Corrupted Heart

Chapter 7: Spinning the web.

Light. Bright, eyepiercing light. He squeezed his eyes shut against that light.
“Ah, finally. Consciousness.” An unfamiliar voice spoke. He turned his head towards the voice and opened his eyes to open. It was a bearded Breton, garbed in the robes of a healer. His eyes scanned the room further. An open window, with curtains of white silk that billowed in a stiff breeze. A tapestry of a rich red on the wall behind the healer. A door, slightly opened. His mind conjured plans, paths to take, all out of trained instinct. He tested his muscles secretly while the healer was carefully dripping the contents of a potion into a cup. All he had to do was to decide how to kill the healer and then climb out of the window.

He tensed his limbs and was about to spring into action when a shadow, standing beside a closet, caught his eye. With an inaudible sigh, he relaxed and waited till the healer had finished rambling about being attacked by bandits, barely surviving and the Legion finding him. Once the man had fled the room, he sat up.
“Revarim Kendri. Can’t you ever stop bothering me?” Ra’trith sneered.

The shadow became more solid as the low-level Chameleon spell dissipated.
“Bother? I saved your life, if that’s what you mean. That healer is completely unfamiliar with the kind of poison those spiders produce. You were as well healed as needed before we delivered you into his care. Or with bother, do you perhaps mean how I stood guard here, so you wouldn’t get the wrong idea and slay that innocent man who has not even the slightest idea of who you are?” The Redguard replied with a faint smile. Ra’trith snorted.
“Both. Whatever you want this time, I’m not interested.” He replied venomously.

Kendri wasn’t unnerved at all. This was one of the things that got on the Khajiit’s nerves all the time, the utter calm the man always displayed in every situation. Now, he flung open the large closet. To the assassin’s amazement, the back wall of the closet was made of water!
“What is that?” He couldn’t help saying.
“A shiftgate, a portal to another place. My employer is quite resourceful. Now, did I pique your interest? If so, step through the portal. If not, you won’t receive any interference from me in whatever you’ll do. Excluding matters where I’m involved, naturally.” The Redguard explained and then stepped through the portal, to prove it wasn’t a trap.

Ra’trith carefully got out of the bed, pleased to feel that his wounds, whatever they’d been, had been almost completely healed. He remembered what had happened, so he could make a guess towards the extent of the injuries he’d suffered.
“Beaten by spiders. How humiliating.”
His eyes wandered back to the swirling waters of the shiftgate. It was tempting. If he stepped through, he was sure to find answers regarding that meddling vampire. But did he really want to find those answers? He didn’t know.

He crept over to the window and peeked through it, making sure his face remained hidden from outside observers. He was up high, high above a city with a shape he could have recognized anywhere. He was in the Imperial City, the palace out of all things. He would have been surprised at finding himself on the other side of the continent under normal circumstances but if Revarim Kendri was involved, anything was possible. His gaze shot back to the interior of the room. Now he recognized details, details he’d last seen in the black of the night.
“The Emperor’s bedroom. I haven’t been here since I tried to kill him. Now what does Kendri have to do with the Emperor? How come his influence spreads so far that he can actually make me rest in the most sacred bed of the Empire?” Ra’trith asked himself. He failed to come up with the answer and finally, he concluded that the answers were too tempting to ignore. He would follow Kendri, meet his employer. And perhaps, he would learn a way to kill Vicente, his master at the Cheydinhall sanctuary. Yes, just that alone would make the bother of dealing with the Redguard worth it.

The water was chilling. He ignored the soaked feeling he had and focussed on the room he found himself in. Books, strange relics, a heavy desk covered in scrawled notes. A painting, showing a group of people. There were words written underneath the group.
“Battlespire: graduated 3E 376”
He heard the sound of breathing and looked up. A man stood behind the desk, almost invisible within the dark shadows cast by the precious few lanterns. For some reason, this man managed to make a shiver run down the fearless assassin’s spine. Those red eyes, surrounded by a stern face of dull gold. Grey hair, carelessly cut into shape by a knife. All that barely visible under the hood of the impossibly black cloak. No, not just black. There was a golden clasp at the neck. A clasp shaped like a dragon holding a sword in one hand and a staff in the other with a silver gout of flame erupting from its mouth.

The man looked at Ra’trith without a word, without blinking and without a sign of whatever thoughts ran behind those crimson eyes.
“Who are you?” Ra’trith finally asked. He looked around a bit more in search of Revarim Kendri, but the Redguard was either not in the same room, or he had hidden himself again.
“Ah, so you do have a voice. I was wondering. Kendri told me about your snide remarks, as well as your blunt manner of conversing.” The cloaked man replied. His voice was a neutral one, yet harboured a sense of great power within each syllable.
“I do know who you are. We have dealt with each other before, so to say. Furthermore, your actions have been in my interests for quite a while now. You are Ra’trith, the embodiment of darkness. A trained murderer with no equal, nearly no equal. As for who I am, I am the Imperial Battlemage. You know me better as Jagar Tharn.” He added and the left corner of his mouth twitched upward slightly as he spoke his name.

Upon hearing that name, Ra’trith instantly dropped into a battle-ready stance. This made Tharn laugh.
“Stop laughing! I haven’t forgotten about you! You are the one who was asking for me! You are why Vicente, Derin Horse-Mouth and probably others as well betrayed the Brotherhood. You are why Vicente sent me after Kendri, you are the one who sent Kendri after me! Nothing makes sense here! I don’t know what you want but you will explain now or else I’ll kill you where you stand!” The Khajiit spat. Tharn continued to laugh softly and shook his head.
“Kill me? Why, you are cocky, aren’t you? Do you honestly believe that Kendri would have left us alone for even one second if he believed there was even the slightest chance of you killing me? I doubt it. In fact, the only reason why you are still alive is because you amuse me.” He replied. Without warning, lightning arced across the room, narrowly missing the tomes and relics, crackling with an intense fury as it settled around the assassin in the form of a spherical cage.
“As you can see, you don’t hold the power to even give me a minor injury.” The Battlemage stated.

Ra’trith growled within the confines of his new prison. With all his heart, he wanted to leap and rip out the man’s throat. He was reluctant to touch the sparkling bars though. Most likely it would be a shocking experience.
“Go on, I dare you. Break free if you can. Show me what you can do!” Tharn taunted. Ra’trith snarled but did not move. Even he knew when he was beaten. Or perhaps his encounter with the spiders had given birth to the seed of caution.

Jagar Tharn looked disappointed. He let out a sigh and the cage vanished as sudden as it had appeared.
“So, it seems that even the embodiment of darkness has a limit to his foolishness. I had hoped you would at least try. No matter, there are more important matters I must attend to.” He muttered. Ra’trith glared at the cloaked man. He was free to charge now, but it wouldn’t help. Even before he would’ve traversed half the distance that separated them, the lightning would return.

The heavy doors behind his back were flung open. Ra’trith seized the opportunity to vent his frustration on the hapless messenger who had entered. He whirled around, aiming a kick at the newcomer’s head. With the sound of ringing bells, the Shehai countered the kick, stopping it cold with the flat of its blade.
“Tsk. In fine health, you seem. Yet still far too impulsive, you are. Much to learn, you have. Not understand what I’m saying, you do.” The old man chuckled. Ra’trith cursed at his misfortune.
“What are you rambling?” He growled.
“See? You don’t even realize that I’m playing with you by using bad grammar. Learn how to think, my furred friend.” Kendri smiled and walked past the assassin. His Shehai had returned to nothingness.

“Pleasantries aside, we have complications.” The Redguard said to Tharn as he approached the desk. Ra’trith decided he had seen enough. He bolted for the doors, which slammed shut just as he reached them.
“Telekinesis, assassin. It is one of the first art a Royal Battlemage studies. Now stay calm and don’t interrupt us. Anyway Kendri, please elaborate.” Tharn commented dryly. Ra’trith let out an angry hiss and leaned against a pillar.

“Yes, it is about the five seekers. They appear to be somewhat unwilling to follow the path we set for them. Also, the Valenwood-Elsweyr situation is escalating. I plan to call in the help of some old friends to deal with that situation but the fact remains that I simply can’t be everywhere at once.” The Redguard explained. Tharn nodded in deep thought.
“I see. So we either need to get them more securely on their path or we need to find someone to nudge them in the right direction whenever they are in danger of straying.” The Imperial Battlemage concluded. He looked up.
“Where are they now?” He asked.
“Right on schedule. I took the freedom to utilize the shiftgate you prepared.”

