This is an interesting bit of foreshadowing, considering how Ada and Varvur’s lives will continue to be entwined.



Always love the interactions with Caius- he just manages to push all of Ada’s buttons.

I am glad that there is a way to avoid killing poor Elvil. And I enjoyed the fact that Ada nearly caused a bigger problem with him wanting to become her “herald.”

And your treatment of Athyn Sarethi is no more than he deserves. He is one of the best characters in Morrowind, and you give him additional depth and personality.

GAAAAH!!! This sounds mysteriously like a slur against...Caius!!!

Ah, Athyn. As you may have guessed, he's my all-time favourite MW character. Ada's welcome to Varvur, as far as I'm concerned

Chapter 18: The Gods Must Be Crazy

Unfortunately I overslept the next morning and missed the silt strider. As the Levitation spell was still active, I decided I might as well use it to travel back to Balmora, rather than waiting all day for the evening strider. I was still nervous about how long it would last, though, so I restricted myself to hovering just above the ground.

Soon after leaving the town, I got my first sight of one of Vvardenfell’s less pleasant features: the slave plantations. I’d seen these from above while flying to Suran, but I’d been too high up to make out any detail. Now, as I drew closer, I could see dozens of Khajiit and Argonians working amongst the rows of ash yams and corkbulb plants, wearing only thin pants to protect them from the drizzling rain. I suppose it could have been worse – I remembered reading that slaves on the plantations of southern Morrowind were kept in cages and forced to go naked, like animals.

Most of the slaves didn’t even look up at me as I passed by within feet of them – I guessed they’d learned that this would earn them a beating, or worse. For this reason I was a little surprised when a male Argonian sidled up to me and laid a hand on my arm.

“Excuse me, mistress,” he hissed. “Can you help me... please? I fear I am lost without your help. Please, can you aid a poor Argonian?”

I paused, looking around nervously. The plantation’s Dunmer overseer was standing some way away, looking in the other direction, and didn’t seem to have noticed anything. “What do you want me to do? I don’t have a key.”

“Oh, kind and great one, recently escaped from the Dren Plantation am I.” He indicated a large manor that was just visible through the fog in the distance. “Very cruel they were to me there. I have heard there is a place near here that will help those such as me, oh great and kind one – a kindly Redguard who helps us is what I’ve heard. Please, great friend, will you not help me?”

Again I hesitated. There was something a bit off about this guy, and not just because he appeared strong and healthy while the other slaves looked thin and under-fed. The other Argonian slaves I’d helped had been grateful, as you’d expect, but I’d never met one quite this sycophantic – all this ‘great and kind one’ stuff seemed way over the top. I smelled a rat.

On the other hand… if he was telling the truth, I’d hate to abandon him here to his inevitable fate. And if not… maybe it’d be best if I was there when he finally found this ‘kindly Redguard’.

“Okay,” I said warily. “I don’t know where this place is, but I’ll try and help you find it.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you,” he whispered. “You are too kind to Tul – not like the guards at the Dren Plantation, and cruel, cruel Orvas Dren, the powerful master there. And the evil brothers Ienith, so cruel, so cruel. Thank you for helping deliver me from them.”

Okay, there was definitely something up here. This Tul sounded more like someone play-acting a slave than an actual slave. “Have you seen the Twin Lamps?” I asked him, suddenly remembering what the other slaves had said to me.

“The… Twin Lamps?” For a moment he looked slightly panicked. “They... uh... brighten the way, oh most kind, wonderful and helpful friend. Your eyes are like twin lamps of hope, my gracious saviour! Yes, that is it!” Hmm.

We headed north-west up the path, checking behind us now and again to ensure we weren’t being followed. I was pretty nervous, not only of what might happen when we found the Redguard, but also that someone might see us and realise what was going on. I hated the thought of possibly having to kill them when I was the one breaking the law.

At long last we spotted a small farm in the distance, some way off the path. The only person visible was a Redguard man hoeing a small patch of land. “Looks like we’ve found your Redguard,” I said to Tul.

He nodded, but didn’t say anything until we were approaching the man, when he suddenly grabbed my arm. “Here our journey ends, Cyrodiil,” he said, his expression now far less pleasant. “For bringing me to this place, I thank you. It has been a thorn in the side of the Camonna Tong for too long, too long. Be on your way, outlander, or with this Redguard, you will die.”

