Fear and Loathing in Vvardenfell

Drunk and Tying the Pieces Together

I'm an alcoholic. Let's admit that from the start, shall we? Art is always best when it's most honest, and despite me being some lowly Imperial reporter on some 'special' assignment, I think a bit of honesty is needed here. No one is immune to substance abuse and I'll admit it, I'm drunk. Right now. As I write this. I've been drunk the past week, holed up in the Eight Plates until Pip or [Redacted] decides to contact me about anything at all. Just pissing away time wondering what it's all about, what it's all for, and if there is some grand plan that I can hold onto.

Let me reflect a bit: I was sent here to this mostly barren and deserted island in search of some story, some grand story, that hasn't appeared. All I've gotten was some shitty lead about some random and apparently unhinged Argonian who had been shipped to Seyda Neen for reasons. I tracked him down, did my homework in search of the grand story, and what did I find? Nothing. Nothing at all. A crazy, unhinged Argonian somehow more directionless than myself guided by a total skooma-addicted Imperial. Was this the grand quest? Wasn't this what my intuition was telling me to follow? Fuck it, fuck it all: there is nothing to see here.

Just recuperate and report on the original assignment and disregard the hint that was given to me. Pip is a dead end. The fictitious Argonian that was tipped off to me was useless to track. I tracked him and it led nowhere. Just a few brutal beatings from Temple thugs was all I had received. Nothing to show. Nothing but stress, alcoholism, and pointless/useless stories. What the hell was I to do now?

Drink, that's what. There is nothing else to do in this boring House Hlaalu city that I'm in. I've almost given into my desires -- to be a deadbeat drunk 24/7 -- and get on with what the universe has fated me for. There's no fight, there's no denial: I made a mistake in choosing this assignment and all my life seemed to be a failure. Embrace it. Accept it. Give in. Drink all day. Everyday day. Until your body gives out and the story is over.

But strangely I have all these damn notebook entries and papers that I collected from [REDACTED] and Pip's 'adventures' and it seemed a disservice to just disregard them completely. Didn't [REDACTED] say the Emperor himself approved his assignment? Didn't the Emperor release Pip from prison personally? As drunk as I was/am, it didn't make any sense. Why would any of this happen without reason? But, fuck, it didn't make any sense to me. Let's have another drink because who really cares if I do or don't?

Anyways, let's tie all of this together into some coherent rant, I suppose. The first person Pip saw after arriving in Balmora was Hasphat Antabolis, the Fighter's Guild guildmaster. Okay. I have a copy of his notes and they go something like this:

House Dagoth is an extinct Great House. In the wake of the ancient Battle of Red Mountain, its leadership was revealed to have plotted treason, and was discredited. Many of House Dagoth died defending the House; those survivors who were faithful to the Great Council...

And so on. Who cares?

Pip's next stop was at a Mage's Guild member by the name of Sharn gra-Muzgob. Her notes say something like this:

This Ashlander religious cult follows the prophecies of a Nerevar reborn to honor the ancient promises to the tribes,to reestablish the traditions of the Prophet Veloth, to cast down the false god of the Tribunal Temple, and to drive..."

And who cares?

Her notes went on to note pointless facts about The Nerevarine -- some reincarnated Nerevar supposed to save the Dunmer, notes about Nerevar himself, notes about the Nerevarine Prophecy itself, and even included a prophecy entitled The Stranger. It goes as follows (which seems fun enough to note here, as vague as it is):

When earth is sundered, and skies choked black,

And sleepers serve the seven curses,