Tharn nodded again. With a wave of his hand, a gnarled wooden staff took form. The green sphere at its tip flooded the chamber in an ominous green light.
“I see. Then let’s have a small conversation, shall we?” He whispered and smirked.

Skyrim

The winds howled, like the cries of a lost child.
“Atchoo!” Rajn covered her nose and sniffled.
“Brrr, I’m soaked and freezing here!” She complained loudly. The Dunmer and the Argonian looked at her but didn’t reply.
“I know, it’s all my fault. I’m the one who dragged you through that portal-thingy.” She admitted to the glum faces. Aran struggled to his feet.
“We need a fire. Marsh can’t survive the cold. I’ll take the first watch.” He grumbled as he hobbled towards the entrance of the cavern and the axe they’d found there. He nearly tripped twice at each step.

“And chop down some trees? I don’t think so! And you should not overexert yourself right now. Did you forget that you nearly got eaten by a dog? No, you’ll listen to little sis and sit down!” The Bosmer shouted. Before Aran could raise any objections or bring forth the argument that he was the one who was supposed to protect her, not the other way around, she’d already picked up her bow and jumped past him.
“I swear. Ever since Stonekeep you have insisted on pulling all-nighters. As if you can’t sleep or something.” She grumbled at the mouth of the cavern.

Aran hesitated but in the end he sat down as close to Marsh as he could. He would try to use his body-heat to keep both of them warm.
“Dammit. I don’t have the strength to go out and make a fire. We need a fire, whether she likes it or not. Marsh will die if we don’t have one.” He thought. Marsh was half-unconscious already.

Outside, Rajn paced back and forth in her own effort to stay warm. She had already dropped her bow, something she would never do otherwise. But the metal shaft had become cold enough to freeze the skin off her hands if she used it.
“Gah, this must be Oblivion or something. I hate this place. It’s too cold. And what’s with them? Fire this, fire that. I’d rather die than let them chop down a tree!” She raged silently.
“And I’m hungry!”

As if it had heard her thoughts, a deer came out of the swirling clouds of snow. Rajn let out a yell of joy, rushed to her bow and drew a frozen arrow out of her quiver. Moments later, the deer moaned and dropped on to its side, the arrow piercing its heart.
“Whee, food!”

“Good evening. It has been a while, little one.” A dreadfully familiar voice spoke. All thoughts of diner were forgotten and she now felt even colder than before.
“You! What are you doing here, Nightingale?!” She shrieked, turning towards the voice. Nightingale did not respond, instead choosing to admire the cold beauty of the surrounding landscape.
“Skyrim, the coldest place on Tamriel. It is hard to believe that anyone would choose to come or even live here. Especially Bosmer like you. Look at those trees, how short they are, how they struggle to survive. No lush forests here.” He spoke.

Rajn glared at the man in the black robe. Unlike her, Nightingale seemed completely unfazed by the cold, or the wind. The bow felt like a lead weight in her hands and she felt the pain of frozen fingers. When Nightingale looked at her directly, she gasped. Those crimson eyes of his, they’d always struck fear in her heart. She wanted to run, back into the cave, to Aran who would protect her, but she couldn’t. She wanted to draw an arrow and stick it in that rotten heart, but she couldn’t. She was frozen, like a statue.
“You are quite amusing. Oh, it makes me laugh whenever I think of the pathetic effort you and your friends make to stop me. So you got the first piece of the ultimate weapon. I should applaud you, if it weren’t for the fact that none of you are in the right position to gather the other seven pieces.” Nightingale gloated.

“Yes, what did you do? You made a minor struggle, a minor rebellion not even worthy of my attention. And at what cost? The Dunmer is wounded. The cold will seep into his wounds and finish what the werewolf started. The Argonian, oh it was mere foolishness of him to come here. No Argonian in his right mind would even dare come close to this land. For every lizard that comes here, dies. They need the warmth of the sun, the warmth of their stinking swamp to sustain their life.” He continued. Rajn struggled to move. Her head arced sideways, so the mouth of the cavern entered the edge of her vision.
“Marshie, Arie? Die?” She thought. Tears filled her eyes at the prospect. Nightingale was not done however.
“And you, what will happen to you? Due to their selfless endavours to protect you, you are physically in prime condition. Again and again they have warded you from danger. Yes, perhaps you will live, if you can hunt enough creatures of the ice to feed, to make clothes from their fur to keep you warm. But it won’t be enough. You’ll go mad, crazed by the cold. And so the valiant Champions, the heirs of Talin, the chosen of Silmane, so they shall meet their end and the enemy they sought to destroy won’t have had to lift even a single finger.” Nightingale laughed and vanished without a trace.

For a while, Rajn stood still. Slowly, she came to the realization that the man was gone. The cold was now unbearable. With great effort, she dragged the deer over to the entrance. Only the fact that the snow and the frozen ground underneath was so slippery allowed her to move the carcass. Inside the cavern, she found Aran and Marsh, asleep or unconscious.
“Aran, Marsh?” She asked but no one replied. She shivered.
“It’s so cold.”

The face grinned at him and laughed, blood spurting from the cloven neck like some obscene fountain. He turned to run, but a new face obstructed his escape. Again and again he tried to escape. Again and again he was halted by the horrifying images.
“Heyat!”

Consciousness ebbed back to him. His face felt oddly warm and a soft crackling thumped in his ears. At this moment, he felt it hard to distinguish nightmare from reality. Had the chanting of the spell been another part of his nightmare, or had it been cast in the real world?
“Marsh?” He asked and opened his eyes. Marsh was still unconscious, his eyes closed, his chest barely moving as his lungs drew breath. But before his eyes, the source of the warmth was revealed. A campfire, burning brightly. Rajn sat on the other side of the fire, her chin resting on her knees, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs, her eyes staring at the fire without blinking.
“I….I killed a tree.” She whispered. Aran watched in silent wonder as she began to cry.
“I killed a tree!”

Back in Cyrodiil, Jagar Tharn opened his eyes.
“A fruitful conversation?” Kendri inquired. The Battlemage cast a smirk filled with subtleties.
“Even though the conversation was a one-way tap into her imagination, I believe from my studies that the words I chose caused the correct response.” He replied. Ra’trith had been listening to every word from his position but to him there was nothing to make from them. Jagar Tharn glanced at Ra’trith before redirecting his gaze towards the Redguard.
“So, you suggest we involve a supervisor of sorts?” He asked.
“Yes, that was what I was attempting to imply.” Kendri confirmed. Tharn nodded curtly.
“Very well. What kind of supervision do you prefer? Ruthless, or mercifull?” He asked next. Kendri gave one of his strange smiles as he answered.
“How about ruthlessly mercifull?” He suggested.

Tharn changed subjects without revealing whether or not he approved of Kendri’s suggestion.
“Now as for what to do with our assassin. Ihave read through your plans and approved of them. Would my summer-home be suitable?”
Kendri nodded, then turned around and strode over to Ra’trith.
“Well, my friend. It is time for you to learn of your past as well as your future. Let us be off.” He spoke. Both of them vanished from the chamber, leaving a vacuum behind that was soon filled.

Now that his guests had departed, Tharn rose from behind his desk. With the staff still in his hands, he begun to cast a spell. A symbol lit up on the floor, sparks leaped from it. Then, a thick cloud of black smoke erupted from the center of the symbol, smoke that stank of sulphur and ash. As the smoke spread through the chamber and thinned, two flaming eyes peered at the man in the black robe.

Tharn said nothing and instead peered back at the Dremora he’d summoned.
“Hmph, it appears that your kin has not been kind to you. Am I right, Merdrar?” He whispered. Merdrar stood motionlessly.
“I have forsaken my honor and wear the mask of shame out of my free will. What is it that you wish, Tharn?” He countered. Tharn shrugged.
“Direct as always, I see. Fine, I shall be direct as well. There are three travellers in Skyrim who seek to dethrone me.” He answered.

Merdrar’s hand rose to the demonic claymore on his back.
“And you wish for me to kill them. Give me more accurate directions and I consider it done.” He sneered. Tharn chuckled and shook his head.
“I was too direct, I see. No, Merdrar. I do not wish for you to kill them. Rather, I want you to join their quest and help them fulfil it to the best of your capabilities. They have need of your talents. If you do your job to my satisfaction, I’ll put in a good word for you to restore your honour.”

The Dremora stiffened, a sign of confusion and surprise.
“Help them? You are a mystery, even though you serve my lord, like the slave you are.” He said. Tharn’s eyes blazed angrily.
“Do not ever attempt to insult me again! Never forget that I only serve Dagon because my honour compels me to. As soon as I’ve done my part of the deal, I will cut my ties with him forever. Now go. All that you need to know is that they must gather and reunite the Staff of Chaos. They must.” He said with a voice that could even make ice freeze over.
“After all, where would the fun be in destroying them if there wasn’t a proper reward to take from their scorched remains?” He added cruelly.

