Okay, since everyone else seems to be doing a Nerevarine story I thought I'd jump on the bandwagon and do my own one, with a character who is rather different to the other ones knocking around. It probably won't be as long as the others around, but hopefully it will be as enjoyable to read.

Oh, and don't worry Grey Knight fans, I'll have that going at the same time, too.

The Unlikely Incarnate-The Tale of Iocus Magna

“Iocus Magna, I sentence you to be hanged by the neck until dead, for the charges of embezzlement, fraud, theft and the evasion of tax,” the judge announced, banging his gavel. There was a murmur around the courtroom as the crowd that had drifted in discussed the sentence. None of them knew me, and as far as I could tell they were glad to see me go-the idiots had lapped up every word the judge had said.

My guard grabbed my shoulders and led me away from the courtroom, back to my cell in the Imperial Prison, where I would once again have to spend my night with whatever drunks the watch had dragged in. The guard holding me pulled me down the prison's corridor, surprisingly, to a different cell from the one I had been held in for the last few days.

“Condemned cell,” he announced impassively. “Have a nice night.”

It was comfier than the one I was in before-instead of wooden benches there were proper beds, and the jailers here had actually made a decent attempt at keeping the place clean. If it wasn't for the bars across the window and replacing a wall, it could almost have been a room in a good inn. On one of the beds, a Nord, was snoring loudly, a tray with a plate and a mug on it on the floor beside him. I guessed it was the man's last meal.

I slumped down on one of the beds, thinking through the developments of the day. I felt numb-at the behest of a judge, no doubt being told to have me killed by whoever he answered to, I would be hung. I couldn't imagine a worse way to go, with a noose strangling the life out of you while you kicked uselessly, like some practice dummy in a breeze.

“What're you in for?” It was the Nord, still on his bed, his voice cutting through the haze of my despair. “Well, lad?”

“Me?” I asked. “I'm in for theft.”

“Theft?” the Nord seemed puzzled. “Seems a bit harsh, doesn't it?”

“Not when you con a tax collector out of ten thousand septims,” I replied. Strangely, the Nord laughed, and even stranger, I joined him, laughing hard for almost a full minute. After our burst of macabre hilarity had subsided, I asked; “You?”

“Murder,” the Nord said. “I caught a man with my wife so I killed them both.”

I wasn't surprised he'd done that-the Nord was built like a castle wall, and it wasn't hard to detect the palpable air of aggression surrounding him. He got up and extended a massive paw in my direction.

“Sven Strongback,” he said. I shook it gingerly.

“Iocus Magna,” I replied. I appreciated the gesture of companionship Sven offered, and suddenly felt better. I may well have had my last night in the company of a murderer, but at least it was company of some sort.

We talked for the rest of the evening-Sven about his life in Bruma, and me about my childhood as an orphan in the Nibenay Basin, and my constant obsession with getting some more coins to fill my purse. We ended up talking about just about everything we could.

But we never talked about the hanging tomorrow. I reckon now that even Sven, with his attitude of aggressive bravado, feared his death. I didn't blame him. However big and muscular you were, there was nothing you could do when you began to dance the hemp fandango.

That night, I barely slept, entertaining the thought of the hanging with a sick dread. Though when I did, I had the strangest dream.

I was in a void, shrouded in complete blackness. There was no light, not even enough to see my body. I felt like a ghost, floating in the afterlife. Perhaps this was just a taster of what was to come? I didn't know.

Then the voice came, ringing out from the darkness with such such clarity that it seemed to brighten the void around it. But then, it was a dream, and these strange things always seem to happen in dreams.

“Do not fear, Iocus,” it said. “You shall have salvation.”

Then the voice faded and I was left alone in the dark of unconsciousness.

#

The staccato drum beat of the warden's baton drumming across the bars of some poor bugger's cell woke me, as it did every day. I wiped sleep from my eyes, and then with a sick feeling of fear, remembered what day it was.

The die I was destined to die.

“Food's up, you two,” one of the guards said, holding a tray with two large sandwiches on it. “Enjoy it.”

For a last meal, it could have been worse. Sven and I ate in silence, Sven devouring his sandwich like a wolf would, me taking slower bites, savoring the flavour of the bacon filling and hoping that I could somehow stave off the inevitable. But the inevitable came.

Sven and I were shackled and led from our cells, into the courtyard of the Imperial City prison. The gallows had been set up, and a sizable crowd had gathered to watch it. I had sweet talked one of the guards into getting me a copy of the Black Horse Courier, and I remembered that my trial was mentioned in the news-scroll. I couldn't help but feel flattered that my crime was heinous enough for them to mention it. Still, ten thousand Septims was a lot of money.

The drum that signaled the hanging began its slow, relentless beat, beaten by an blank faced man in cheap clothes. I saw a man prepare the nooses, sizing us up and making adjustments to our nooses. So, that man was to be my executioner.

Without a word, Sven and I were herded up the steps, and placed on a stool next to our respective nooses.

“Do either of you have any last words to say?” a man dressed in the robes of a priest asked. “Any regrets?”

“My only regret is I never got a chance to spend a penny of that cash,” I announced, to a ripple of laughter. Despite my fear, I wasn't going to let the crowd see it. Give the people a show, that had always been my philosophy, and I wasn't going to abandon it now.

The priest gave a disapproving frown, but then asked Sven the same question. He simply shook his head.

“Very well then,” the priest said. “Let justice be given.”

I wondered at how many times the priest had given this ceremony, before marveling at the brain's ability to distract itself from its imminent demise.

I suppose I hadn't lived a bad life-comfort wise, of course. In the terms of morality, I had been mired in poverty, but I always managed to keep enough cash to get by and get on. And now, at the hands of a length of rope, I would die. I mentally corrected myself-rope didn't have hands. Just because I was about to die I wasn't going to allow sloppiness.

Sven and I were stepped onto our stools after being prodded by a guard, and the nooses were fixed around our necks.

The drum beat on.

At a command, two guards, holding hammers, knocked our stools loose.

At first, there was the feeling of my throat being grabbed, as I felt the noose constrict, before my vision began to be tinged by red as the blood in my head began to get cut off. Vaguely, I heard the priest give some sermon about how this was an example to all law breakers, and to all other sinners, but I wasn't really able to listen.

Gradually, the thudding of my heart slowed. I didn't bother trying to breathe-it was pointless and I barely cared.

Dying is a strange feeling. I didn't feel afraid now that it was happening, I could shut out the pain of the noose and felt strangely peaceful.

Soon, my vision began to darken, the world become unfocused and the priest's sermon just faded.

The blackness came slowly. I suppose I could describe it as similar to watching a snail crawl across a rock-you turned away for a minute and it had moved slightly. It wasn't surprising as such, just to be expected.

Then the blackness descended fully and wiped everything out.

Good start. I think you're really starting to develop as a writer.

Yup I'm interested to see how he comes back and what happens next, so the first bit has certainly served its purpose.

You haven't told us what race he is yet, posibly intentional, I'm assuming human and probably from Cyrodiil but his name isn't certain on that.

My only comment is that the occasional sentence is a little rough, but its onl very mild.

I second most of what Olen said, except I figure by that telling us that Iocus grew up in the Nibenay Basin you've satisfied this reader's immediate urge to know (for certain) what race our hero? anti-hero? mock-heroic knave? is. From the name and the upbringing I'd wager he's a Cyrodiil. The speechcraft/charming/swindling skills would come most naturally from that genetic endowment.

Aside from the off rough spot, you are flashing a lot of skills, and it seems like you've made real growth since joining the forum.

Thanks for the crits, comments and compliments alike everyone. I'm glad that you enjoyed it.

In answer to your questions on Iocus' heritage, yes, he is Imperial-I was hoping the latiny sounding name would be a good clue, but I guess I could work on that a little more.

