was even any air to breathe. He was probably focused on understanding the Nexus Propylon at first, but then he found something much bigger waiting for him on the moon.”
The ship gradually came to another hover, this time around a shorter, square building built of classic bonemold like the eastern temples of Tamriel. In place of ornate spires, the temple was adorned with wide-angled dishes on top of the turrets. They seemed more ceremonial than functional, like a religion that worshiped technology itself.
“They call it the Voyager. It's the ancient body of a dead god which bestows immeasurable knowledge to those who see it. Now it's replaced Daedric worship as the state religion on Nuveloth.” Karliah's sneer could have cut glass. “The dwarves found it first, but they were so frightened of its power that they abandoned the Propylons and never journeyed to Masser again. Nerevar wasn't so restrained. He absorbed as much of the Voyager's knowledge as he could. It became his new faith.”
Belethor took charge again. “So imagine the reaction he gets when he finally returns to Morrowind after abandoning them during the Oblivion Crisis, talking about the moon and this Voyager god. Redoran and Hlaalu wouldn't give him the time of day. The Temple called it blasphemy. There was only one Great House in Morrowind crazy enough to take his Voyager nonsense seriously.”
In a strange way, things were starting to make sense for Xak. “Of course, the mages. House Telvanni.”
“Wave the promise of infinite knowledge at a bunch of power-hungry wizards and they'll hump your leg for it. Nerevar had Telvanni lords and retainers crossing the Nexus in droves. They worked their magic to make the place breathable and comfortable until they even started putting down homes on the moon. Within a few years there was a genuine Telvanni city here, and most of the lords were spending more time on Masser than they were on Nirn.”
Xak was reminded of his last chat with Onorith, how he spoke with near-adoration of the Telvanni's magic and technology. The sight of those wealthy, ancient wizards landing on the moon and making a livable, breathable city out of it was more tangible than he was willing to admit. “And the rest of the Empire had no clue this was going on?”
“Not a damn.” shrugged Stands-With-Fists. Sitting right behind Xak, he could feel the rumble of the Argonian's deep voice creeping up his spine. “Those Telvanni always had their privacy and most people on Nirn had forgotten about the Nerevarine. By the time Red Year hit, nearly every major Telvanni lord was staying on Masser full-time. When my people stormed Morrowind, most of the Telvanni holds they burned were ghost towns. You getting this so far, Xak?”
“I think so.” Bit by bit, the pieces were coming together. As he looked out the window he could see the city's evolution from a small, secluded getaway to the last bit of property the Telvanni valued. “After the Argonian invasion, all those wizards on Masser wouldn't have homes to return to. They'd have to settle down on the moon.”
“Right you are. By now they had cultivated plants, air, livestock, everything they would need to live on Masser for centuries. Only thing they didn't have were farmers, builders, cobblers. Everybody was a noble and nobody wanted to scrub the toilets. So naturally they outsourced.”
“Meaning they got their workers from Tamriel.”
“Exactly!” Even the Altmer Lathirec seemed genuinely impressed with his grasp. He went on. “Now that they had mastered the Propylon technology, they could open portals anywhere on Nirn and send agents through to find new immigrants. They were civil at first. Mostly they approached Dunmer refugees who had lost everything and promised them a home safe from the war and famine. The only catch was they could never return to Nirn. Of course, after Red Year, not many Dunmer would want to.”
Belethor interrupted him at the first opportunity. “As time went on, the Telvanni used more and more of the Voyager's knowledge to improve their technology. In decades they discovered how to harness things like steam, electricity, gunpowder. Electricity means power plants, automobiles mean factories. Nuveloth wasn't getting enough immigrants to meet that kind of demand by going door-to-door and asking nicely. Then the Void Nights happened.”
“When both of the moons vanished for two years. What the hell was that?'
“We don't know.” Karliah shook her head. “The Telvanni have forbidden all knowledge of it. Even the poorer Dunmer who were here don't talk about it. One thing is clear, a lot of people died over those two years,” She shot a look of authority over to Lathirec, as though expecting an outburst. “and the Aldmeri Dominion had nothing to do with bringing the moons back.”
“What we
do know is that once the moons came back, everything changed.” Lathirec returned, stretching ever word he spoke to spite Karliah. “They started making weapons, training soldiers, consolidating power, the works. Worse yet, they began practicing what they call “rendition”. You know this as the Vanisher strikes.”
“So the Vanisher, I mean, the Telvanni were abducting people since the start of the second century?” concluded Xak. The ship was now making a full circle around the city's core. He could see, at the very heart of Nuveloth, the massive Terminal building he had just escaped from. The window he had shattered was still a mess of broken glass, but most shocking was that he was only a third of the way up the Terminal. The tower stretched into the dark sky well above any of the skyscrapers surrounding it with three arched arms holding it in place, giving it an arrowhead shape. At the very top of the Terminal, Xak could faintly make out a glow like the one he saw when the portal opened in Wayrest. The thought of whatever could be up there made his insides turn.
“That's right. They've been taking people for well over a hundred years. At first they were careful, taking mostly travelers and hermits. Then the Great War began, and they took advantage of the chaos to abduct thousands of people, most of which just got listed as casualties of war.”
“Which brings us to the last few decades.” Recanted Belethor. “The Telvanni have been gone stark raving mad in their abductions. They're taking people from every corner of Nirn as fast as they can find them. Anyone with a military or guild background is enlisted in their army immediately. Everybody else is thrown into a labor job and left to fend for themselves in the city of Nuveloth with no way home.”
“Or sold into slavery.” growled Fists.
Steadily the ship rose above the skyscrapers, competing with the Terminal building in hieght as it neared its summit yet keeping a cautious distance. Xak could see the entire scope of Nuveloth now. The building's sprawled across the moon's landscape, growing shorter and dirtier the further they were from the wealthy core. The city's edges were frayed with stray buildings and frontier posts, giving the place the shape like a broken shard of glass. It was miles beyond the scale of any city ever built on Tamriel. “How many are here now?
“Over a million and a half people to be as precise as we can. About a third live here voluntarily as Telvanni or descendants of the original settlers while the rest are being held here against their will. One thing is clear, not one person from either half has ever permanently returned to Nirn.” At last the ship approached the height of the Terminal's peak. On top, the source of Xak's uneasiness was made clear. A massive blue portal was housed at the peak, over a huge black platform that teemed with weapons and military personnel. Ceph aerocraft much like the one that abducted him vanished and emerged from the hole in space in a disciplined manner. Xak didn't need anybody to explain this one. He knew he was looking at his way home. “The only way we can is through the Nexus Propylon, and the Nexus is under the sole control of Indoril Nerevar. Sometime after this city was established, the Telvanni named Nerevar their Archmage. Now he's the commander of the military force and the supreme ruler of all life on Masser. If you want to return home to High Rock, the Nerevarine is standing directly in your way.”
Xak's eyes remained fixed on the distant portal. He thought nothing of the Nerevarine or his soldiers trying to stop him from getting through. All he thought of was the will.
A will, and a way he repeated in his mind. A way out of this madness, sitting at the very center of madness.
“That covers the basics. Jarri, take us home.”