A shiftgate formed before the closed doors. Merdrar bowed and stepped through the magical wall of water.


Marsh was grateful for the fire once he woke up, but he realized that he would still die the moment he went outside or the fire went out, whichever came first. With a sigh, he pressed the thought to the back of his head.
“Where are we?” He asked with feigned calm.
“Skyrim.” Rajn mumbled, still rather shocked over what she’d done.
“I’m a murderer. Oh, what am I going to do once the folks back home find out?”

Marsh shook his head.
“Figures. With this cold, it had to be Skyrim. Now listen up, both of you. Our plan was to turn around and head straight for Valenwood, no detours. However, we have now gone far north, which is absolutely the wrong direction. Once night comes, I might attempt to observe the stars and figure out just how far north we are. Though I wonder how long I can survive outside.” He spoke.
“I can do that.” Both Aran and Rajn spoke up at exactly the same moment. They looked at each other and Aran chuckled.
“The Ash can wipe away most landmarks quickly.” He explained.
“Too many trees to get landmarks in the first place unless you’re local.”

Marsh looked from one to the other.
“Ok, so you both know how to deduce your position by the stars. Good. Then let’s move on to the next point on our agenda. The prophecy.” He said. The Argonian dug into his pack and retrieved the scroll he’d been so careful with in the last few weeks. He opened it and began to recite it from the beginning.

Eight defiled under cold earth
Scorching light signals era’s end
Threads severed, vessel cast adrift
Heart corrupt, dragon’s blood in land with no name
Through water, the fire is lit

He who lives by the life of someone else
Unbound eye
Tooth of chaos
Ten suns of darkness
Mask of shame
Father of time’s flame
Wandering soul
Corrupted heart

Eight lands, eight destinies
Land of sand
Land guided by the moons
Land of roots
Land separated from all
Land at world’s end
Land of ice
Land uncharted
Land of curses

All come together, in the land of dragons
Divine chaos united
From lowest depth to highest top
Unnamed land given name

Having recited the words, he folded up the scroll and put it back in his pack.
“Alright, what do we know already?” He asked as if he was presenting a riddle.
“Somehow, our quest is tied in with eight provinces of Tamriel, followed by the province of dragons, which I assume to be Cyrodiil. We know, or rather, we are quite sure that the land of roots refers to Valenwood. Furthermore, I believe that Skyrim is the land of ice. So in short, we may not be off-course at all.” Aran pointed out.
“Yeah, but something’s bothering me.” Rajn interjected. She waited a second before continuing.
“If this tooth of chaos is an object? Then why the heck is it listed with the persons?” She added.

“Good point, Rajn. I don’t know why honestly. Speaking of persons, so far we only know of two. But perhaps you are somewhere in the list as well, Aran.” Marsh commented. He took out the scroll again and pointed at the first paragraph with his finger.
“These are just introductory words. Eight defiled under cold earth, that is not yet clear to me. Scorching light signals era’s end. That must be the Groyth Heyat I used beneath the Imperial city.” He tapped each line as he explained their meaning.
“The spell that killed me and claimed Ria’s soul.” He added in his mind with a feeling of sadness.
“Threads severed, vessel cast adrift. This one took some time for me. But in older stories, the fate of mortals were weaved into a tapestry. I believe this calls for the death of Talin, the champion Ria Silmane chose. We are doing the task he was supposed to do.” He continued, and pointed out the next line.

“Heart corrupt, dragon’s blood in land with no name. This refers to the usurper of the throne, Jagar Tharn the Imperial Battlemage himself. He is not an easy adversary, let me add that. Dragon’s blood in land with no name is something that eludes me right now but the next part is clear enough. Through water, the fire is lit. The shiftgates we encountered are walls erected from magical water. The fire probably speaks of our quest.”

He put the scroll aside for the second time and gestured at the dead deer.
“I would love to continue my essay, but I’d rather eat right now.”


Outside the cave, snow was still being whipped up by the harsh winds. Seemingly out of thin air, floating plane of water swirled into existence. Something heavy dropped through it and sank deep into the snow. The water cascaded down and froze within moments. Merdrar glared at the ice gripping his jagged suit of armour like a prison. The burning of his eyes intensified and steam erupted all around him. The ice melted away, only to reveal a new obstacle. The ground, having been frozen for years, now turned into a veritable swamp, causing the Dremora to sink even further.

“Dawn’s beauty. It’s beauty is highly overrated.” He grumbled to himself once he’d dragged himself onto more stable ground. He stomped on the snow twice to ascertain the safety of his position. Once he’d been assured that he wouldn’t sink through the ground again, he took out his Claymore and swung it around in several slow arcs.
“Go and help some mortals. Really, what is that Tharn thinking? Does he truly believe I can simply walk up to them and say something along the lines of: Good morning. I am a demon from Oblivion who usually kills everything in sight but since I’m in such a good mood today, I’ve decided to help you people for no good reason. Care for a drink?” He complained to himself.
“Ridiculous! The way these mortals think, it is impossible to make sense of it!”

Battlespire

Harms Meritus looked up from the book he was reading. The far side of his office had hidden from his sight by the sudden appearance of a shiftgate. He slowly closed the book and waited. After a full minute, a black-robed figure finally stepped through and shook off the drops of water clinging to the fabric. The shiftgate swirled out of existence with none of the usual splash. The visitor smoothed out a few wrinkles in his robe before addressing the Battlespire’s Headmaster.
“Harms, a pleasure to meet you again.” He said.

“Master Tharn, the pleasure is all mine.” Harms replied with a smile. Jagar Tharn lowered his hood and settled comfortably in a chair.
“I would love to chat about the good old days but I fear that I came for business, not pleasantries.” He revealed and waited a scarce moment to gain the other man’s full attention.
“Your students, how are they?”

Harms leaned back in his own chair and frowned.
“I’d say that I am pleased with the class on the whole except….Oh, there is no reason for me to hide things from you. After all, you were the headmaster when I was still in training. The Bosmer, Bedroth Treesap.” He began. Tharn nodded for the Imperial to continue.
“He is a jolly fellow, fun to have around. He does well on Alchemy, the art of the Shehai and the general items of thought but at Magery he consistently stumbles. We’ve been at it for over a month now and he hasn’t even mastered a simple light spell.”

Tharn’s expression revealed nothing.
“Cause?” He simply asked. Harms threw up his arms in a sign of desperation.
“I don’t know. I simply don’t. The best possible theory is pure humiliation.” He exclaimed.
“No mortal is so great that he never fails, otherwise he would not be mortal. As such, he who humiliates is a greater fool than he who is humiliated.” Tharn countered. Harms sighed in resignation.
“Alright then. Bad intell followed by bad execution. The report told of a Bosmer by the name of Treesap living in Fallinesti who had a talent for Mysticism. So we went out and snatched the only Bosmer with that name. Honestly, we should have realized our mistake sooner. The report was about a female, not a male. If gender is wrong already, then the whole report is inaccurate.”

Tharn chuckled.
“I hate to steal the show here, but I am afraid that your report has been accurate.” He said. Harms rose an eyebrow.
“You see, Harms. There has been a small riot in Cyrodiil, at the palace out of all places. The riot included several people, one of which was a female Bosmer, as well as a spell I’ve identified as the Heyat. One noble, an amateur Battlemage, claims that the young woman in question is a wood’s guide going by the name of Rajn Treesap who just recently travelled there from Valenwood. See the link?” The Imperial Battlemage finished.

Harms let out a very long sigh.
“Oh Divines, no. We snatched the wrong one.” He muttered.
“So, do you think we should release Bedroth and collect this Rajn? Where did she learn an Argonian spell in the first place?” He then asked with a stronger voice. Tharn thought for a moment and then shook his head.
“No, that wouldn’t do. Ignoring the fact that my own agents have not yet made contact with Rajn Treesap since the incident at the palace, the fact remains that she will have to deal with a gap in training which could be insurmountable even at this point. You of all people should remember that the pace of our training is brutal. As for her knowing a Heyat, I only claimed that a Heyat has been cast, I don’t have any solid evidence that she was the caster. As for Bedroth, if I have any experience with Bosmer, Bedroth has been in more forbidden places than is good for him. Releasing him would release some secrets best kept secret. I suggest a change in his training. You claimed he was good with the Shehai, how good?”