As for the odd sentence thing, I'll read it again and try and sort it out. Incidentally, what are your thoughts on the opening paragraph? I wasn't very happy with it myself but I'm not sure if it's a proper problem or me being neurotic .

In the first graph I maybe would have broken up the judge's lines into more than the one sentence. Maybe. Not sure. No real problem, per se, but if you're thinking it could be improved, yeah, I reckon it could. There is risk, of course, in being over-paranoid about one's writing. It makes it hard to get words on the page.

One thing to keep in mind is make your story unique. It's a story about the Nerevarine, yes, but that doesn't mean you can't add your own bit of flare as well.

Ahhh just read this one...and I'm impressed...yessir I am! Heh....funny you named the Nord Sven!!! Now that is a very common male name in Sweden, in fact my hubby's named Sven!.

Anyways Beanie....keep it coming....ya hear?

Good news everyone, I'm restarting this! I've written about a bajillion parts while away, and so I'll get them up while still writing more for you. Enjoy!

Part 2-Dreams

I was in a valley, its steep sides cutting off all view of the world outside them, and the only part you could see was, surprise, surprise, more valley. The ground was barren and dust-grey, with a few exotic looking rock formations scattered on the valley floor. Yet the most noticeable thing about the place was the ash.

It whipped and stung as it was blown through the air on a howling wind, and was so thick it almost blotted out the sun, and a more distant light, one that tinged the sky red, and seemed to swell with threatening energy. Occasionally it rumbled threateningly.

Where am I? I wondered. Am I dead?

If this was the afterlife, I had to conclude that it was somewhat of a disappointment-from what I had learned from a various priests, the afterlife for sinners, one of which I most certainly was, was a place of fire, damnation and eternal torture. Unsurprisingly, I was relieved it was not the case.

I took a quick glance around my surroundings again, before deciding to strike out along the valley, towards the strange light. Along the way, I noticed several hardy bushes and scrubs, clinging next to the rocks that protruded from the valley floor. Occasionally, a large and threatening shape swooped overhead, causing me to duck in fright.

Then, a soft, blue glow permeated the redness of the sky and the darkness of the ash, and as I approached, it formed into a wall of shifting blue light. Cautiously, I touched it, and watched, fascinated, as it rippled like puddle would. I noticed letters form on it, symbols written in a language I couldn't understand, and I doubted anyone else would be able to.

Then the voice that had haunted my dreams the night before my hanging spoke.

“Iocus Magna,” it announced. “You have been taken from the Imperial Prison, first by carriage, and then by boat, to the east, to Morrowind. But fear not, for I shall guide you.”

It faded, but the illegible writing remained. Then some of it shifted around, transforming into the words 'Many will fall, but one remains.'

Then, the world faded into blackness, and a rocking feeling overwhelmed my body. By then I'd formed the opinion that being dead was a very odd experience indeed.

“Wake up,” I heard someone say, in the characteristic rasping of a Dunmer. “You're shaking. Wake up!”

A crack of light opened, and widened further, causing me to see a rather alarming looking Dunmer shaking me awake. His face was gnarled, and a deep scar bisected one half of his face.

“Am I dead or not?” I asked immediately, somewhat startled, before suddenly clutching my throat and choking in shock. By the Nine, it hurt!

“You're not dead,” the dark elf replied, shaking his head and laughing. “Far from it.”

“Where am I, then?” I said, more quietly, so as not to awaken the sudden, throbbing pain in my throat. Could that be something to do with my hanging?

“We're on a ship,” the dark elf said. “We're bound for Morrowind.”

Morrowind? I remembered what the disembodied voice in my dreams had said about how I had been taken from the Imperial Prison. So did this mean I wasn't dead? And if I wasn't, then what on Nirn was going on?

“What's your name then?” the dark elf asked. “I'm Jiub.”

“Iocus,” I replied. “Iocus Magna.”

So, was I really dead? Or was something else, something more sinister, going on? The only real way to find out was to see where this, to be frank, utterly bizarre experience would go.

“I overheard some of the guards talking,” Jiub said. “They said we've reached Morrowind. I'm sure they'll let us go.”

I nodded in agreement, before a question sprang to mind.

“Jiub, how long have I been asleep?” I asked.

“Five days,” he said. “Maybe more-that's only how long we've been on the ship.”

Had I been unconscious for five days? And was I really dead? I'd heard of a few religions that believed a soul was reborn into a new body after it had died, but I was skeptical about it happening this way. And I doubted that if I was dead I would have one hell of an ache in my neck and be feeling slightly seasick (boats and I have never gotten on). But what Jiub said about me coming from somewhere to the boat added up with what the strange voice in the dream had said. This was getting more and more mysterious by the minute-as soon as I found someone who had some answers, I was going to give them one hell of a grilling.

“Enough chatter in there,” I heard someone call out from somewhere inside the boat, before a lantern, being held by a guard, appeared. He pointed at me. “You-you come with me.”

Gingerly, I got to my feet-my time unconscious had left me weak as a kitten, but fortunately doing hard labour at the Imperial Prison had improved my fitness somewhat. Hopefully, after my muscles had recovered from their atrophic state, I would be as good as new. I followed the guard at a cautious walk, not trusting my legs to support me if I tried running. We went up a few stairs, along a dark, low wooden room of some sort that must have been the lower deck and then stopped at the stairs.

“Up there, prisoner,” the guard said. “Don't try anything.”

I wondered why the guard had to be so impolite, and exactly what made him think I would 'try something,' but made nothing more of the issue as I cautiously climbed up the steps and blinked in the bright sunlight as I opened the hatch. The air that blew forth was salty, and smelt rather muddy, but compared to the stale air of the prison I had been staying in for the last few weeks, it was quite possibly one of the finest scents I had ever smelt.

“Head through down the walkway and speak to the guard there,” I heard someone say, rather more warmly than the guard had, and turned to see a redguard speaking. I can't say I am a massive fan of redguards-I'm no bigot, don't get me wrong, but they were honest and dependable, qualities that made them exceedingly hard to fool and that was always regarded as a black spot in my book.

Waiting for me at the bottom of the gangplank was another guard, wearing the armour of an Imperial Legionnaire.

“Follow me to the census office to get your papers signed and verified,” the guard said, sounding extremely bored. “Then you will receive your release fee.”

I followed him to a bland office, to be greeted by an elderly man-either an imperial or a breton, by my guess. There were various papers to be filled out, the usual sort of rubbish-name, age, birth sign. I got through those fine, but the small, innocuous line marked trade gave me pause for thought for a moment-I guessed that 'professional conman' wouldn't go down terribly well with the legionnaire standing at the exit, so I settled on 'specialist merchant.'

The census official checked the papers.

“That seems to be correct,” he said. “Go through that door and speak to Sellus Gravius. He'll give you a package to deliver and your release fee.”

I liked the sound of a release fee-money was always a nice thing to come by, and work meant more cash.

I went to the door, the guard unlocking it, and was through it. A quick right turn later and I found myself in a storage room of some sort. There were a few items of value in there-some plates, a book, and most importantly a lockpick and a dagger. Once outside, I searched through another barrel, finding an old ring. It was a bit battered, but I could feel there was a healing charm of some sort on it-I guessed it could come in handy.

I went into another outbuilding, where Sellus Gravius, dressed in an impressive suit of armour, handed me a package along with a small sack of gold coins.

“I want you to deliver this to Caius Cosades in Balmora,” he said. “Don't try and tamper with it-there's some kind of enchantment on it or something, it'll make a mess of you. Ask Bacola Clocius about where Caius lives. He works at the South Wall Cornerclub.”

“How can I get to Balmora,” I asked.

“You can take the silt strider,” he said. I wondered what a silt strider was, but decided that I would find out in time. “That costs a bit, but it's quicker and safer than walking. Or you could just walk-the route's signposted, so as long as you stay on the path you ought to be fine.”

I thanked him and left, out to the small town of Seyda Neen, and into the big, mean world of Vvardenfel.