So Tul was a Camonna Tong agent as well as a bounty-hunter? Well, at least I needn’t feel too guilty about killing him. “Stand back,” I told him, drawing my sword. “I’m not going to stand here and let you kill this man.”

“As you wish. The hand of the Camonna Tong will speed you to your final rest.”

Before I could get close enough to hit him, he leapt backwards and blasted me with a spell. I’m not sure what kind it was, but gods, it hurt. Luckily, though Tul seemed to be an excellent spellcaster, he was pretty weak in combat. The Redguard couldn’t be much help as he was unarmed, and had the sense to stay out of the way.

“Sorry about that,” I told him, when Tul was dead. “I knew there was something fishy about that guy.”

He shook his head. “It is not uncommon for them to come looking here. I thank you for your help, and for your intentions. Here, take this as a small token of my gratitude.”

I thanked him for his gift, a ring with a Shield spell on it, and retreated to lick my wounds. I would never understand how an Argonian like Tul could betray his own people like that. I liked money as much as anyone else, but no amount on Nirn would persuade me to help someone who enslaved Imperials… or any other race, for that matter. But especially Imperials.

The abolitionist – whose name was Sterdecan – offered to let me rest in his hut, but once I was healed I was keen to set off for Balmora as soon as possible. I was glad to have been able to help Sterdecan, but the damage was done. I’d never be able to enjoy the beauty of the Ascadian Isles again without thinking of those slave plantations.

After eating my midday meal in Balmora, I returned to Ald’ruhn, where I delivered Edwinna Elbert’s book to her and told the Temple priests that I’d successfully dealt with the False Incarnate. Tuls Valen thanked me for my help and promoted me to the rank of ‘Acolyte’ – a title I found a little unnerving. Perhaps I ought to stop doing duties for them before I ended up as Grand Inquisitor or something.

Having sorted everything out, I went to talk with the Fighters’ Guild steward Percius Mercius, but he didn’t have any jobs for someone of my rank. He suggested I try the Guildhalls in Vivec or Sadrith Mora, the Telvanni capital on the east coast, and reminded me that I could ask him if I had doubts about any of the jobs I was given.

I would actually have loved to see more of those weird Telvanni mushroom towers, but I decided it would be easier to go to Vivec. It was near to Ebonheart as well, so I could ask for Imperial Legion orders while I was at it. I took the Guild Guide to Vivec and located the Fighter’s Guild, which was also on the top level of the Foreign Quarter canton. The ranking Guild steward was an Orc named Lorbumol gro-Aglakh; he wasn’t particularly friendly, but he did agree to give me duties.

“Nar gro-Shagramph said he’d deliver a ring to Ranes Ienith, but he hasn’t delivered,” he said, after making a big show of trying to come up with ‘suitable’ missions. “Go find him in the Hlaalu Canton Plaza and bring the Juicedaw Feather Ring to me.”

I really did feel I was a bit beyond these entry-level jobs by now, but I knew that saying this wouldn’t get me anywhere. In fact, this turned out to be the easiest job I’d done for the Guild so far – when I went to the Hlaalu canton and found Nar, he immediately handed over the ring without protest. So much for practising my combat skills – I seemed to be doing more fighting outside of the Guild missions than in them.

Lorbumol’s next order was pretty blunt. “There’s an Argonian that can’t keep its mouth shut. Go shut Tongue-Toad’s mouth.”

I frowned. I didn’t like being sent to kill people without being given a reason, and his use of the word ‘it’ didn’t escape me. “Er… what has he done, exactly?”

“I told you,” he growled. “It can’t keep its mouth shut.”

Hmph. I decided to ask Percius about this one.

In the meantime, I took a trip to the Hawkmoth Legion Garrison in Ebonheart to ask for Legion jobs. As before, I made the journey by buying a Rising Force potion at the Temple canton and donating it to Vivec’s shrine, then using the Levitation spell to fly over the water. The head of the Legion at Hawkmoth was a Nord Knight known as Frald the White – due to his long mane of white-blond hair, I assumed – and his jovial attitude made a pleasant contrast to Lorbumol’s surliness.