“Good enough to form an ethereal Shehai on the first try. The kid’s a natural in that aspect.” Harms said.
“Good. Then perhaps he would be the right person to teach some of the intricacies of Shehai. The diversity of shapes for example. Mold his skill with the Shehai into a tool that covers the gaps in his abilities.” Jagar Tharn decided.
“The other students? I wish to go over them in detail.” He then muttered.


Bedroth looked up and down the construction that had formed in the main hall. It was a large collection of wooden platforms stacked on top of each other with ladders connecting each level. Three ropes snaked throughout the structure, finally coming together and leading down again, where they connected to Novis’ belt. Not only that, but a huge pile of pillows was spread over the floor.
“You really have a problem with heights, don’t you?” The Bosmer commented, shaking his head. Novis gave a few tugs on the rope before answering.
“Well, I fell down stairs a couple times in my youth so, yeah.” He admitted.

“Your youth? Gosh man, most cultures would still consider you a child, especially your own! It’s too early to talk like an old grandpa.” Bedroth laughed. Novis smiled and joined in the laughter. While he had been at first rather reserved towards the Elf who turned out to be his roommate, the two had become friends in just a few days.
“Well, ok. In my pre-teens then. So long story cut short, I don’t like heights. That, and I always like to exaggerate. You’ve got to admit, if the tower, the ropes and the pillows fail, fate really must have a sick sense of humor.”

Bedroth grinned and opened his backpack.
“You mean if the tower, the ropes, the pillows and the potions fail.” He gloated. Novis rose an eyebrow as he looked at the unlabeled vials of purple glass.
“Where did you get that?” He asked simply. Bedroth gave the Altmer a wink.
“When you said you weren’t willing to focus both on levitating and mending the ceiling at the same time, I went to Ei-rin’s and borrowed some potions from her.” He explained.

Novis sighed. He really should turn down the offer but he already knew he wasn’t going to refuse. Ei-rin had the highest score at alchemy, even higher than Bedroth. If she was told to make a potion of levitation that should last roughly ten seconds, she would always add in a buffer of twenty seconds. Still, he had to voice his thoughts first.
“Borrowed? You can’t borrow a potion. They’re used up in a single gulp. And aren’t these the levitation potions she has to present for the test tomorrow?” He inquired. Bedroth shrugged, his grin vanishing.
“Geez, are you saying I should return them?” Novis took one of the vials and removed the seal.
“Nope, I’m saying we’ll fire up our own alchemy apparatus tonight and gift her our own. Fair is fair. And just to ease up the manner further, I’ll cast a spell on whoever is going to drink it, just to increase the effect. Remember last week at the fireball exam? You just gestured around and I conjured a fireball for you. They never found out it was me doing the casting.” He explained and downed the potion.

Instantly, he cringed.
“Ugh, tastes like horse dung.” He muttered.
“Horse dung? How do you know how that tastes?” Bedroth wanted to know. Novis picked up a small piece of rubble and began to climb the ladders.
“I worked as a stableboy before coming here. I once tripped and….you get the idea.” Below him, Bedroth rolled over the floor, laughing.
“Yeah, I get it. You’re just clumsy!” He squeeled. Novis sighed and pressed the piece of marble to the ceiling where it fused into place.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Can you throw the L-shaped bit up for me, please?”

Skyrim

In Skyrim’s cave, the meal had been completed. Marsh had a large map in his lap which he tapped with a stick of charcoal.
“Alright. I’ve combined both of your opinions and concluded that we are about a day’s march from a place called Winterhold, which incidentally lies on the northernmost coast of Skyrim. We’ve gone farther than expected.” He said. He folded up the parchment and adopted a self-satisfied expression. In reality, he was anything but satisfied. Winterhold was a day’s march away, yet it might as well been on one of the moons. He wouldn’t last even ten minutes outside. And he doubted that Aran or Rajn would last much longer themselves. Each of them was already suffering from frostbite.

He stole a glance at his companions. Rajn had cuddled up in the Dunmer’s arms and Aran appeared to be performing one of his meditations again.
“We need two things.” The man spoke without warning, his eyes still closed.
“First of all, we need to keep the fire burning constantly during our stay here. Second, we need animal furs, preferably the thickest around. I’ve heard about snowbears living here. If they are anything like the bears in central Cyrodiil, they’ll be our best chance. We need the furs to keep ourselves warm when we move out.” He continued. Rajn sniffed and Aran sighed.
“I know, Rajn. But either way, we need wood to have a fire. Just think of what will happen to Valenwood if we don’t stop Jagar Tharn. A few trees shouldn’t be an impossible sacrifice to keep the great forest from being burned by the demon.” He whispered gently. It was a hollow excuse, he knew. But it was the best excuse he had.

“I get it. We don’t have much left. I’ll kill another one.” The Bosmer stammered. Aran released her from his hold and nodded.
“Rajn, dead branches that have fallen to the ground will be just fine. The fire will last long enough to dry anything you bring in. Just, don’t be gone too long.” He said. The girl blinked a couple of times. Marsh looked with interest at the blush creeping onto her face.
“So, this is a nice event. I wonder how much further it will go before someone notices.” He thought and cast his equivalent of a smile.

The smile evaporated.
“What’s that smell?” He asked. The other two interrupted their conversation to stare at him.
“What smell?” Aran asked.
“It smells like something is burning.” The Argonian explained.
“The fire?” The warrior offered but Marsh shook his head.
“No, the scent of the ash is different. It must be coming from outside the cave.” He insisted. Instantly, Aran pushed himself up from the floor and reached for his spear. His face showed none of the pain that wracked his body at the sudden action.

“Eeeekkk!!” Rajn screamed as she scrambled for her bow. Marsh frowned and conjured a Heyat which he kept hovering over his hand.
“Aran, hold your blade. Rajn, hold your arrow as well.” He quickly ordered. He then turned towards the visitor who hadn’t made a single move towards the Claymore on his back despite the threat. It looked like a Dunmer fully encased in some sort of jagged armour that looked as if it was made from burning coals or half-molten lava. But the eyes burned with an intensity not even Aran’s could match. What’s more, Aran looked positively like a midget next to this man.
“May I have your name?” Marsh asked and hid his mounting nervousness. There was something utterly demonic about their guest.

“Merdrar. That is all you need to know from me.” The stranger replied. The voice was grating on the ears. Merdrar looked at each face in turn.
“Well, I am surprised. I remember those two. They were chased by Ra’trith in the dungeon. It looks like they took the opportunity I provided and got away. Interesting. But who is the third one, the lizard?” The Dremora asked himself. He still hadn’t found an excuse to explain his presence so now, he decided he simply wouldn’t use one.
“You are freezing here, slowly. Let me help, then.” He said and clenched one of his massive hands into a fist. When he opened it, three red beads lay on his palm.
“Take these and carry them with you. They will keep you warm, I vow this on my honour.” He claimed.
“Ignoring the fact that I’ve forsaken my honour. But they don’t know that and it doesn’t change the truth of my words.”

Rajn was the first to make a hesitant step forward. She cast a glance over her shoulder at Aran but then continued more resolutely.
“Anything that keeps trees alive is good in my book.” She claimed. Merdrar had to bend down to his knees before the girl could stand on her toes and take one of the beads.
“Wowie, it really is warm! Cute!” She squealed. After that, Marsh and Aran followed a bit more eager.

“I believe we must thank you, Merdrar.” Marsh said diplomatically. The Dremora made a wave with his hand.
“No need to thank me. I have my reasons.” He answered bluntly.
“Of course. A reason. I doubt we’ll like it.” Marsh realized.
“I wish to take you to a city that lies to the north. From there, you are free to do whatever you want.” Merdrar added.
“In that case, we would be glad to accept your offer.” Aran spoke with a bow.
Merdrar cast a grim smile behind his mask.
“They’re so happy, they didn’t even think to ask who or what I am. Mortals never cease to surprise me.”

Northern Cyrodiil

“Open, you!” Revarim Kendri calmly sipped his tea and smiled as he heard Ra’trith roar.
“Such an uncomplicated look on life. If it doesn’t do what you want it to do, hit it.” He thought.
“You will not pass unless you give me the command.” The door replied dispassionately. Another series of loud bangs erupted as the Khajiit hammered away at the flimsy wood that somehow refused to succumb to his blows.
“I’m telling you, open up! If you don’t want to end up as wood splinters, you will open!” He roared. He backed away, breathing heavily.