I think, to be honest, that we surprised eachother.

Part 3-Seyda Neen

I must confess that my first real sight of Vvardenfel was somewhat of an anti-climax. Seyda Neen, was, and still is, a complete dump. There are no two ways about it, sadly. Even the residents are willing to admit this. I really need to sort the place out sometime.

However at the time, I had my attention occupied by something more pressing. Namely the gigantic insect standing just outside the town. While, in retrospect, it was quite amusing, the fear that gripped me upon seeing my first silt strider was genuinely one of the most distressing things I had felt in a long while.

My face white with terror, I grabbed the shoulder of the guard standing next to the door of the census office and squeaked; “What's that?”

The guard looked at me then burst out laughing.

I will admit that so far the combination of being hurried off a ship, seeing an insect far bigger than any insects should be and then being laughed at was doing very little to improve my temper.

“What the bloody hell is so funny?” I snapped. “Well?”

The guard gave a grin and then said; “You're new to Vvardenfel, aren't you?”

“Well yes I am,” I said. “And what's so damn hilarious about that?”

“That there is the silt strider,” the guard said. “What they use to get around here. Not as fast as a horse but a damn sight safer.”

“Right,” I said, somewhat snappishly. “Thank you.”

I left the belligerent guard to his post and headed towards a building with a sign proclaiming it to be 'Arrile's Tradehouse.' Before I could reach it, I suddenly found myself accosted by a wood elf.

“Excuse me sir,” the wood elf said. “But I was wandering if you had seen something of mine.”

“Perhaps,” I said. “What were you looking for.”

“A ring,” the elf said. At this point I shoved the ring I had found deeper into the pockets of my prison clothes. “It's an old heirloom of mine, and has a powerful healing enchantment.”

I faked a voice of sincere concern and shook my head.

“I'm afraid to say I've seen nothing of the sort,” I replied. “Though I'll make sure to keep my eyes open.”

The wood elf thanked me for my time, and left looking disappointed. Now, I ask you not to judge me too harshly. I had only a two hundred coins to my name, a dagger that was so rusty it probably couldn't harm a fly and a few books and plates. I needed any gold I could lay my hands on desperately.

With the elf out of the way, I entered the tradehouse, and found myself in a large and comfortable looking room. A large counter stocked with various weapons and traveling supplies occupied a large alcove, while a fire crackled merrily in a grate near the stairs.

A dark elf at the counter looked up as I entered, and immediately adopted the kind of predatory smile that any tradesman adopted when he saw a customer. Well, I doubted he had rumbled with a customer like me for quite some time.

“Welcome to Arille's Tradehouse,” the elf said. “I'm Arille, and how can I help you, sir?”

“I was looking for a weapon,” I said. “You have anything?”

“Look around you, sir,” Arille replied. “Tell me what you see.”

“Weapons,” I said. “And good ones, by the look of them.”

It always helped to butter merchants up before you bartered with them.

“And perhaps sir could do with some clean clothes,” Arille said, glancing at the ones I had been given by the prisoners. “I'd be happy to supply you with some.”

Arille was good at what he did, I'll give him that-constantly calling me 'sir' was a nice way to try and get on my good side.

“So what weapons would sir be looking for?” Arille asked.

“Something not to heavy,” I replied. “A sword of some sort, single handed, preferably.”

I glanced around the racks of weaponry.

“How about that sabre?” I asked.

“An excellent choice,” Arille said. “Sir has quite an eye for weaponry, I see.”

I was beginning to find being constantly called 'sir' a little silly and somewhat irritating.

“It is made of the highest quality iron,” Arille continued. “I will admit, perhaps not the most powerful weapon around, but a sturdy and cost effective one if you're strapped for cash.”

“How much?” I asked.

“For you?” Arille said. “Just eighty gold pieces.”

Fat chance, I thought. Let the haggling begin.

“I'll give you fourty,” I said.

“Fourty?” Arille exclaimed. “I wouldn't even make a profit on that!”

“Well there's not way I'll pay eighty,” I replied. “Of course, I could just take my shiny gold elsewhere...”

I left the unfinished statement to hang in the air like a threat.

“Now sir, I can lower the price to some extent,” Arille said. “How does seventy sound.”

I made a great show of thinking it through, before saying; “Fifty.”

“Now, I can't lower it that far,” Arille said.

“Why not?” I asked. “You can't have paid more than fourty for this.”

“It was imported,” Arille answered. “I had to pay tax for it.”

“Oh really,” I said slowly. I suddenly picked the sabre up and examined a 'B' embossed on its hilt. “What do you call this?”

I showed Arille the symbol, who went a little pale.

“That's the seal of Balmora, isn't it?” I asked innocuously. “Which means that it was made here, not imported. You lied to me Arille, and we all know how bad it could be for your reputation if people found out your were a liar.”

Exactly how I knew what the town's seal looked like is unimportant, suffice to say that involved a complex scam, forged papers and mudcrabs.

I'm still finding it hard to forget about the mudcrabs.

“Look,” Arille said. An Adam's Apple had formed on his throat and was bobbing up and down in panic. “I'm sorry I lied, but if you keep this quiet I'll let you have it for fourty.”
b
“Twenty,” I said.

“What?” Arille said.

“I can say that you're a liar to everyone in town and ruin you, or I can have it for twenty and keep this quiet.”

“Alright,” Arille said, still looking worried. “Look, is there anything else you want?”

“Some fresh clothes,” I said. “And a pack of cards.”

#

It turned out that Arille's Tradehouse also doubled as an inn, with a bar in the upstairs rooms. I headed up there to ply my trade.

To do so, I needed a target to pick out from the various patrons. I spotted a Nord sitting alone at a table, and adopting one of my stand in guises of Ranard Tallis, a lovable loser who was useless with a pack of cards until his opponent got complacent and made mistakes. I didn't have the glasses needed to perfect the ruse, but I simply needed to adopt the expression of hopeless optimism and that was usually enough.

I ordered a drink and sat down next to the Nord, engaging the man in small talk until my drink arrived. After a few more I steered the conversation to cards, and then challenged him to a game.

An hour later I had earned one hundred gold pieces and my Nord opponent had gotten a bit too tipsy for my liking-while he was currently on the amiable, graceful loser stage of drunkeness, I had a feeling he would probably switch to the frothing at the mouth maniac stage any minute now.

I collected my winnings and left the tavern, deciding to leave the Nord, who wished me a surprisingly cheerful farewell, to his own devices.

I hurried over a wooden bridge that led out of the dismal town, and up to a hill to the silt strider platform. The driver there, a dunmer woman greeted me cheerfully.

“Care to ride the silt strider,” she said. “I can take you almost anywhere in Vvardenfel.”

“How much would a ride to Balmora cost?” I asked.

The dunmer woman looked thoughtful for a moment and then said; “Thirteen septims.”

It was a reasonable enough fare and I reached inside my purse to fish out the sum. After I had done so, she hopped into a hollow part of the massive insect's shell and then helped me aboard. She grabbed a whip from beside her seat and cracked it above the strider. With a deep and mournful moan, the strider began its walk to Balmora.

I believe I mentioned earlier that boats and I have never mixed terribly well. For those of you have had the good fortune to never, ever ride on one, count yourself as a very lucky person for being unenlightened in such matters, and let me just say that it is at least ten times worse than any boat. At least with boats you can sometimes have smooth waters, and if you don't then at least you can retreat below decks to try and recover.

Instead, all I could do was close my eyes and throw up.

Chapter 4-Caius Cosades

Balmora seemed a pretty dismal place to arrive in at three o'clock on a drizzly afternoon, but I suppose that that point of view can be somewhat tainted when you've vomited up a meal and a few drinks over the side of a silt strider. I was helped off the silt strider by the understanding driver (who had repeatedly assured me that sooner or later I would get my 'strider legs') and went down the stone platform, specially constructed for the insects and their drivers, on somewhat unsteady legs.

