Act I, Part X: Judgments of the Council

By Antuul Dralosi, Scavenger

There is a certain sense of awe that overcame me as I stepped foot into the Council Chambers. Great tapestries hung from the walls and the Council sat in seats high above me in alcove balconies all around the dome-shaped room and I could not help but feel a sense of gravity as I stepped into the center of room. That coupled with the penetrating coming from each of the councilors made it that much worse, but the tone grew ever darker as I told my story of what I had seen and witnessed in the bowels of New Vivec. There was a heavy silence between the Councilors as I spoke, but it was eventually broken by one of the councilors—a Dunmer well past his prime with greying red hair. I didn’t recognize him at first, but it was Bravora’s father. He had parted with his signature goatee some time ago, but it was him indeed.

“You can not honestly expect us to believe these—these stories you’re telling us, do you? Goblins worshiping some creature named Dagoth Ur? And more than that, that you’re their god or whatever it is reincarnated? You told the steward that you had urgent news of a grave threat and this is what you bring to us? Some fabricated stories to get attention? You are despicable and I want you to leave these chambers immediately before I have you arrested.”

If I were a smarter man, I would’ve left at that moment, but of all the things I’ve been accused of—being smart isn’t one of them. So, I stood my ground and I argued with him, and I don’t know why I did. They weren’t going to listen to me. They were never going to listen and if I had just accepted that, maybe I wouldn’t be here sitting in a jail cell right now, but here I am. It’s just sort of funny. My whole life, I’ve been nothing more than the dung stuck to someone’s boot, and you know—that’s always been okay. I never got mad about it—it was just the hand I got dealt, just like that hand I got dealt that busted me a few weeks ago. It’s just life. But you know, the one time I try to do something right—try to be more than just the urchin I grew up as—I end up in a jail cell. It’s funny how life works like that. You just—never expect things to play out how they do.

The guard’s walking here. I don’t know what he’s going to say, but I’m put the journal down for a minute—I don’t want to make him mad.

* * *

I had a visitor and it was Bravora’s father. He confessed to me in the confines of my cell that he knew I was telling the truth, but he couldn’t risk having the truth exposed—even to the other councilors. He was at New Vivec when it was sacked by the Dagothites and he knew why they came because before he joined House Redoran, he was a scholar of our people’s history. Though the texts were sparse, he studied the history of our people and he knew of the Sixth House as he called it. He knew of what they were anyway and how they worshiped a mad god who called himself Dagoth Ur and he told me that while few have ever heard of the Sixth House, its very mention can not be allowed in society. We can’t risk division in our ranks, not when so few escaped from our home during the Landfall, and that is why he has chosen to have me executed—because I know too much. I know things he doesn’t want me to know. Things he doesn’t trust me to know.

When day breaks tomorrow, I will be marched forth to the Gallows and hanged for the crime of High Treason. He knows it’s not true. I know it’s not true. But I will hang from the Gallows for a crime I did not commit, because I tried to do the right thing. I tried to be a good person and I will die for it.

A part of me wants to cry. It seems like an appropriate response to a situation that’s twisted in every sense of the word. I don’t deserve to die; the only crime I’ve committed today was trying to save those creatures beneath the Temple, but here I am, accused of High Treason. But, as much as I want to cry at the finality of the situation and how this is how it’s going to end, I can’t help but laugh. And laugh. And laugh. It’s just so funny. My entire life, I’ve been a failure and a ne’er-do-well and I’ve always stolen, cheated, and lied to get by, but the one time, the one time I decide to do something right, I’m going to be hanged for it. It’s hilarious. My entire life has been one big long joke and this is the punchline. Hahaha!

The guard is yelling at me to keep it down, but what’s he going to do? Kill me if I don’t? Hahaha! Well Bravora, here’s to you. I finally tried to be the man you always saw in me and they’re going to hang me for it! Hahaha! What a joke! Hahaha! What an absolute joke! I can’t stop laughing at this—it’s just—so absurd. It’s so damned absurd it’s funny!

Well, I better calm down or maybe they’ll take away my supper. What a tragedy that would be—why I’d have to face the Gallows on an empty stomach. Ha. Oh well, I suppose I don’t have much more to say at this point anyways. I suppose I should compose a letter of some sort, a farewell if you will, but I’ll do that in the morning. I doubt I’ll sleep much anyways.

-Antuul Dralosi, Dead Man Walking