The assassin was immensely frustrated. He’d been locked in an empty room for days now. Every six hours, a simple loaf of breath and a cup of water would materialize in a corner of his ‘cell’. Kendri’s orders were deceptively simple. Escape from the room he was in. That would be his first lesson. At first, he’d believed it would be an easy matter to escape. This belief held out less than five minutes. There were no secret switches or pressure plates or other mechanisms to trigger, no locks, no tunnels, or even ventilation holes large enough to crawl through. Nothing except four walls and a door, all made of decrepit wood. Wood that still defied him even after giving it a beating that would have broken an Orc’s spine.

“Kendri! When I get out of here, you are dead!” He howled. Sitting on the other side of the door, Kendri smiled again.
“I doubt it.” He answered, too low to be heard. He could imagine what Ra’trith was going through now. The solution to the puzzle was so simple, yet it stood opposite to all of the Khajiit’s morals. It was so elegantly simple, he would never figure it out except by mere chance. And mere chance had the patience to wait a long time before happening.
“Doesn’t matter. I’ve got years to prepare. The longer he spends taming himself, the shorter his actual training shall be.”

Skyrim, Windhelm

The scent of burning insense was heavily in the air, though drowned out by the indescribable chaos brought out by the dozens of concoctions with questionable ingredients bubbling over their flickering flames. As if that was not enough, a very large pillar of fire rose up from a circular pit at the center of the room, heating it up to the point where the old and dusty scrolls lying all over the place nearly burst into flames. It was unsurprising as such that most visitors received a nasty thermal shock as they went from ‘below freezing’ to ‘almost boiling’. Some might expect the Windhelm Mage guild to do something about it in the name of customer friendliness. The truth was, they did this on purpose. Medicine to cure thermal shock was a highly lucrative business and easily funded the extravagant lifestyle of the mages with plenty of cold coins to spare for anything else.

“Pablsis rectum expectat parsionis demitet.” The dim-eyed mage mumbled in a mysterious tone of voice. Rajn blinked, Aran looked stoically and Marsh secretly rolled his eyes. Merdrar snarled at the ridiculous display, though no one could see the threatening gesture he made towards the terrifying Claymore on his back. He’d let Marsh cast an invisibility spell before passing the city gates. The Dunmer warrior rubbed his chest carefully. He then gave the bearded man a satisfied nod. The wounds he’d suffered from his fight against the werewolf were now perfectly healed, except for a series of massive new scars which he could add to his already impressive collection.

The mage pushed his pointed hat back into place as it began to shift sideways and walked over to the cupboard to store what was left of the cure.
“You will find that not only has your musculature been restored to full functionality, but I also removed a tumor in the Casis adiciorem.” He spoke while poking his head into the cupboard. The words elicited the same response as his last sentence had.
“Mage gobblegygook meant to impress. Don’t listen to it.” Marsh whispered.

“Of course, that does mean that I did more than our contract specified. I require a reasonable raise in payment. The Candi Akiream is a very important organ one must know and removing the infection wasn’t easy. So what about an extra twohundred?” He continued, oblivious to the glances being thrown back and forth behind his back. They didn’t have the money to pay even half of the bonus the mage had just demanded.
“It would be believable if I were a total fool and if he didn’t change the name of his fictional organ every five seconds.” Merdrar thought to himself. His hand now clenched the hilt of his sword tightly. Just three steps and a single swing, it would end all of his nuisance. He forcefully released his grip. No one would trust him after he slaughtered an old and obviously crazy mage.

Aran caught Marsh’s eyes who shook his head. At that, Aran surpressed a sigh and gave one short nod to Rajn. The Bosmer smiled with glee and quickly moved behind a large rack of books.
“Twohundred? I think that is a tad too much, considering the fact that we never asked to have it treated.” Marsh countered, drawing the mage’s attention. The man pulled his head out of the cupboard a tad too fast, and all the potions stored within crashed down on the floor.
“Ayeh! You startled me and look at what happened! How do I ever clean this up? If the headmaster finds out, he’ll turn my head into a mudcrab’s tail!” The man shrieked and caught his hat that had begun its own descent to the floor.

He was still wringing his hand and standing in the multi-coloured pool of liquids when a large puff of purple smoke exploded from his desk.
“Achoo!” Rajn sneezed with tearing eyes.
“No, the fabled dragon’s breath! Ah, what have you done?!” The mage shrieked, now in absolute panic. He shivered so hard, his hat again slipped sideways. This time, he was too preoccupied to notice and it reached the floor unimpeded.
“I didn’t do it! The Imp did!” Rajn coughed and pointed an accusing finger at the winged creature whose mouth fell wide open in disbelief.

The mage spun to face the creature. His eyes had lost the dim glaze and now seemed to shoot sparks.
“You!” He began, drawing a deep breath for what was to follow.
“Master. I didn’t…” The Imp stammered to no avail. Already its master had flung his hands up into the air and collected two bolts of crackling energy within his fists. The Imp screamed and flapped away to dodge the spells.
“I WILL NOT HAVE YOUR PETTY EXCUSES ANYMORE! EVERY TIME, YOU HAVE TO MAKE A MESS OF THIS HALL. I’LL TURN YOU INTO A FROG!”

Five minutes later, the fabled dragon’s breath was the least loss suffered by the Windhelm mage guild. The mage scarcely noticed. He only grinned mischievously at the quivering snail he held on his palm.
“There, that will teach you. You’ll never make a mess again after having been a fish for a week.” He gloated. Rajn sighed and shook her head behind his back.
“What a wacko.” She whispered to herself and handed Marsh several heavy pouches rinkling with gold.

Marsh opened the pouches and counted out threehundred coins which he put down on the table.
“Use the change for repairs I’d say. Thank you for your help but we must be going. Have a nice day.” He spoke and left for the door before the mage could either accept or reject the payment. Outside, no one could keep his or her laughter. Even Merdrar cast a grim smile behind his mask.
“Now that’s what I call a quality distraction folks. Tip over one small bowl of purple stuff, then blame it on the Imp.” Rajn giggled. Aran closed the door behind himself.
“You know my opinion on stealing but this time I don’t mind. We were low on funds and he was obviously trying to rip us off. Paying him with some of his own septims was just perfect.” He noted.

Marsh looked left and right before renewing his spell on Merdrar.
“Ahem, let’s find ourselves a private room where we can discuss what to do next.” He suggested. Hearing no objections, he followed a sign pointing towards the nearest inn. He mentally counted the money they had left after his payment.
“Enough to rent a big fourroom suite in a luxurious establishment. After all we went through, I think we deserve some decadency.” He thought.

Rajn dug a hand into a pocket of her jacket and pulled out a small bundle wrapped in paper.
“I took the chance to do some shopping at a discount. This is for you.” She quipped and handed the bundled to Aran who looked at it with a resigned frown before he stripped off the paper. His fingers found themselves holding a small bone which had been hollowed out. A thin cord was tied around one end with a loop which made it clear to him it was meant to be worn around his neck.
“It’s a magic whistle. If you’re ever in trouble, just blow on it. You’ll get a dozen arrows on whatever’s bothering you in no time at all. If it’s still moving after that, you get your money back.” The girl promised with a cheeky grin. Aran sighed.
“Well, thanks. That’s nice of you.” He answered as he tied the whistle around his neck.
“But am I really supposed to thank her for it? It is stolen after all. I’m just encouraging her with my praise.”


The Nord receptionist was more than a little displeased at the group that walked in. With one hand she gestured at the bouncer while pointing at the door with the other.
“We don’t have room for beggars. Clear out, now.” She spoke in a bored yet resolute tone. Marsh snickered inwardly as he stomped on the floor with a paw draped in bandages.
“Beggars?! How dare you call me a beggar! I have you know that I am Ter-kinin the third, count of Havenridge! I’m telling you, the king will hear from this! Calling me a beggar, unbelievable!” He bellowed furiously. He then turned around and marched for the door.

As the Argonian was going straight for the door, the bouncer stopped in his tracks.
“Oh, forgive me. I didn’t recognize you in the gloom. Alric, light some more candles.” The receptionist called out in a hurry, suddenly the epitome of friendliness. Marsh turned back slowly, still with the same furious expression.
“Unfortunately, we are rather full at the moment. The bridal suite is still free, however.” The Nord offered, already holding out the key.

This was the moment that Rajn opened her mouth.
“Bridal suite? Wah, you think I’m married to these freaks?! Me married to a…..lizard and a big bear like him? You pervert!” She squealed. Aran gave her a quick glare.
“Be quiet, maid. And stay off the moon sugar.” He hissed. The receptionist and Marsh pretended not to have heard the interruption.
“We’ll have a few servants be sent up to prepare a hot bath for you and your servants. Dinner can be enjoyed in our restaurant at sunset.”