“Ah, a Cyrodiil!” he exclaimed, when I told him my name and rank. “That’s good. I have the perfect job for you.”

“Yes, sir?”

“The Buoyant Armigers claim we have no courtesy,” he said.

And this was a problem because…? “I… don’t quite understand, sir.”

He shook his head impatiently. “Salyn Sarethi, a Buoyant Armiger at the Tower of Dusk in Ghostgate, claims we have no courtesy. Go best him in a duel of wit and poetry.”

A duel of wit and poetry? He had to be kidding me. “Er… sir?” I said, deciding that honesty was the best policy here. “I’m not entirely sure I’m the best person for this.”

“Rubbish!” he said briskly. “Imperial, aren’t you? This should be right up your alley.”

I wasn’t sure how to reply. It’s true that wit and wordplay are highly valued in Imperial culture, but even I could never have fooled myself that I was a smooth talker. Honestly, it’s almost as annoying when people assume we’re all silver-tongued charmers as when they think we’re all corrupt swindlers.

“Come on, Champion!” Frald boomed, seeing my hesitation. “You’re not afraid of some big-mouth Buoyant Armiger, are you?”

“No, sir! It’s just that I don’t know much about poetry, sir!”

He sighed. “Then you might want to find the Red Book of Riddles first. Try Codus Callonus at the bookstore in Ald’ruhn.”

Reluctantly I wrote down the details – could this Salyn Sarethi be related to Athyn and his family, I wondered? – and returned to the Foreign Quarter to teleport back to Ald’ruhn. I obtained a copy of the riddle-book from the bookseller and went to the Fighters’ Guild for my evening meal, where I spoke to Percius about my latest mission. “What is Tongue-Toad’s crime?” he said, frowning. “I don’t know that it’s right to kill him. Maybe you could convince him to leave instead?”

It was late in the evening when I found Tongue-Toad, alone, in the back room of the Rat in the Pot. He was well-dressed and well-spoken, obviously a gentleman, and I wondered what he was doing in a place like that. “What?” he stammered, when I explained what I was there for. “The Fighters Guild sent you to kill me? Why would they want me dead?”

“I don’t know,” I told him, hating myself for having to do this. “I don’t want to kill you, but if I don’t my boss will probably send someone else. Would you be willing to leave Vvardenfell if I let you go?”

He nodded gratefully. “Yes. Thank you, Ada – I will leave soon. May Stendarr watch over you.”

“Will you be okay?” I asked hesitantly, remembering the quarantine.

He shrugged. “Don’t worry about me, soft-skin. Report back to the Fighters Guild. If I have to, I’ll just swim to the mainland.”

I still felt guilty as I left the tavern. I was glad that I’d been able to find a non-violent solution, but even so, I found it deeply worrying that I was being sent on missions like this. I wished Percius would tell me a little more about what was going on in the Guild.

I was too tired to look at the riddle-book that night, so it had to wait until the next morning. While eating breakfast, I opened the book and read the first entry:

The question:
It has a tail, a side and a head
I call it what I call a snake
It has no body and it is dead

The answer:
It must be a drake.

Worst. Riddle. Ever. I turned over the page.

The question:
Poets know the hearts of Men and Mer
But beasts can’t know my heart, you see
This book was written by a bear

The answer:
It is not a book of poetry.

Okay, I take it back: I hadn’t thought it possible, but that riddle was even worse than the first one. Somehow I doubted that Salyn Sarethi would be impressed by any of these, but I memorised them all even so. That done, I set out to levitate over to Ghostgate, thankful that there wasn’t an ashstorm or Blight storm for once.

I found Salyn in the tower’s underground barracks, wearing a full suit of glass armour. I found it hard to tell his age, but he was pleasant-looking, and quite handsome (after a month and a half spent among the Dunmer, I was getting so used to their strange skin and eye colour that it didn’t really bother me any more). He didn’t seem particularly pleased to see me, though.

“Yes, I said that the Legion has no courtesy, wit, poetry, or honour,” he said curtly. “I will concede that you have wit and poetry if you can win a contest of riddles.”

I was already struggling to keep my patience. What did it bloody matter whether we had wit and poetry or not? We were supposed to be soldiers, not a troupe of wandering entertainers! But pointing this out would hardly have earned me any courtesy-points, so I let it go.