Still feeling slightly queasy, I looked for the South Wall Cornerclub in the southern part of town, reasoning that unless the proprietor had a very odd sense of humour it should be there.

As I'd predicted, it was and I found it after only a few minutes of searching. Grateful for the break from the cold, I hurried inside, to a stone building that, at first glance, appeared to simply be a stairwell. After a moment of surprise, I realised that they simply led to a downstairs bar and an upstairs room. A khajit was leaning on the wall opposite, and she flashed me a toothy grin as I entered.

“Greetings Cyrodiil,” she purred. “What brings you here?”

“Afternoon,” I replied. “I was looking for a Bacola Clocius. I have some business with him.”

The khajiit woman gave me knowing looking.

“Business, you say?” she asked curiously.

“That's right,” I replied firmly. “Business.”

“He's upstairs,” she said.

I hurried up the stairs, and found myself almost walking into another Imperial. The first thing I noticed about him was his girth. His stomach was so huge that it strained against the buttons of the purple waistcoat and shirt, and I had a feeling that if they popped then they would take somebody's eye out. The other thing was the huge, bristly grey beard he wore. It was like someone had shaved a wolf and stuck it to his chin.

“Watch it now lad!” he said in a voice that was boomingly loud. “What are you doing up here?”

“I was looking for a Bacola Clocius,” I said, surprised by the sheer volume of his voice.

“Then look no further!” the man roared. He grabbed my hand in a paw the size of a ham and shook it so vigorously I thought that he might wrench my arm out of its socket. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr?”

“Magna,” I replied, managing to extricate my hand from his crushing grip. “Iocus Magna.”

“An Iocus, eh?” Bacola said in a voice with its volume turned up to deafening. “I've known a few Iocuses in my time. Damn fine name, if you ask me! Now, what can I do for you?”

“I was told to ask you about finding somebody called Caius Cosades,” I replied.

“Oh, you have business with Caius, eh?” Bacola said. “I know your sort. Don't worry, you can count on me to keep quiet.”

He gave me a broad grin and tapped the side of his nose.

“He's on this side of the river,” Bacola continued. “The street on the southernmost edge of town, at the very end of the road. It's set apart from the rest so you can't miss it.”

I thanked the massive innkeeper or his time and left the cornerclub, hurrying into the streets of Balmora. I followed the man's instructions and found myself in front of a house practically identical to all the others in the town, made of the same yellowed sandstone as the rest of building's in the city.

I knocked on the door after paranoia made me check I still had the package (which I did), and the door was wrenched open by a grouchy looking Imperial. His eyes were rimmed with red and he stank of alcohol and body odour. His blonde hair was tousled and dirty and he gave me the suspicious look all people who have been interrupted in their sleep reserve for anybody unfamiliar.

“What do you want?” he asked, still glaring at me.

“Are you Caius Cosades?” I said politely, trying not to wrinkle my nose at his unwashed smell.

“I might be,” he said. “What's it to you?”

I held up the package I had been been given.

“I was told I need to deliver this to you,” I said. “By somebody called Sellus Gravius.”

Caius gave me another look, assessing me, before saying; “Come in.”

Caius' house was a mess, a single room affair with an unmade bed shoved into one corner. But there was something about the entire mess of the room seemed to be carefully arranged, as if Caius was trying to hide something behind a facade of a regular heavy drinker and general lowlife. Though if the smell on his breath was anything to go by, I had a feeling it wasn't just a pretense.

Caius took the package and read the paper within it, before giving me a cautious look.

“So,” he said. “You're the man, then.”

“I am?” I asked.

Caius gave me a curious look.

“What have you been told?” he asked.

“Mr Cosades, until a few hours ago I thought I was dead,” I said. “For goodness sake, I had been hung.”

“Ah yes,” Caius said, as if being hung and then being bought back to life again was a perfectly normal thing to happen to somebody. “It's a very precise science, apparently. If you get the balance right, you can apparently get a man in a stupor that very closely resembles death.”

“So what does that mean?” I asked.

“To everybody on the mainland, you're dead,” Caius said. “True, the Iocus Magna I am talking to is alive and well, but the Empire is a big place and I doubt it stands to reason that two Iocus Mangas could exist.”

I realised what Caius was saying and sighed.

“So I can't return to the mainland then?” I asked.

“You're stuck here, I'm afraid,” Caius said. “And before you start thinking up some plan of escape, let me remind you that your death was extensively reported in the Black Horse Courier. I made sure of that myself, and I doubt that any of your old friends and contacts would appreciate a dead man knocking on their door.”

I gave Caius an evil look before saying; “You heartless honoured user.”

Caius just shrugged.

“I've been called worse,” he said.

“I'll bet you have,” I muttered quietly. “So, what do you have planned for me again.”

“Before I elaborate on that, allow me to introduce myself fully,” Caius said. He extended a hand. “Caius Cosades. I'm master of the Morrowind branch of the Blades, and spymaster of the Blades.”

I stared at the hand in shock.

“The blades?” I said slowly. “The Nine-damn blades?”

“That's right,” Caius said, nodding.

“Right,” I said, before taking his hand and giving him my firmest and trustworthiest shake I could. He returned with one that was equally firm and trustworthy and I immediately knew that he was a man who was not to be trusted. I guessed that the only difference between him and I was that he did the Emperor's work, while I simply worked for myself. I made a mental note to watch my step around him.

“So,” Caius said after we had finished our incredibly honest (and therefore incredibly dishonest) handshake. “I guess you'll be wanting something to do.”

That wasn't true, but Iocus had me backed into a corner so all I could do was nod and hope for the best.

“Well the question is, are you ready to take my orders,” Caius said.

I shrugged as nonchalantly as I possibly could.

“As long as they don't get me killed,” I said, fervently hoping they wouldn't.

“Excellent,” Caius said. He left it hanging, leaving me in the uncomfortable position of having no choice to continue the conversation.

“So, what do you want me to do?” I asked hesitantly.

“Get a job and some better equipment,” Caius said. He grabbed a purse from a table and dropped it into my hand. “Take this.”

“Oh, erm, thank you,” I said, feeling pleased. If everybody in Vvardenfel gave me free money then I had a feeling that my stay was going to be a very pleasant one.

I was wrong, of course. Life can be like that.

Good update, interesting how unlike most other Nerevarine stories, he immediatley distrusts Caius. Nice change of pace.
I'm sure you meant Caius here, right?

Damn, I did as well. I'll go fix that.

And here's some more.

Chapter 5-Disguises

After Caius had given me the vague instruction of 'Get a job' I was left feeling slightly in the dark. However, I had been sent on a mission to find employment, and so I popped into the local bookshop and picked up a book entitled 'A Guide to Vvardenfel.'

After half an hour of reading in one of the bookshop's comfortable seats, I learned a few things about Vvardenfel. The entire island was ruled by three great houses, which anybody could join, as well as a few other guilds and organisations for somebody to join. There were fighters and mages guild branches here, but I immediately struck them off the list of places to go-I wasn't any good with a sword and magic had always been a closed book to me.

That left the Great Houses. House Redoran was immediately taken out of the equation for the same reasons as the fighters guild (I was neither honourable nor a warrior), and House Telvanni for the same reason as the mages guild. So that left House Hlaalu, described in the book as 'a house of merchants and salesman.' Seeing as all books like this would put a rosy tint on everything it spoke of, I mentally rewrote that with a description of 'a house of crooks and bent businessmen.' If that was the case then I would be right at home.

I discovered that House Hlaalu's headquarters were situated right here in Balmora, and so after asking a few directions I found myself standing outside the largest building in the town. I pushed the door open to find myself in a large atrium, a spacious room with several desks and tables scattered around the edge.

A dunmer woman, wearing an expression of disdain for the world in general, noticed my arrival and hurried up to me in the way all impatient people in authority do.