“Hot bath? Why didn’t you say so right away? If my nose wasn’t frozen, I’d probably tip over from how these two smell.” Again Aran had to glare at the Bosmer.
“Do we need to cut out your tongue before you cease interrupting the master?” He asked. Marsh sighed. Ignoring one interruption was protocol, ignoring a second was foolish.
“Maid, take the key and prepare my bath. I will be over in a moment, after I filled out these forms.” He hadn’t yet finished speaking before the girl had snatched the key and stormed off.

When he came up later, Rajn was sitting on a bed large enough for an entire family. The Bridal suite was very luxurious, albeit not as over the top as the suite she had at Cyrodiil.
“Now what was that all about? Maid, cutting out my tongue? I thought you were my bodyguard, Aran!” She snapped. The Dunmer shrugged and put his spear to lean against the wall.
“I am. You were making a serious mistake by constantly interrupting. We’d decided to let Marsh do the persuading, remember?” He pointed out. Marsh however, gave her an amused grin.
“I never knew you compared Aran to a bear. And you are the only female on the group, so it is best if you take on the role of maid.” He chuckled. By now, Merdrar had become visible again and he’d stalked off to a corner of the room. He had no intention whatsoever of joining the conversation.
“And these three believe they can threaten Tharn? This bunch of clowns?”

“But I don’t wanna be a maid.” Rajn whimpered.
“I don’t clean, I’m not an exceptional cook and I don’t bow for anyone. And I definitely don’t tie someone’s shoe laces! Just strip Merdrar of his armour and put him in a dress if you want a maid that bad.” She added.
“I will not wear a dress!” Merdrar roared. Rajn grinned.
“But you would be so cute in one. Besides, why are you tagging along anyway?” The Dremora involuntarily stepped back. The one question he couldn’t answer had just been voiced.
“I mean, you’re going way too far for just charity. And I don’t trust charity. Last time I relied on it, I got screwed over. And then that mask, creeeeepy.”

Fortunately, he was saved by the entrance of a young Nord dressed in almost the exact same robe used by his collegues at the Imperial palace in Cyrodiil.
“Master, your bath is ready.” He called with a bow, then stepped back out onto the hallway.
“We had a servant in the bathroom all this time?” Aran mumbled.
“Yeah, they’re really hard workers after you poke them with an arrow. Now clear aside, ladies first!” Rajn shouted, rushed into the bathroom and then slammed the door shut behind her. Two seconds later, there was a distinct click.

“Just where did you pick up that one?” Merdrar sighed. Marsh tried to open the door to the bathroom, only to find out it was locked.
“Hey! Stay out! I know I’m the only girl around here, but that’s no excuse for you to peek.” The Argonian turned around with an apologetic shrug.
“Long story. But let’s just say that despite her antics, she does come in handy when there are locks to open…..or close apparently.”

The Dremora nodded and chose to stare out of the window. He deliberately avoided the question of why he was travelling along with them.
“At least those two don’t seem to notice. Now how do I get it out of that one’s mind? Hmm, she seems like the easily distracted sort. Gifts, fancy clothes?” He wondered. Behind his back, Marsh and Aran whispered in a corner.
“Let’s wait just a little bit longer. See if he betrays his intentions himself.”

For the most part, the three talked about random subjects. The weather, local customs, old stories, simple things like that. At one point however, Marsh and Aran separated themselves again while Merdrar resumed his observation of the streets below.
“Alright, you know what we’re looking for. Any idea where to look?” Aran began. Marsh shook his head, while keeping the Dremora in his sight at all times.
“Not a clue. Skyrim is a large place and I honestly don’t know much about it. We can’t ask him. Apart from risking the whole mission, he doesn’t seem like a local himself either.” He answered. He then flicked his tail.
“Speaking of which, I don’t know what I’m dealing with. I don’t know what’s beneath that armour, but it gives me the shivers.”

The Dunmer nodded thoughtfully.
“I suppose we won’t know. Unless…..perhaps I know a way.” He muttered. Marsh chuckled.
“You’d better be carefull. Before you know it, she’s going to call you a pervert.” He quipped. His voice then turned sour.
“It’s been three hours. Just what is she doing back there?” He grumbled. Now it was Aran’s turn to shrug.
“I bet she’s just making herself pretty. Despite appearances, she’s still a woman. Give her a bath, a fancy dress and a few hours. You’ll be amazed.” He said with a small grin.
“Rajn, a woman? Really, I couldn’t imagine her in a dress even if I was standing on my head.” Marsh whispered, shaking his head.

“She wore a dress at the palace.” Aran reminded.
“Oh, well forgive me for not noticing. I was too preoccupied with launching that battlemage wannabe across the hall.” The Argonian complained sarcastically.
“Something on your mind?” As if on cue, the Bosmer’s squealing voice whistled through the room. Both Dunmer and Argonian turned…and stared. Merdrar made a brave attempt at studying the ceiling, but he also found his eyes drawn downward all the time.

Under all the attention, Rajn felt a blush creep to her face.
“Well, Arie. Like what you’re seeing?” She asked, performing a quick pirouette on one foot. Aran nodded.
“Yeah, I like it.” He confessed. Rajn beamed.
“Sweet, guess that little green dress was useful for something in the end!” She laughed.
“Hmm, I really do like it. There’s not a single place where you can hide anything stolen.” Aran added.

“Wah?!” Rajn gasped.
“Hey, pay me some respect, mister. You have no idea how hard it was to uncurl my hair and all. Three hours of non-stop pain with the hairbrush!” She said quasi-serious. Aran threw his arms up in surrender.
“Alright! You look great, I mean it. And sorry you did all that for me and I didn’t properly appreciate it.” He called. Rajn gave him a huge grin.
“Who said I did this for you? Now come on, let’s find this restaurant. I’m starving. Oh, and I still have some places to hide stuff. Never underestimate a woman with unpractical but shining shoes. Drat, these heels are killing me!” When she turned her back on him and moved to the door, Aran took the chance to whisper to Marsh.
“Well, take a good look this time. That’s how Rajn looks after a visit to a luxurious bathroom. Better burn it into your memory.”

Northern Cyrodiil

Ra’trith glared at the door that dared to defy him.
“Why won’t you open?” He howled. Or at least, he tried. He was too tired to actually shout anymore. And all of his effort had been for naught. Not even the slightest scratch.
“I won’t open, unless you give me the correct answer.” The door replied. Ra’trith bared his fangs.
“I don’t care for your stupid riddle. Just open, please.” He hissed.
“As you wish.” To his incredible surprise, the door opened without a sound, revealing a balcony and on that balcony, the seated form of Revarim Kendri, reading a book on poetry.

“Kendri! Now you die!” The assassin snarled. The Redguard looked up slowly, smiled, then returned his attention to the book.
“You don’t appear to be in the proper condition to fight a rat, nevermind me.” He replied in that infuriating calm tone of his. He closed his book and laid it on a table.
“So, what did you learn?” He then asked. Ra’trith actually thought about the question for a while. He would never admit it, but he was tired and he knew it.
“You have sturdy doors.” He admitted.

Kendri clapped his hands.
“Ha! Humour. That’s good news. But no, while my doors are indeed sturdy, that’s not what I was going on about.” He spoke.
“Then what is your point?” Ra’trith asked. Kendri smiled and pointed at another door, not the one leading to the shed where the Khajiit had been locked up, but one leading to a small yet cozy-looking house.
“This, all the doors, cupboards and chests in this area are enchanted. You can’t open them without the password.” He revealed.
“Which is?” Kendri’s smile grew.
“The password is ‘please’.”

Ra’trith was stunned.
“Please? That’s ridiculous!” He shouted, having regained some of his breath.
“No, no, no. Not ridiculous at all. I am trying to teach you something which you are sorely lacking. Manners.” The Redguard explained, waving a finger before the Khajiit’s nose. Ra’trith folded his arms.
“Assassins don’t need manners.” He claimed.
“But you are no longer an assassin. Manners is what you need to learn and so manners are what you shall learn. To open anything, you must say please. And you must say it in a polite, friendly tone. Don’t say please while making it sound like a threat. That just won’t do.”

Ra’trith walked to the edge of the balcony and looked at the snowy landscape before him.
“I could just leave, let you rot in your manners.” He pointed out. Kendri made a gesture towards a rocky path leading away from the building.
“Then leave. If you follow that path, you’ll eventually reach the road to Bruma. If you leave however, don’t expect to ever come back. If you leave, you’ll never grow to be more.”

The Redguard got out of his seat and entered the house.
“Dinner’s ready. Decide for yourself what you want to do, embodiment of darkness.” He said over his shoulder and vanished inside.