“I will ask of you a riddle and you must give the answer as a rhyme,” Salyn continued. “Are you ready?”

“I suppose so.”

As it turned out, I was in luck. It seemed that Mr. Courtesy had been making use of a certain Red Book himself when planning the riddle-contest. When I realised that the first riddle he asked me was the one on the first page of the book, it was all I could do not to burst out laughing.

“It must be a drake,” I responded when he had finished. “Is it my turn now?” I repeated the second riddle from the book.

“Then it’s not a book of poetry,” he responded, correctly.

We looked at each other. “Best of three?” I suggested.

Salyn nodded, and recited yet another riddle I recognised from the book:

“I gave you a sock, not unlike a box
With hammers and nails all around it
Two lids open when it knocks…”

“It must have been a great hit,” I answered, trying not to wince. Yup, unbelievable as it seemed, the authors of the Red Book had somehow come up with a riddle even more terrible than the first two.

Salyn looked astonished, and rather annoyed, that I’d managed to beat him. “Well. You have proven to me that you have wit and poetry,” he said gruffly. “Perhaps the Legion has courtesy after all.”

I really didn’t see what answering a bunch of stupid riddles had to do with being courteous, but I wasn’t about to argue with him. “Glad to hear you say so,” I said. “By the way, would you happen to be related to someone called Athyn Sarethi?”

“My uncle,” he said, looking surprised. “You know him?”

“He’s my sponsor in House Redoran,” I said. “Good day to you.” The expression on his face was absolutely priceless.

I cast an Almsivi Intervention spell to get back to Ald’ruhn, where I went to Sarethi Manor to see Athyn and ask for duties. The more I could do to convince him that I was a dutiful Redoran, the easier it would be to ask for his help later. Or so I hoped, anyway.

“Ondres Nerano, a Hlaalu noble who lives in Balmora, has slandered our Archmaster Bolvyn Venim,” he told me. “I need someone to go there and stop his slanders.”

I was surprised he was so concerned about Venim being slandered, given the amount of bad blood between them. “What sort of slanders?” I asked. Athyn hesitated, clearly unwilling to repeat what he’d heard. “Serjo, I can’t accuse him of slander if I don’t even know what he’s meant to have said. What if he calls my bluff and denies it?”

Sarethi sighed. “Nerano claims that Venim is guilty of certain… indiscretions… with the wife of another Councillor. While I do not approve of all the Archmaster does, as a Councilman of House Redoran I cannot let this accusation stand.”

“I see.” I didn’t really see, to be honest. If someone had kidnapped my son and sent assassins to kill me, and I heard a rumour that he was sleeping with someone else’s wife, I’d be yelling it from the roof of the giant crab shell. “What exactly do you want me to do?”

“You must track him down, and demand that he withdraw his slander,” he told me. “If he refuses, challenge him to a duel, but do not shame House Redoran by murdering him.”

I blinked. “A duel? Are you serious?”

“Quite serious,” he said gravely. “Duelling is permitted by Imperial law, surely?”

I didn’t really know how to answer. Sure, duelling is technically legal under Imperial law, but the truth was that I’d never heard of it actually happening during my lifetime. If someone slanders you in Cyrodiil, you take them to the courts (or, if you can’t afford that, go round to their house with a few mates and beat the tar out of them). I wasn’t even sure of the etiquette for challenging someone to a duel – was I supposed to slap him in the face with a glove or something?

“Well, I’ll do my best,” I said uncertainly. I really, really hoped that Ondres Nerano wouldn’t force me to fight him. I’d killed enough people recently without adding a totally harmless Hlaalu noble to the list.

I took the Guild Guide to Balmora and asked for directions to the home of Nerano, who turned out to live in one of the manors in the High Town. A servant showed me into the house, and before long Ondres himself appeared to greet me. He was young and rather good-looking – and, to my surprise, quite friendly.

“Why, a visitor!” he exclaimed. “And an outlander, too! What brings you to Nerano Manor?”

My heart sank. Why couldn’t he have been the obnoxious, high-handed type? “This isn’t a social call, I’m afraid,” I said. “I’m a member of House Redoran. One of the Councillors has accused you of slandering our Archmaster.”

His expression hardened. “Slander? I told the truth about Bolvyn Venim!”