“What do you want?” she asked rather sharply.

“I was hoping to join the House Hlaalu,” I said, deciding to adopt a tone of voice suited to somebody who desperately needed some work in order to kindle some sympathy (which was true, in some respects).

“Oh really?” the woman asked. “If that's the case then speak to Nileno Dorvayn. She's over there.”

She pointed at another dunmer woman, this time wearing the robes of some important official.

I hurried over to her, and said; “Madam Dorvayn? I was told to come to you if I wanted to join the house.”

“You were told correctly,” Nileno Dorvayn said. “So, you want to join our house, then?”

I nodded.

“Very well then,” she said. She grabbed a piece of paper from a desk next to her and a quill. “Your name?”

“Iocus Magna,” I replied.

“Good, good. Trade?”

“Looking for employment.”

I gave her a slightly pointed look to emphasise this.

“Any current address?” she asked.

This gave me some pause for thought, before I said; “I'm renting rooms at the South Wall Cornerclub.”

I really, really hoped they had rooms to rent.

“Very good,” Nileno said. “Everything seems to be in order.”

“I'm glad to hear,” I said. “I'm willing to get to work whenever you want me to.”

“Really?” the dunmer woman said. “Could you say that again?”

“What?” I asked, somewhat put out. “I'm willing to work whenever you want me to?”

“Yes,” Nileno said. “But can you make it more dunmerish? You know, a bit raspy.”

“I'm willling to work whenever, you want me to” I said, still feeling a bit put out.

“That's perfect,” Nileno said.

“Is it?” I said. “What for?”

In answer, Nileno took a helmet, made of some strange amber coloured material, and shoved it into my hands.

“Try this on,” she ordered.

Still baffled, I slid the helmet on.

“Perfect fit,” I announced, my voice rather muffled by the thick visor on the helmet. “Now can you please tell me what this is for.”

“Yes, yes of course,” she said. “The thing is that you sound just like Felsen Sethandus.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Felsen Sethandus,” Nileno said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “He's one of House Redoran's warriors. He was wounded in a battle and so wears a helmet just like that one to cover the scars on his face.”

“So you want me to pretend to be Felsen?” I said. “And do what?”

“Go to the town of Ald Ruhn,” Nileno said. “I want you to go the Ald Skar there, that's the giant crab shell in the middle of town, you can't miss it, and speak to Neminda there. Tell her that you're an orphan of Arnesia and she aught to give you some instructions to deliver to somebody. Simply take them back to me and then I can give you your pay.”

“I see,” I said. It sounded simple enough.

After I left the council hall, I decided that it would look rather odd if I marched into this Ald Skar place wearing just a helmet, and so I decided to invest in a full suit of armour. After all, Caius had told me to get some more equipment.

After an hour's searching, a good deal of paying up and some arm twisting of the smith in the Fighter's Guild building, I eventually managed to procure myself a full suit of bonemold armour. Feeling that it was a good a time as any to go, I took the silt strider to the town of Ald Ruhn.

It was a damn lucky thing I took my helmet off quickly once I was aboard the silt strider.

#

I arrived in Ald Ruhn in the middle of an ash storm and with a plan. While I waited out the stinging hail of ash in a local tavern, I went over it again, just to be sure.

I wouldn't enter the building like any old warrior would, loud, proud and full of myself, but more like somebody who had some discreet business and didn't want to be noticed. Of course, I was good at not being noticed, but I guessed logically that as Felsen was a warrior, and therefore somebody most likely to be inclined towards the loud and proud spectrum of society, he was logically not very good at being inconspicuous (the secret, of course, was not to try). So, trying my best to be inconspicuous, and being conspicuous at the same time, I would enter the building and get the papers from Neminda, convincing her I was Felsen with my best dunmer voice. Child's play compared to some of the things I had done in my time.

As soon as the ash storm had blown itself out, I hurried from the tavern, slid my helmet on and entered the massive shell that dominated one half of the town (Nileno was right, you couldn't miss it).

After I crossed a complex series of rope bridges that spanned the cavernous shell, wandering all the time what the hell could be so big to fit in here, (unless it was a very territorial hermit crab) and reached the three joint doors that led into what I guessed were the main rooms of House Redoran's administrative centres.

I looked for any likely candidates for a Neminda, and guessed that, as Neminda was a redguard name, Neminada would most likely be the redguard woman sitting at a desk.

“Greetings Neminda,” I called, adopting my best dunmer voice. I looked furtive before continuing. “Any work for an orphan of Arnesia?”

The redguard woman looked up as she heard me, and smiled broadly.

“Ah, Felsen,” she said. She grabbed a sheaf of papers from within her desk, bound together by a piece of string, and handed them to me. “Deliver these to the usual place in Vivec.”

“Very well then,” I said, before inclining my head and leaving.

As I reached the door, another man dressed in the same armour as me walked up to Neminda and said; “Neminda, do you have any work for an orphan of Arnesia?”

I legged it.

This is good. I like Iocus, he's a refreshing change from the normal TES character which makes me waner if the plot will go quite the same way. Certainly I'm interestde enough to read the next part.

On a writing note - generally good, the asides you have aren't completly to my taste, I find they harm the flow rather and might be better handled in another way, or omitted, however that is, as I said, a matter of my taste.

Another thing which would improve this, in my opinion, is more characterisation for supporting characters. You might want to consider fleshing out Caius as at the moment he seems a little flat to me. It is early days though.

Overall good.

Thanks for the crit Olen. I'll see what I can do. However, out of interest, by asides, do you mean the bracketed bits or other parts of the story.

Anyway, thanks for reading Olen, and I'll add up more soon.

Certainly the bracketed parts. But there are also bits which read similarly to bracketed asides.

I suppose I hadn't lived a bad life-comfort wise, of course. In the terms of morality, I had been mired in poverty, but I always managed to keep enough cash to get by and get on. And now, at the hands of a length of rope, I would die. I mentally corrected myself-rope didn't have hands. Just because I was about to die I wasn't going to allow sloppiness. - that kind of works, not to my taste but it does sort of work, however if you read it it is an aside from the immediate events or plot of the story and, I find, it makes the reader more aware of the prose on the page and less absorbed in the stroy. If you read published authors then the prose almost never asserts itself on the reader like that. I personally think (though pleanty of people agree, hell Pratchett does it a bit and he's a genius) that the prose should be hidden and simply used to convey the plot and keep the reader in the story and not in front of a screen/page. It is just an opinion but I'd say most people share it.

Now in that example the aside serves to demonstarte that Iocus is fastidious and likes things correct; it's a good bit of characterisation, however, you might want to consider contriving a different way of showing this to the reader within the immediacy of the plot. At its simplest this could be just having someone say something about dieing at the hands of a rope and him being annoyed, even in though - I think, in this example, it is him thinking about his own thoughts which I find rather too removed from whats happening and which reminds me I'm reading. Of course the above example also serves to inject some humour into the prose, but for me it seemed a little too... forced. Humour is a fickle creature, used well its works but it can backfire, in this example I'd say it doesn't damage anything but didn't really do it for me.

I legged it. - that on the other hand did work to add a little humour, I liked it.

Having re-read that its not the most coherant thought I've ever put to screen but I think it gives the general idea...

Hmm...I'll try and incorporate them in a more natural way later on. And hopefully there'll be more on other characters as I go on.

Speaking of other characters...

Chapter 6-Quan

I like to think that I was good at getting out of town fast. I've done it enough times-after all, even with the best planning a scam can go pear shaped and it's necessary to get going very fast. I managed to get out of town before anybody could raise the alarm, but I was confident that I could go back there safely. After all, just about every guard in the town wore that same armour and nobody had seen my face. I had even fooled Neminda into thinking I was dark elf and so nobody would be on the lookout for an Imperial.

I decided to give the Silt Strider a miss, due to my need to keep going quickly and instead elected to walk to Balmora. I've now decided it was the luckiest decision I've ever made.

