User blog:Leea/The Tale of Voronwe, Chapter 33

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4th Era 110, 16th of Sun's Height, Summerset Isle
Balasian stared at the veritable mountain of boxes, bags, and parcels in the front yard. "This is a lot of stuff," he finally ventured, and turned his gaze to Curwe. "What's in all these?" he asked, gesturing.

She gazed up at him. "Most of it is dry goods. Flour, preserves, dried fruits, spices, those kinds of things."

"And the rest?"

"One of those bags is filled with money that I got from selling Eldacar's other belongings," she said, pointing to a lumpy sack partially away from the rest of the stack. "And the 'rest' is some bolts of cloth, a couple of knick-knacks, and random things I thought we could use."

"It is bad luck to bring home the belongings of the recently deceased," spoke a voice from behind them. Balasian and Curwe whirled to see the speaker.

"Greetings again, my friends," Orthendar said warmly, smiling, bowing his head slightly.

The couple let out a collective sigh of relief. Curwe, mildly irritated, raised her voice at the ghost. "You...you...you rat! You Skeever! You could have appeared in front, but you did it from behind just to startle us!"

Orthendar said nothing, but was smiling ear to pointed ear, evidently pleased with himself.

She let out a grumbling sigh and let the annoyance slip away. Then she remembered what he had said. "Wait...so, bringing this stuff back was a bad idea?"

The ghostly Sea Elf shook his head, still smiling. "No, you're fine. That is just an old superstition, like the one about ghosts and gold."

"What?" she asked, puzzled.

Balasian turned to her. "Another old superstition. Supposedly, ghosts are supposed to leave you alone if you toss them a gold coin."

Orthendar spoke again, walking up to stand beside Curwe. "It is bunk. You could throw the entire contents of your gold satchel at me, and I would still be standing here."

"Then where did the superstition come from?" she asked, looking up into his slightly translucent face.

Balasian spoke again. "I managed to trace the legend. It had originally been the ghost of a beggar that had never successfully begged any gold in life, so he continued to do so after death. When he accosted a traveller that happened to travel the lonely road the spirit called home, he dropped his purse in fright, and the ghost dissapeared, thinking the gold was for him. Eventually, over the years the story came to be changed by word of mouth, and the superstition that all ghosts want gold came about."

"How could you possibly have been able to trace an old legend? They are almost always passed on verbally, not written in books." she asked, frowning.

He smiled. "Pyandonea has quite the library in the center of the isle. 'Library of the Ancients' it is called. It contains a sizable portion of Orgnum's private collection...barring many of his spell books, of course. Other books have come from the southern coasts of Summerset Isle, Tamriel, and various ships plundered by the Sea Vipers over time to add to the collection."

Curwe stared at the pile as she listened to him. "Sounds like Orgnum did something nice for a change," she ventured.

"The library was established many millenia ago, when Orgnum and his followers were evicted from Aldmeris," Orthendar said. "He needed somewhere to store his collection of books - his palace had not been built yet - so he founded the library."

"I don't get it. He built the library first?" she asked, frowning up at him.

Balasian and Orthendar exchanged a glance over the top of Curwe's head. She didn't notice.

"No," Balasian replied, turning to her. "When Orgnum and his followers landed on the isle, there was already a building at the center of the land. He merely used it to store his books."

"Was it made of coral? There were structures here in Summerset made out of coral because the Sload were here first." she asked.

Orthendar shook his head. "No. It is made from blue stone and an unknown metal. Thousands of years of testing, and the scholars that inhabit the building still cannot identify the minerals used to craft it. No one knows who - or what - built it, but it seemed quite old already when Orgnum found it."

Balasian spoke next. "Orgnum isn't one to do something for the good of anyone unless he will get something in return....or there aren't any strings attatched. His founding the library was convenience, only."

"So someone...or something...inhabited the isle before the Maormer came." Curwe stated, hoping she got it right.

"Yes," replied the ghost. "Who or whatever lived there, they either were gigantic in stature or they liked high ceilings. The doorways are 12 feet tall."

Her amber eyes grew wide. "Wow. Was...is there anything else different about the place?"

"Other than the fact that the blue stone of the building glows like a beacon at night? Or that it shoots off a blinding beam of light skyward whenever Orgnum sacrifices another soul to keep his youth? No." stated Orthendar flatly.

"That sounds really dangerous! Does the beam ever hit anyone? And why haven't I - or anyone else - seen the beam? Pyandonea isn't that far away."

"The beam appears to be a signal of some sort," the spirit replied thoughtfully. "Who it signals is up for debate; no one ever comes when the 'signal' goes off. Either it signals an extinct race, or the 'absent' race ignores it. As for your other question, no one off of the isle can see the beam. 'Pyandonea' means 'Isle of Mists' in the old Aldmeri language. We can see out, but no one - unless they got within our harbors - can see in. From a distance, Pyandonea looks like a great bank of fog. Only those of us on the isle and whomever the beam is meant for can see it."

Curwe stared out over the sea, digesting everything she had heard. What...or who...had lived in Pyandonea before the Elves came? She was sure it wasn't the Sload; all of their buildings were crafted from coral. Were the old inhabitants peaceful or hostile? And why couldn't they figure out what the now-library was built from? Thousands of years should be enough to figure out something. As the thoughts and questions spun around in her head, one snagged and caught her attention: what was it that Orthendar had said about Orgnum and souls?

She turned to him, finding that he was gazing at her as if he had been waiting for her to ask this very question.

"What did you mean about Orgnum and souls?" she asked, voice shaking slightly.

It felt like his white, glowing eyes would bore through her, the feeling sending chills up and down her spine.

"Do you remember Manimmarco?" he asked.

She shuddered. "How could anyone forget?" She shook so much she had trouble forcing the question out, and her knees began to knock together. Balasian wrapped his arms around her waist from behind to steady her. She leaned gratefully onto him, her arms holding onto his.

"Orgnum is like Manimmarco in one respect: he uses the energy of sacrificed souls to invigorate himself, thus living longer than any Elf should."

"So...he...he's a...nec-necromancer?" Curwe faltered.

"No," the ghost continued. "He does not raise the dead to do his bidding, though due to how he prolonged his life, he may be considered undead himself... just nicer to look at than your average undead. He does not use animal souls for his rituals, just black souls."

"B-b-b-black souls? You mean..."

"The souls of Elves, Men, and Beastfolk, yes." stated Orthendar, lifting his chin. "He has sacrificed hundreds over the millenia. Sometimes he also sacrifices captures from ships, though this is quite rare nowadays. Now, he just uses his fellow Maormer for his youth, since we are much easier to come by."

"Dear Stendarr!" the High Elf prayed, trembling in her lover's arms as he held her tightly.

The ghost nodded sadly. "Indeed. We need the Lord of Mercy to take pity on us, because the beacon has signaled once more today."

"No," breathed Balasian, eyes wide in despair. "Do you know who it was?"

"Peladine." answered Orthendar, trembling with rage. "She was caught...and publicly sacrificed."