“Do you have any proof?” I asked.

“Proof?”

“Yes, proof! You know, the thing you ought to have before you accuse people of adultery?” I took a step towards him. “Either show me some proof, or take back what you said about Bolvyn Venim.”

Nerano shook his head, disgust written across his face. “I guess you Redorans are too dumb to know what the truth is. If you want a duel over this, you got one!”

“Fine.” I heaved a sigh. “Let’s take this outside, shall we? I don’t want to be accused of murdering you.”

He snorted, but followed me outside into the main square. It was early evening and there were still quite a few people around. “Ondres Nerano, I hereby challenge you to a duel of honour,” I said loudly, feeling like a character from a badly-written melodrama. “If you lose, you must promise to withdraw your slanders against the Archmaster of House Redoran.”

“As you wish,” he said, grinding his teeth. I drew my sword, at exactly the same time as he put up his fists.

I looked at him in disbelief. “Don’t you have a sword?”

“Not on me, no.”

“Well, I’m not getting into a fist-fight with you!” I said indignantly. “This is supposed to be a duel, not a street brawl!”

By now a small crowd of people had gathered to see what was going on. After some muttered discussions and a lot of coughing, one of them produced a sword and handed it to Nerano, and we began the duel.

I’d learned from long experience that just because someone is obviously rich and privileged, it doesn’t mean they’re necessarily a pampered weakling who can’t handle a weapon to save their lives. As it was, though, Ondres turned out to be… a pampered weakling who couldn’t handle a weapon to save his life. After a minute or so of holding back, easily parrying his clumsy thrusts, I got tired of playing around with him and dealt him a heavy blow. A few more of these were sufficient to knock his sword from his hand and send him sprawling to the ground.

He raised a hand in surrender as I walked up to him. “Very well. I take back what I said about Venim,” he said, and to my surprise, I saw a humorous glint in his eye. “You fight well… for a Redoran.”

I knew I ought to have taken offence, but I couldn’t help grinning. “You’re smart,” I said to him, helping him to his feet. “For a Hlaalu. Buy you a drink?”

He hesitated, and then suddenly nodded. “Why not? But I’ll buy the drinks, as you won the fight.”

We went to the Eight Plates, where Ondres bought me a drink – several, in fact – and introduced me to his friends in House Hlaalu, all young nobles like himself. They all seemed friendly, but I noticed that one of them, Meril Hlaano, was looking at me very strangely.

“They say someone hit the Camonna Tong at the Council Club,” he said slowly. “Hard. And the guards say they’re very concerned, and they’re following all leads... But somehow they don’t seem very sincere.”

He leaned forward. “And Larrius Varro? Champion at Fort Moonmoth? He’s been quoted as saying, ‘I swore an oath to stop corruption, but it seems the gods have seen fit to fulfill my oath for me.’ And you know what’s funny? Someone said they saw you talking to Larrius Varro several times recently…”

There was a long silence. Ondres Nerano’s face had gone slightly pale. “That was you? You might have told me that before I agreed to fight a duel with you!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said coolly. “I’m in the Legion myself, so of course I’ve talked to Varro. Now, does anyone want another drink?”

All in all, it was a very enjoyable evening. By the time we stumbled out of the tavern in the early hours of the morning, Ondres and I were firm friends.

“When will I see you again?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. I spend most of my time in Ald’ruhn these days.”

“That’s a pity,” he said, and that wicked glint appeared in his eye again. “I may just have to insult your Archmaster a few more times.”

“Don’t even think about it,” I warned him. “Next time I won’t let you off so lightly.” I suddenly thought of something. “Whose wife, by the way?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Whose wife has Bolvyn Venim not been sleeping with?”

Ondres stared at me. “You don’t know?” I shook my head. “It’s Garisa Llethri’s wife, Fathasa. And Garisa won’t do anything about it, so they say. That is,” he added hastily, “so they would say, if he were sleeping with her. Which he isn’t.”

It was a pity really, I thought, as I made my way back to the Fighters’ Guild to get some sleep. Most of the Hlaalu were perfectly decent people. It was just a shame their leaders were so obnoxious.