After about half an hour's walk, I was beginning to get hot. The sun had still baked scrubby ground around me dry (the silt strider driver had referred to this region as the Ashlands) and as evening came on all of it began to vent out of the earth. Being in a full suit of armour didn't help.

I had already had the common sense to invest in a skin for water, and so I sat down to grab a quick drink, which was when I heard the scream.

It didn't sound like a scream of panic or fear, or any sound made a person who was afraid, more like something someone would yell to intimidate somebody. I could vaguely make out words, though I couldn't decipher exactly what was being said.

I immediately leapt to my feet, grabbed my sabre and without fear headed towards the commotion to investigate it.

At least, if I had been a hero I would have done. Instead I stuck my hand on the hilt of my sword and sidled nervously towards the source of the noise.

After I rounded a rocky outcrop, I discovered what it was. It was a fight, between a group of six, and then five, as their opponent decapitated one of them, brigands and a single man who was quite possibly the most outlandish individual I had ever seen.

His armour was segmented, made up of squares of metal held together by wire, somewhat similar to what the legion soldiers wore, but the armour on his arms and legs was more unusual, corrugated strips of blackened metal, with pointed joints at the knees and elbow. He wore a wide brimmed conical straw hat and wielded a large, two handed katana.

He fought with a deadly, brutal grace that allowed his opponents no time for any real manouvre, his katana sweeping aside any attacks they made with terrifying speed. It was easy to see that the bandits were wary of him-they hung back from him and his katana, trying to circle around him. Though while he was obviously a far superior fighter, the brigands had the advantage of numbers and were trying to get behind his back, where with luck they could plant a sword between his ribs.

I'm not exactly sure what motivated me to help him, but before I was really knew what was happening I had unsheathed my sabre and charged straight into one of the bandits. The man hadn't really been expecting it, so focused was he on dealing with his unusual enemy, so my full body weight, increased by both my armour and the fact I had been doing hard labour in the Imperial Prison, crashed into him with little resistance. It was enough to send him sprawling into two of his compatriots, and allowing the mysterious man to slam his katana into the chest of another, burying his sword right up to the hilt.

I felt a mace slam a glancing blow into the back of my head, but thanks to the protection provided by my borrowed helmet I simply stumbled forward instead of having my brain smashed in, stunned and dizzied nonetheless. I felt something warm speckle the back of my neck and turned in time to see the brigand's headless corpse collapse to the ground, blood still spraying from the stump of his neck.

The remaining two brigands scrambled to their feet and fled, me seeing them off with a triumphant cry of; “And don't come back!”

“Right,” I continued, removing my helmet to get a better look at this strange man and trying to stop my vision blurring. “That's them dealt with. I guess some introduction is in order.”

I stuck a friendly hand out.

“Iocus Magna.”

The other man just inclined his head.

“Quan,” he said.

“Pleasure to meet you,” I said. “Might I ask where you are going?”

“Balmora,” the man called Quan said.

“Really,” I said, pleasantly surprised. “So am I. Perhaps I could accompany you?”

Quan nodded.

“If you wish,” he replied. He was obviously a man of few words.

#

After a few more hours of walking, Quan and I reached Balmora. It had begun to get dark and quite humid, and the crickets, or whatever the local equivalent was, had already begun their evening chorus.

“So, Quan,” I said. “Where are you headed now?”

“I need to speak to a man called Caius Cosades,” Quan replied.

“Really?” I asked, wandering if he was a Blade's agent as well.

“Yes,” Quan replied bluntly.

We went our separate ways-me to deliver my package to Nileno and Quan to report to Caius. As soon as I entered House Hlaalu's headquarters after a short walk through the streets, Nileno saw me and asked; “Do you have the orders?”

“Right here,” I announced triumphantly, taking the sheaf of paper and handing it to the dark elf woman. She flicked through them for a moment.

“Very good, Mister Magna,” she said. “Very good indeed. Were there any problems?”

“Felsen Sethandus asked for those same orders only a minute after I got them,” I said. “But I got out of town before anybody could stop me and nobody saw my face.”

“Good, good,” Nileno said. “Here's your pay, a thousand septims, and I ought to have some more work for you by tomorrow.”

A thousand septims! I was being paid that just to get some papers? It seemed ludicrous, too good to be true, but the happy thing was that it was true and with luck I would be paid similar sums to other pieces of work like this one.

I left House Hlaalu's manor feeling elated with joy. I decided to head over to the South Wall Cornerclub to see if I actually could rent a room. Fortunately, it turned out I could, and at a pretty reasonable price, and so after grabbing a cup of Bacola's finest wine and a meal of some kind of odd meat called scrib jerky, I headed to my rented room and turned in with a feeling that, all in all, it hadn't been a bad day.

Chapter 7-Vivec

While I slept, I found myself in the strangest place. It was a building of some sort, a huge church or cathedral. There was a gathering of people there, a mix of all sorts. There were elves, orcs, beast folk and men, all gathered together around something. The entire place seemed to have a feeling of importance, and I guess that perhaps it was a wedding of some sort, or perhaps a funeral.

I made my way through the crowd, who gave me vague, blank smiles as I passed, before seeing what they were gathering around.

It was me, lying in state on a slab or altar of some sort, wearing strange silver armour and with an ornate rapier by my side. It was when the figure opened his eyes, making me jump back in shock, that I woke up.

For a minute I was disorientated, in an unfamiliar place, before I realised that I was in one of the rooms at the South Wall Cornerclub. I realised that I probably wasn't going to get any more sleep after that bizarre dream and got up, strapping on my newly acquired armour.

Still feeling slightly awkward in it, I left my room and entered the bar, where Bacola Clocius was already up, polishing a glass.

“Aha,” he said as he saw me. “Mr Magna. How are you on this fine morning?”

“Hungry,” I said. “Got anything for breakfast?”

“Of course I do,” Bacola replied, as if he was offended by the concept of not having any food. “How do rolls with guar bacon sound?”

I had no idea what a guar was at the time, but after breakfast I concluded that you could make some damn fine bacon out of them. I left the hotel in high spirits, and decided to head over to the Hlaalu manor to see if there was any work I could get from Nileno. There was, after all, no better way to impress your boss than turning up to work early.

After a short and pleasant walk through Balmora in the cool morning air, I reached the manor house and entered. Nileno was also up early, sorting through various forms on her desk.

“Ah, Mr Magna,” she said as I opened the door. “I see you're ready for more work.”

“That's right,” I said. “Is there anything I can do to be of service?”

“As a matter of fact, there is,” Nileno said. “There is an alchemist who once served House Hlaalu, Aurane Frernis, but she has defected from the house and works for herself.”

I began to hope fervently that this wasn't going to be a revenge killing or something of the sort. I may have been a criminal, yes, but I was no murderer.

“She was one of the house's best alchemists and she wrote a scroll with her recipes on it,” Nileno said. “I want you to retrieve it.”

“Alright then,” I said. Well, theft was at least marginally better than out and out murder. “Where can I find her?”

“Travel to Vivec,” Nileno said. “She has a room in the foreign quarter's underworks.”

“So all I need to is get the scrolls, then?” I asked.

“That's right,” Nileno confirmed. “Preferably without using lethal force.”

I left the building and hurried to the silt strider platform. Once I was aboard and asked to be taken to Vivec, I was pleased to note that I wasn't strider sick.

Well, not that strider sick.

#

After two hours on the silt strider, I finally arrived at the city of Vivec. It was not what I had expected, not in the slightest.

At first glanced, it appeared to be a flotilla of massive ships, rising out of the water, before I realised with some surprise that they were made of stone, not wood. They bustled with life, dozens of people crowding each one of the massive structures. I stared at it with an expression of awe and amazement.

“You've never been to Vivec before, have you?” my driver, a grizzled old dunmer, asked. I shook my head. “No, I didn't think so. Always has that effect on newcomers.”