Windhelm, restaurant

The restaurant was sparsely lit by several strategically placed candles and a total of four torches at each corner of the hall. Plants covered the pillars that supported the roof while the tables were covered by a white sheet. A bard sat on a small stage, plucking at the strings of his lute. There weren’t many guests and beyond Rajn, Aran and Marsh, there were only half a dozen Nordic nobles drinking mead. Merdrar had chosen to remain at the suite. This didn’t bother anyone for Marsh always kept the vital prophecy on him.

“Zowie! Silver cutlery. That’s just sweet!” Rajn squeeled as they took their seats.
“Whatever, just don’t take any for souvenirs.” Aran cautioned half-mindedly. Within moments they were assaulted by a grand total of two dozens servants. Marsh flipped open the menu he got handed and decided to give out a few pointers.
“First of all, payment is applied to the charge for our room. Now, the menu is divided into several sections. It starts with drinks. I suggest you two take something like grape-juice, mead only gets you a hangover……Don’t look at me like that, Rajn! Fine, you can stick with water.”

He sighed.
“This place is for upper-class only. Don’t even think of eating with your bare hands, that goes for both of you. Now the second section is salads, followed by the main course which in turn is followed by dessert. But since it is upper-class and caters to foreigners like us, there is also the option of assembling a custom menu where you get to choose exactly what to eat.” He finished his explanation without further interruptions.
“White wine, horse in tomato-sauce, please.” He then ordered after which he looked questioningly at his companions. He had to restrain another sigh at the mischievous grin he got.

“Ok, get ready to take down the notes! I want a big jug of water, as big as the ones those drunks over there are using. Boil the water in a pot over an open fire. The fire must be made by burning worms or this oily stuff, no wood. Then, I’ll have some horse as well, grilled. No spices or salads or vegetables or fruits or anything else. For the sauce, chop up some pork in little bits, smash said bits with a mortar and pestle, mix with water and two handfuls of salt, then heat till most of the water has evaporated. For dessert, bacon and fried bugs.” Rajn listed, flicking through the pages. She then began a large speech on what kind of bugs went best with bacon and what kind would only make her puke.
“Got that? And you, Arie?”

“I’ll settle for a loaf of bread and a glass of salted water.” The Dunmer ordered. It was by far the most Spartan meal ever ordered at this particular establishment. Reasonably, everyone stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Even the bard stopped playing. The only ones who hadn’t noticed a thing were the nobles, who were too busy singing a drunk song anyway. Aran frowned.
“That is my decision and it’s final. All this decadent food only makes me soft.”

As soon as the servants had ran off to the kitchen and the bard had picked up his lute again, marsh returned to the earlier subject.
“I think we’re looking at it the wrong way. We shouldn’t try to think where the staff is hidden, but where we would hide it if we were Tharn.” He noted. To this, Aran agreed.
“If we know how he thinks, we can scrap 90% of the province from our list. If I were him and I had to hide some supreme artefact of power, I would make sure that no matter what happens, the artefact would remain safe from all but the most powerful of beings. For that matter, I wouldn’t trust any place that relies on guards, unless those guards are loyal spirits or in some other way immortal.” He added and frowned as he tried to think of something else.
“Says you. But does anyone here have an idea who we’re talking about? I don’t know anything about him beyond the fact that he’s a total creeped out jerk and survived the grove. That’s impressive, but not impossible. I could do it, with preparation. But seriously, why don’t we just hop over to his place and whack him with one of those little suns you always throw at things? It would be so much easier.” Rajn complained. She looked longingly at the kitchen and absentmindedly rubbed her stomach.

Marsh folded his handkerchief into a small pyramid before answering.
“Jagar Tharn is as of this moment, the absolute ruler of Tamriel. He is however, not the ruler by any legal authority. From what I’ve gathered, he somehow removed the Emperor from the throne without killing him, therefore dodging the automatic warning the Elder council would receive upon his death. As a result, no one knows that the man on the throne is just an illusion and he has the full loyalty of every legion on Tamriel, including a garrison of his personal bodyguards the Blades.” He began. At this point, Aran’s meal was brought in, fresh from the bakery two blocks further down the streets.
“On top of that, Tharn is a Battlemage. But not just any Battlemage. He is the Imperial Battlemage, which makes him the elite of the elite. Quite simply put, we just can’t afford a direct confrontation without shifting the odds into our favour beforehand.” He finished after the short interruption. Rajn was not convinced however.

“So? I still say that catch him in his bed, he’ll be as helpless as a Khajiit in boiling water. But you act as if he’s some kind of god. I’m telling you, he bleeds like the rest of us.” She pointed out. The Argonian shook his head.
“We tried that already, before we got the first prophecy about the champion. We contacted the Dark Brotherhood and they sent an assassin to slay Tharn, without knowing the truth. The assassin reached Tharn’s bedroom where he was unceremoniously taken down by the impostor without difficulties. I believe he is now rotting in prison somewhere.” He argued. Rajn froze and paled.
“An…assassin? He wouldn’t be…a black Khajiit, would he?” She questioned in a trembling whisper.
“As a matter of fact, we were rather strict on our requirements and the only one to meet them was indeed a black Khajiit.” Marsh confirmed.

“Wah! I spent like a mo…omfhe…egh..afmhenh...Aran get your hand away from my face!” The Bosmer screamed. Again the bard paused. After glancing their way, the Nord shrugged, tapped his forehead with a finger and resumed playing.
“Sorry, but it was best not to make anyone know that you’ve spent time behind bars. Marsh, she’s met your assassin and wasn’t happy with it. We left him chained to the wall when we escaped with the champion.” Aran whispered calmly. Marsh nodded in understanding and cleared his throat.
“I see, my apologies. I had no intention of that to happen. But I feel compelled to finish my story. Now after the assassin, lady Silmane told me of the champion and we put our hopes on him. Alas, he died and when I went down to lady Silmane confirm it, I was attacked by those demons you both saw. While we have since then managed to slay two by catching them by surprise...” Marsh took a deep breath. A thought flashed through his mind.
“And a third by sacrificing my own life and a precious soul.”

“There are simply too many to kill. So we are dealing here with a Battlemage who can take on assassins, has been trained by an institute that only selects about nine applicants from all over Tamriel and was elected as the best of these nine. On top of that, he maintains an army of demons that would gladly shred him to pieces if they even dared think that he might be vulnerable. That sounds pretty god-like to me.” He finished.
“Ok, I got it. But then why are we even trying if he is a god? Shouldn’t we just go to a quiet place and hope it all blows past?” Rajn asked softly. Aran answered for the Argonian.
“Because he is nearly a god, but not one. Besides, it is the right thing to do and waiting won’t help a thing.”

“Which brings us full-cycle. Where would a battlemage hide his secrets, if he had to pick one place in the whole of Skyrim?” Marsh hissed.
“Hide things? If ya wanna hide something, ya gotta go to the labyrinth, if ya know what I mean.” A gruff voice growled behind their backs all of a sudden.
“Labyrinth?” Aran repeated with a frown. He wasn’t too happy at having a drunken Nord intrude on their private conversation.
“Well yeah. Big place, cold as ice. Shal..shid…tick…someone’s thing, keeps the secret of life there. ya know, that kinda stuff.” The Nord continued in a cheerful boom. Mead dripped on the floor from the mug he recklessly swung around with grand gestures.

“I see. Thank you for the information. However, I see that our meal has arrived. Perhaps it would be better if we continued our conversation at another time.” Marsh suggested sharply, already knowing though that there wouldn’t be another time. The Nord shrugged and sauntered away. As the mage had said, two steaming plates were brought in.
“Hmm, smells good!” Rajn said, then grabbed a handful of horse and attempted to shove it down. Marsh sighed, casting his eyes at the ceiling.
“Oh please, I mentioned the cutlery, didn’t I? Use the cutlery. We’re trying to appear distinguished.” He murmured. Aran shrugged as he cut up his loaf of bread.
“You acted different when that Nord mentioned the labyrinth. Know anything about it?” He commented. Marsh nodded, after having poked a scaly finger at Rajn’s fork.
“Use that. Pointy end goes in the horse. Anyway, to answer your question. Yes Aran, I do know something about it. In fact, now that I look at it, it is the perfect place for Jagar Tharn.”

Rajn sniggered.
“You know what? It’s just creepy to have a drunk stumble up and give you the answer straight out of the blue with some stupid accent. It’s just creepy. And I do know how to use a fork, Marshie.” She then interrupted. Aran cast a glance her way to shut her up. But he realized that while the Bosmer had meant it as a joke, there was some truth to her statement.
“For a coincidence, it is a bit too much.”