Athyn Sarethi was pleased to hear the result of the duel when I returned to him next morning (I left out the bit about the drinking session afterwards), and he promoted me to the rank of ‘House Cousin’, whatever that meant. I promised to come back later for more duties, but first I had business in Vivec.

The first thing I did on arrival was to go to Lorbumol gro-Aglakh at the Fighters’ Guild and tell him that Tongue-Toad had been ‘dealt with’. After that I set out for Ebonheart to report on my successful mission to Ghostgate. When I returned to the Temple canton yet again to use the Levitation shrine, the priestess there was beginning to get suspicious.

“You seem very devoted to Lord Vivec,” she said, eyes narrowed. “That’s the third time you’ve visited this shrine in three days.”

“Absolutely,” I said. “All praise be to Lord Vivec. Can I have the Rising Force potion now, please?”

Frald the White was delighted to hear about me beating Sarethi in the riddle contest. “What I wouldn’t give to be at the Tower of Dusk right now,” he chuckled, when I told him what had happened. “Ah, but since you are not just a simple warrior, perhaps you would appreciate this book?”

He gave me a book which seemed to be part of a series – 2920, The Last Year of the First Era. Only problem was that it was the fifth book in the series, which wasn’t exactly helpful, given that I’d never read any of the others.

“Now, then,” Frald continued briskly, before I had the chance to thank him. “I need someone to find the traitor Honthjolf.”

“What has he done, sir?”

Frald’s face darkened. “He was once a member of the Order of Ebonheart, but he turned his back on us. Now works as a guard in Aharnabi, a foul den of sorcerers and Daedra worshippers on the far southeast corner of Azura’s coast. I need you to find him and kill him.”

He marked the location of Aharnabi on my map. It was on one of the many small islands in the south-east – near to a shrine of Azura – and I worked out that the nearest major settlement was the city of Sadrith Mora, which just happened to have a Mages’ Guild guide. If I left right now and flew out to Aharnabi, I could probably get there before sunset.

I teleported to Sadrith Mora – which meant ‘mushroom forest’, according to the Guild guide – and found myself in Wolverine Hall, a large and windowless Imperial stone castle. I never thought I’d find anywhere quite as maze-like and confusing than the interior of Vivec’s cantons, but I must say that Wolverine Hall gave them a run for their money. I must have explored half the castle before finally realising that there was no way out from the ground floor, and that the exit was just one floor down from the Guild room where I’d arrived to start with. Who designs these places?

I finally caught a glimpse of Sadrith Mora itself as I floated up above the castle, and I must say that it was a pretty amazing sight. I’d been impressed by the mushroom tower of Tel Branora – well, this place was an entire city of those towers, with the great wizard’s ‘castle’ in the centre surrounded by dozens of smaller dwellings and stores. I could have stayed looking at it for hours if I hadn’t been in such a hurry.

It was a cool, misty evening, and I felt a sense of incredible peace and tranquillity steal over me as I flew southwards towards Aharnabi. Up here I didn’t need to worry about bandits or wild animals or even cliff racers; below me was only endless ocean, dotted with rocks and small islands. For a while I could even manage to forget about the unpleasant business that lay ahead.

The sun was just beginning to set when I spotted the figure looming out of the mist: a huge stone statue of Azura, Daedra Lord (or rather, Lady) of Twilight. As in most of the pictures and statues I’d seen, she appeared as a beautiful young woman, with a crescent moon in one hand and an eight-pointed star in the other. I presumed this was the shrine Frald had described.

Usually I avoid anything Daedric like the Knahaten Plague, but I felt a sudden curiosity to see the inside of the shrine. A few of the Daedra seem to actively enjoy spreading death and destruction – such as Molag Bal and Mehrunes Dagon – but most of them will generally leave you alone as long as you don’t do anything really stupid, like summoning them. I’d heard that Azura was fairly benign by Daedric standards (though admittedly, that’s not saying much). It couldn’t hurt just to take a quick look, surely?

Furtively I approached the stone door in the hill below the statue, and pushed it open. There was no one inside the shrine, but people clearly did visit now and again, because it was clean and lit by torches. Bowls of incense perfumed the inner chamber, which contained another, smaller statue of Azura. I walked closer, strangely drawn towards it – and then, something really strange happened.