After I paid my fare and got off the massive insect, before crossing a wide stone bridge into the city. I wandered around it for almost an hour, both sightseeing and being hopelessly lost, before a kindly passerby directed me to the Foreign Quarter.

This part of town seemed to slightly neglected, less clean than the rest of the city. True, it was still neat, but it seemed less care for and almost like it was slightly unwanted. A group of argonians were lounging around one edge of the courtyard in the centre of the massive stone building, but I passed them by and ignored them-there was one of the golden armoured guards, an ordinator, keeping his eye on them. Even far away in Cyrodiil I'd heard a fair few things about the ordinators, Morrowind's elite soldiers, and I reckoned that while he was around the argonians wouldn't try anything.

Eventually I found what I was looking for, a door with the words 'Aurane Frernis' on a plank nailed to it. I knocked on the door and a voice called; “Come in!”

This was it then. I needed to get the scrolls and to that I needed to do one of things I did best-use people skills.

The door was opened by a pleasant looking Imperial girl, presumably Aurane Frernis.

“Are you here to pick up a potion?” she asked in a pleasant voice as she let me into her humble one room house.

“In a way,” I said. This was it now-people skills time. “It was actually about some recipes for potions.”

She gave me a stern look.

“House Hlaalu sent you, didn't they?” she said. “Well you can tell them they can't have them.”

“No, no, they didn't,” I said, putting on my very best concerned voice.

“Oh pull the other one,” Aurane said. “It's got bells on.”

“I'm serious!” I exclaimed, before leaning forward conspiratorially. “This is extremely important.”

“What is it then?” she asked, skepticism still heavy on her voice. “And this had better be good.”

“Right,” I said. “I am with House Hlaalu, I admit it, but I'm not doing their work.”

I had balanced the tone of urgency and fear just right-I had her fooled.

“They want you dead,” I said. “Revenge for leaving them, and they want the potion recipes. If I can get them the potion recipes, I might be able to convince them to leave you alone.”

“Is this true?” Aurane asked.

I nodded.

“So why do you want to help me?” she asked. “If you serve House Hlaalu, why would you care if I died?”

Now came the part I had been carefully formulating. It was calculated risk and could go either way. If I got a fact wrong then it would completely blow my cover, but if I got it right then it would get the recipes right into my hands.

“Once, years ago, my brother was sick,” I said by way of explanation. “My family was desperate for a cure, and I went to you to get a healing potion. You probably wouldn't remember me, it was years ago after all, back when you were working for Hlaalu. But almost as soon as I gave my brother that potion he recovered, almost immediately. I swore that one day I would repay you whatever way I could; the gold I gave you didn't seem anywhere near enough; and if I can save your life, just like the way you saved my brother's, then it would be the most fitting thing to do.”

I will admit that I had spun some pretty impressive lies in my time, but this had to be one of the very best I'd ever made up and performed. I'd gotten the voice and the body language just perfect, the tone of concern and long held gratitude just right. I had her completely fooled.

“Alright then,” she said, before picking up a large scroll and placing it into my hands. “You're a good man, sir.”

That just showed how little she knew about me, but I didn't mind.

After I left, assuring Aurane that I would do all that was in my power to make sure she was alright, I allowed myself a grin of satisfaction.

I was damn good.

Good stuff, I'm enjoying this. I don't really have any comments, just that I want more.

Well, with luck there'll be more up as soon as I'm done working on my current project.

Thanks for commenting Olen.

I like this! It's very good! Most Morrowind fiction follows the game too closely, but this shows a lot of imagination, such as the real "orphan of Arnesia" arriving a minute after the fake. However, I see a problem with this. The Redorans may simply change whatever the contents of the papers were and notify the recipient that the original plan was intercepted and the back-up plan has been put into force. That would make the plans that the Hlaalu receive totally useless. If there is a way you can have the real "orphan of Arnesia" arrive at the same time as Locus does and find a way for Locus to outwit him Neminda by making her think the real "orphan of Arnesia" is an impostor, that would greatly improve on the situation.
One more thing. Quan is quite apparently Chinese, and Chinese don't use katana. Katana come from Japan. How about renaming him "Kato", and he can be Locus's sparring partner like Kato and Inspector Clouseau in The Pink Panther? In fact he can teach Locus the two-handed method of using the katata, which is by no means a one-handed sword as the game makes it out to be. In fact, he can say these hairy foreigners don't know how to use a katana to save their lives. Then Locus can become a master swordsman. In fact, Kato can be a ninja and teach Locus stealth and acrobatics as well. There's a ton of stuff you could do here! Go for it, man!

I can honestly say that I hadn't thought of that at all! Damn your logic!

Anyway, I'll see what I can do to fix that-I'll probably make up a mission where Iocus has to sneak into some Redoran headquarters or something and try to get the new orders-though knowing him he'll probably try to bluff his way in!

Actually, Quan's from Akavir-that's a seperate continent to Cyrodiil and is heavily based on far eastern countries such as Japan, China and Korea. Look for Mysterious Akavir in Oblivion-I think there's a copy or two in First Edition.

And for the training, Quan's going to 'lend a hand' to Iocus' sword skills before the duel with Bolwyn Venim. 'It' shall be gone for, believe me.

And while I'm here, I might as well post up the next part.

Chapter 8-Arkangthand

I returned to Balmora to get my pay, yet another thousand gold pieces in return for the recipes, and left House Hlaalu's headquarters feeling extremely pleased with myself. After heading over to the South Wall Cornerclub to get a drink and some lunch, I decided that it was be time to report to Caius and see what surprises he had in store for me.

Caius opened the door with the same foul tempered glare had worn before, but looked marginally more pleased when he realised it was me that he had opened it to.

“You've got yourself nicely kitted out, I see,” he said, surveying my newly obtained suit of armour. “Come on in, lad.”

As I entered Caius' home, he said to me; “You've met Quan, or so I've heard.”

“That's right,” I said. “I've never seen a man like him before.”

“I'm not surprised,” Caius said. “He's from Akavir.”

“What?” I asked. “But I remember reading a book about Akavir-it said that all the people there were dead, eaten by snake people or something.”

“Not all of them,” Caius said. “Quan doesn't talk about it much, but apparently there are still a few humans holding on to survival by the skin of their teeth.”

“And Quan is one of the last?” I asked. “It sounds like something out of an old legend.”

“It does, doesn't it?” Caius said. He sat down heavily on his bed and took a deep swig from a bottle. “So, I take it you're here for work?”

“That' right,” I said.

“Good, good,” Caius said. “I want you to go speak to Hasphat Antabolis at the Fighter's Guild and get some notes on the Nerevarine cult from him. Got that? He might want you to run a little errand for him in return, but it aught to be easy enough.”

“Right,” I said. “I'll get going immediately.”

I left Caius' house in high spirits over the ease of my given mission. So all I had to do was run a little errand for somebody at the fighter's guild and get some notes. Piece of cake.

The fighter's guild was located on the other side of the river, but thanks to the fact that I had already visited while trying to get the armour it didn't take me long to find it again. After a bit of asking around, I discovered that Hasphat Antabolis (I still find that name incredibly silly, even after all these years) was usually found on the bottom floor.

I hurried down there to see it was a large room that was bustling with activity, various people sparring or simply relaxing. I looked around for somebody who could be a Hasphat Antabolis, and saw somebody working over an oak desk like a scholar of some sort, an unusual sight in a guild otherwise made up of people who were effectively mercenaries.

“You Hasphat Antabolis?” I asked. If I needed to find these notes on this cult of the Nerevarine, or whatever the name was, from Hasphat Antabolis then chances were that this scholarly looking person was him.

“That's me,” he replied. “What do you want?”

“I was told to get some notes on, what was it, the Nerevarine,” I said.

“Ah yes,” the man said. “Caius mentioned he would be sending somebody. ”

“And that somebody is me,” I said. “So, any chance of me having those notes?”