Battlespire

The ghostly orb screamed as it soared through the air. Favel Dres the Dunmer reached towards it with his hand.
“Shalidor’s Mirror.” He chanted. The air shimmered before him. Then, a purple flash and the orb reversed directions, forcing Ei-Rin to duck. Books flew where the orb smacked into a rack. They were fighting in a library.
“Not bad. Full two-dimensional reflection.” she hissed with a teethbaring grin. Favel returned the gesture.
“Not bad yourself. That noisemaker grates the nerves, makes it hard to focus.” He replied.
“Now, my turn I suppose. Get ready!” Favel brought up his other hand as well and formed a triangle between thumbs and index fingers.
“Wizard’s Rend!” He chanted and a greenish whip of energye shot from the gap between his fingers.

Ei-Rin had moved at the same moment he had, dodging to the left. From her hands flew a sphere of blinding light which curved as to pass the path of the whip. Favel froze in surprise when his spell was distorted by the sphere which flew straight towards him.
“Shalidor’s mirror!” The shimmer of the spell came again, but the light simply veered around it, stopping just before hitting his face, where it hovered.
“You should have moved after casting. One point for this one.” The Argonian gloated.

Favel shook himself out of his stupor and gestured at the orb that was still floating.
“Dispell.” He spoke. The light remained.
“Alright, you big scaly lizard. Now I’m really confused. Just what is that thing? It attracted the Wizard’s Rend, pulling it away from you. Beyond that it is apparently a light spell that can arc in midair and my Dispell doesn’t work against it.” The Dunmer said, frowning. Ei-Rin chuckled.
“Does it surprise the ashskin? I hope it did, for it was a spell only few Argonians know how to cast. That was Heyat, the scorching light. In technical terms, it is different from most spells in that it isn’t necessarily fuelled by the caster. Instead it feeds on any ambient Magicka in the area, including any spells others might use. What it takes, it burns off in the light you see, and heat.” She willingly explained.
“I’ve got to learn something like that myself.”

Favel cast an annoyed glare at the Altmer that had crept up behind him.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that, Novis! That’s something Bedroth would do. I’d say your roommate has a bad effect on you. Just why were you peeking on our practice duel anyway?” He complained.
“Anyone talking to me?” Bedroth called from on top of a bookrack. Favel shook his head at that.
“Speak of the Ancestor.” He muttered. Novis laughed.
“Anyway, why shouldn’t I peek? It’s not as if studying is a remote possibility when you two go at it.” He said with a dry tone and waved his hands in an all encompassing gesture.
“Just who is going to clean up this mess?” He asked.

Ei-Rin poked a finger at the Altmer’s chest.
“You are. Go on, show us your Telekinetic prowess.” She demanded. Novis sighed.
“Forget I asked.”

While Novis went to work putting the books back into place, Bedroth jumped down from the rack, landing right next to Favel.
“So, I was wondering about the mirror. Why is it named as if it’s someone’s property?” He wondered out loud. Favel shrugged.
“Don’t look at me. I don’t know a thing about it and frankly, I don’t care what’s it called as long as it works. If it was called ‘pink butterfly sneezes while sitting on the grass waving in the morning breeze’ I would still use it, though in that case I would likely search for a similar spell with a shorter and less embarrassing name.”

“Shalidor, my uncle once told me a bit about him.” Novis said while browsing the titles of a few books he had stacked up.
“He was a high-ranking Skyrim mage in the first era, similar to a Royal Battlemage. Scholars claim that Shalidor’s Mirror is his invention, a spell he patterned after the reflective properties some Dwemer shield had. He lived in a castle of ice, and was also the architect of some vault commonly called the Labyrinthian.”

Bedroth nodded.
“So he basically became a copycat? Sounds fine to me. Who’s your uncle?” He then asked.
“Uncle Thanis. He works for the Empire. Quite the accomplished mage from what I’ve heard, though he never wants to tell me where he studied. Same thing with my dad. Big mage, tends to travel and never show his face for months.” Novis answered and smiled.
“My family is chockfull of mages. So I’m totally not under any pressure to perform up to family standards. Not at all. Ok, a bit perhaps.” He joked.
“Now stop standing there, people! You made the mess, so you’d better damn well help clean up before I paralyze you all on the spot! And I won’t give time to flick of a Heyat or a Dispell or a Shehai either.”

Windhelm, inn

Merdrar was still standing at the window when they returned.
“You are rather late. Were you that hungry?” He said without turning around. Marsh cast a glance at the Dremora. He didn’t quite trust the being yet.
“Perhaps we were. Mind if I asked you a question?” He replied evenly.
“Depends on what it is.”

The Argonian performed some quick sign language to his companions before speaking.
“What are you?” He then asked. Merdrar didn’t shift even a single muscle.
“I see no need to answer that question. What makes you think it is important?” He answered. A subtle edge of danger had seeped into his voice however, which escaped none in the room. Still, Marsh decided to press on.
“You appear out of nowhere to help us. You do not rest, you do not drink, you do not eat, you wear some form of possessed Ebony as armour which you never remove. And most importantly, you stick with us even though there is no further need. So I ask you again. What are you?”

Merdrar remained silent, nor did he move.
“So, they have figured out most of it. What do I answer? Killing them all would be easiest, yet I cannot do that. I must avoid violence. Even a simple attempt to subdue them could be lethal. These mortals are so fragile. Yes, what do I tell them? That I have been sent by the very man they wish to destroy?” His mind raced, frantic for an answer that would satisfy his listeners. But as the silence dragged on for too long, the only possible answer he could find was the truth, a vague truth.
“I am a Dremora, an immortal being from another plane, a plane you do not know. Those in this world who do know about its existence, have varying names for it. The most common one is Oblivion.” He began as he turned around.

“I am a knight, in the service of my lord who I shall not mention for your sake. Yet I have failed in my duty, forsaken my honour and so I must now bear the mask of shame. Only by slaying a worthy foe in the name of my lord can I reclaim this honour. Jagar Tharn is such a foe. If you three know the means with which to slay him, I pledge my sword to your cause.” He continued. He pulled the Claymore free from its sheath and carved a runic symbol into the wooden floor.
“By the mark of my lord, you have my word. I shall not forsake it, lest my body be turned to dust and my soul thrown into the abyss. So, now that I have given you my oath, will you accept my presence?”

Marsh felt for the scroll he hid within his robe.
“Mask of shame, one of the persons of prophecy.” He remembered.
“Very well, Merdrar. You are now one of us. As such, I believe I can also explain for why we were so late.” He spoke up.
“Aran, show him the staff piece.”

After the Ebony shard had been placed on a bed, the Argonian picked up his explanation again.
“This is a part of an artefact known as the Staff of chaos. We have reason to believe that once completed, it might help us in destroying Jagar Tharn. Tharn once possessed it himself and there must be a reason why he found it safer to shatter the staff and hide it across the continent.” He hissed.
“Whatever is the case, we came across a lead to another piece tonight. Rajn raided the mage guild for a few maps and some personal souvenirs, which is why it took us some time to return. Tomorrow we will set out for a place known as the Labyrinthian of Shalidor. Does that satisfy you?” Merdrar nodded slowly.
“I am quite satisfied, yes.”

He moved away from the window and walked to the door instead.
“I suggest you rest as much as you can. Since I don’t need rest as you already observed. I’ll stand watch.”

Northern Cyrodiil

At his shack north of Bruma, Kendri sat reading his poetry under the light of a candle. A cool breeze entered through a partially opened window. Ra’trith had left, much to his disappointment. But he also felt that there was nothing to worry about.
“He has been predictable all this time, he’ll remain predictable throughout.” The Redguard reasoned. With a smile, he blew out the candle. Yet he did not go to his bed, but instead he remained seated. The book of poetry was placed on the cupboard. Now, he waited.

An owl sang its ominous song. In the light of the moon, Kendri could just make out the time on his clock. One hour past midnight. He rose from his seat without a sound.
“Any second now.”
The window opened wider. Kendri’s eyes gleamed with amusement as he released his Shehai and held it in front of the window.
“Predictable indeed. I knew you would be back.” He whispered. Ra’trith pulled his head back to remove the glowing blade from his throat.
“Kendri….how?” He snarled.
“A matter of simple deduction. Basically, you had become so angry that you were willing to disregard all of my warnings and all of your experience just to get the chance to kill me. However, since that obviously isn’t possible right now, would you…..?” Kendri paused for a moment. A sphere of light ascended to the ceiling, casting away the darkness.
“take a seat. I made you some tea. It should help you relax. And a relaxed body makes it easier for you to search your soul and recover what is lost.”

On to the next chapter