“Not so fast,” Hasphat said, holding up a finger. “If you want these notes then you're going to have to earn them.”

I slumped inwardly. Most likely 'earning' these notes would involve me going somewhere dangerous and killing something. Neither of those were prospects I was terribly keen on.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked apprehensively.

“There are some old ruins near here, dwemer ones,” Hasphat said. “I want you to head in there and retrieve something from me. It's a puzzle cube, made up of lots of little square segments, and I want to study that.”

“A cube? That sounds easy enough,” I said. “Where can I find this place.”

“Head towards Fort Moonmoth, that's the big Imperial Fort, and then take the left road uphill just before you get to it,” Hasphat said. “Head across the big dwemer bridge and up the hill a little further, and you ought to get to the ruins.”

“Right,” I said. “Fort, bridge, ruins. Got you.”

I turned, bid him farewell, and left.

#

So far, the walk had been a pleasant one. It was a faintly damp day, but with the sun filtering through the clouds it was warm enough. I had already headed past the fortress, wishing a dunmer herding some strange, reptilian creatures a good day, and after a short hike up the hill, reached the bridge.

The greenery here was strange. There was a lot of greenery here, far more than around Ald-Ruhn's dryer clime, and while the soil was also ashy, it was far more moist. I'm no farmer, but I guessed it was a lot more fertile around here.

I spied a figure waiting on the other side of the bridge, and kept a hand on the hilt of my sword as I approached. I'd yet to encounter any bandits, but I didn't want to take the risk.

As soon as the man on the bridge saw me, he leapt to his feet, grabbing a large warhammer slung on his back. He yelled something incomprehensible and with a puff of smoke, a walking skeleton sprang into life before me, summoned by magic beyond my understanding.

I gave a yell of surprise as the skeleton charged towards me. I dove away, evading the sweeping blade that aimed to decapitate me, instead having it clang on my armour. I landed hard, with an 'oof' of pain and scrambled to my feet before the skeleton's sword could end my life. I yanked my sabre free of its scabbard and sliced at the neck. It went wide and instead slammed into the side of the undead creature's skull, knocking it free. The skeleton crumpled to the ground, a lifeless pile of bones.

However, my celebrations were short lived as the madman with the warhammer yelled something and charged at me, swinging his massive weapon wildly. I dodged back from him and swung with my sabre, the weapon clanging off the breastplate he wore. I delivered a desperate kick, and while not strong, it was enough to get him off balance. I drove home my advantage with an elbow, and knocked the man to the ground.

Before I could finish him he scrambled up and fled down the way I had come, leaving his hammer behind. I picked it up-it looked a powerful weapon, but I abandoned it after it nearly wrenched my arms out of my sockets. I sat down and rested, sipping some water from a waterskin, and took a moment to catch my breath. I really needed to learn some more sword skills, I decided. If I had this much trouble beating an insane necromancer and his pet skeleton, I was going to be in trouble.

After I had caught my breath, I carried on along the bridge, and took the left turning up the hill, as Hasphat had recommended. After a short walk further, past some old dead trees, I found the entrance to Arkangthand.

It seemed to be a ball of sandy stone set into the otherwise iron grey rock of a cliff face, surrounded by a threshold of the same stuff. I approached it and tapped it experimentally, hoping to find some fault in the smooth sphere that I could prize open, but I could find none.

I then remembered hearing some strange things about Dwemer technology, about how they had devices that could be operated by leavers that were too far away to utilise mere pulleys. I searched for one for a moment and almost immediately I saw a strange lever just a few metres away from where I was. It twisted it around a few times, before with a grinding hiss, the spherical doorway ground open, revealing another round portal into the underworld beyond.

I pushed the heavy stone door open with some apprehension, and entered into one of the largest caverns I've ever encountered.

Massive pipes coiled down from the ceiling, steam hissing from joints within them. Half a bridge protruded out from the rock wall, before it ended in a pile of masonry almost a hundred metres below.

I made my way along the walkway that stretched over the huge cave, then down a long, spiralling rocky slope that protruded around the walls.

I was stopped in my tracks by a call of “Hey, you! What are you doing?”

I almost jumped when I heard the cry, and glanced down to see a pair of grizzled looking men, most likely thieves trying to steal the artifacts here, glaring up at me. No doubt they would attack me at a moment's notice, but there was no harm in throwing up a delay.

“You're smugglers, aren't you?” I asked.

“What if we are?” one them, a wood elf, asked. “You have a problem with that?”

“Not at all,” I replied, faking sincerity. “I happen to be looking for an artefact, however. You happen to be obtaining some. Perhaps we can come to a deal?”

The other one scrutinised me closely for a moment, before calling up; “Come on down. You can ask the boss.”

I hurried down to where the two smugglers were, before one of them beckoned for me to follow them. They led me into a large stone facade carved from the rock of the cave. There were various metal cabinets and drawers placed against the carved stone walls, but what grabbed my attention were the lights. They were tubes, made of carefully blown glass and filled with what appeared to be golden lightning that flickered gently. Whatever spell was placed upon them to store the lightning must have been incredibly powerful for it to last all this time-this place was old enough to make you feel the history weighing down on you.

“So, you're our visitor,” somebody said behind me. I had been so intrigued by the strange lights that I had almost forgotten where I was. “You want to buy something then?”

I turned to see a nord talking to me. He was a dangerous man, judging by his white hair, long, lanky beard and scarred appearance.

“That's right,” I said. “I'm a collector, you see, and I heard there was a particularly interesting piece of dwemer technology here. It's obvious to see that you've already been through some of the items here and you may have what I'm looking for.”

“Perhaps we do,” the nord said. “But don't you lot usually get things legally, so to speak?”

“Well, usually, yes,” I replied. “But sometimes it's just so much quicker to cut out the middle man, if you know what I mean. You know, get a guarantee on the item.”

The nord gave me a look that said; 'You're a criminal. I'm a criminal too. We have both acknowledged that we're the lowest of the low and we can get on with business.'

“What're you looking for?” he asked. “We might have it.”

“A cube,” I said, trying to hurriedly recall Hasphat's explanation of its appearance. “Made of lots of little segments and the like.”

“Ah, you must mean this,” the nord replied. He reached into a pocket and pulled out what could only be the puzzle cube that Hasphat mentioned.

I nodded enthusiastically.

“Might I inspect it?” I asked. “I need to examine it to see if it's the real thing.”

The nord's eyes narrowed, but he decided that with his two cronies hanging around he could easily deal with me if I tried something.

“Alright,” he said. “But no funny business.”

I examined the cube with what appeared to be the critical eye of an expert, before breathing a sigh of amazement and saying; “That's the genuine article. You have no idea how much time you have saved me.”

The nord looked pleased at that, before saying; “Well you're not just having it for free.”

“Of course not, of course,” I replied. “How much were you thinking.”

“Well,” the nord said. “I would say fifteen hundred septims, at the very least.”

“Fifteen hundred?” I exclaimed. “That's ridiculous!”

The process of haggling went on for a while, but suffice to say that we agreed on the price of a thousand septims. I payed the gold and he handed the cube over, before I left those ruins for good.

As soon as I reached Balmora, on a journey that was blessedly free of made, hammer wielding necromancers, I approached the nearest guard and said; “Sir, I'd normally hate to bother you, but I was travelling past some Dwemer ruins just north of town and I found there were some smugglers stealing artifacts from there.”

The guard thanked me and immediately left to gather together his fellow soldiers, no doubt to deal with the thieves.

It would serve that bugger right for making me pay so damn much.

Good update. I'm intregued to see how you fit Quan into things...

Caius opened the door with the same foul tempered glare had worn before, but looked marginally more pleased when he realised it was me who had opened it. - who opened it?

Good work.

*Facepalms at mistake*

Edit: Fixed!

Very Very Good Keep it Up