As I drew close enough to the statue to touch it, I felt a sudden change in the air. I can only describe it as a presence – somehow, at that moment, I could feel that there was someone there in the room with me. I started to back away, frightened, and that was when the statue began to speak.

“You have come here for a reason, though you may not know what it is.”

I leapt backwards as if I’d just been struck with a shock bolt. Not only because a statue had just spoken to me, but because I recognised that voice – I’d have known it anywhere. It was the voice that had spoken to me in my dreams on that prison ship, the very night I arrived in Morrowind.

“I’m sorry!” I gabbled, falling to my knees before the statue. “I didn’t mean to – I – ” I clamped my mouth shut, finally realising that to tell a Daedra Lord I’d summoned her by accident would not be a good idea.

“Sheogorath and I have made a wager. He contends that solitude causes madness, while I maintain it allows for solace and meditation. To test this, I sent one of my priestesses to live alone on an island north of Dagon Fel. If she can live there for 100 years, continuing her life of prayer, my theory will be proven; if not, Sheogorath wins our wager.”

What?! Seriously, what? What the heck was she talking about? My head was spinning.

“The time has almost passed,” Azura continued, “and she remains steadfast. But, Sheogorath has tried to sway the decision in his favour.”

“Um… sorry to hear that?” My voice came out as a breathy squeak.

She went on as if I hadn’t spoken. “Travel there, rid the island of his minions, and bring back proof of his meddling. Do not disturb the wise woman, though, as that would void our wager. Serve me, and I will reward you well.” And with that I felt the powerful presence vanish from the chamber, leaving me open-mouthed and trembling like a leaf.

I remained there on my knees for what must have been several minutes. Had I really just spoken with the Daedra Lord Azura? Had she just told me that she brought me here for the sake of a bet? She’d dragged me all the way to Morrowind, thousands of miles away from my own home, to help her win a sodding bet with another of the Princes?

Honestly, I just couldn’t believe this. I know the Gods – and the Daedra especially – are notorious for playing games with the lives of mortals, but did they have to be quite so blatant about it?

Well, if Azura wanted me to go to – Dagon Fel, was it? – then I’d better get going right this minute. When a Daedra Lord asks you to perform a task for them, you don’t keep them waiting. Honthjolf and his ‘den of sorcerers’ would have to wait until later. I used a Divine Intervention scroll to take me back to the Wolverine Hall shrine, and touched down at the Sadrith Mora docks just in time to board the last ship going north.

Chapter 19: I Am Not The Nerevarine

The journey to Dagon Fel took nearly three days, most of which I spent cooped up in a small, cramped cabin that smelled of ale and stale vomit (thank the Gods I don’t get seasick). By the end of it I had all but convinced myself that I’d imagined the whole encounter in the shrine. After all, how likely was it that the Daedra Lord Azura had specifically chosen me, Ada Ventura, to serve her? Then again, it was no more unlikely than some of the other things that had happened to me since I arrived in Morrowind.

When we finally reached the island – up in the northernmost part of the country, in a region called Sheogorad – I found that the only settlement there was a tiny fishing village, populated mainly by Nords. I spent most the morning stocking up on provisions and making sure my weapons and armour were in good repair – I wasn’t sure what kind of Daedra I might run into, and I wanted to be well prepared.

After that I set out for the small island to the north, where Azura’s unfortunate priestess was undergoing her 100 years’ enforced solitude. (Honestly, why anyone ever worships these Daedric lunatics is beyond me.) It was raining, but luckily there were plenty of those big mushrooms to hide under.

When I reached the coast and found that only a narrow channel separated the two islands, I decided now would be a good time to try out my new Water Walking spell. I’d never bothered to learn that spell in Cyrodiil, what with it being so landlocked, so it took me quite a few tries to get it right. But when it worked, it was brilliant – I just ran across the surface of the water as if it had been solid ground.

If only the next part had been so easy. The minute I spotted the first couple of Daedra in the distance – a Hunger and some Flame Atronachs – I knew I was out of my depth. Concealed behind some rocks, I gave it some thought and decided to tackle the Atronachs first, as they would have a weakness to my enchanted frostsword. The Hungers could cast nasty Destruction spells, so they were best dealt with from a long distance and good cover.

The Atronachs both went down in a single hit. I got a little singed, but not badly hurt. Just as I was congratulating myself on my superior combat skills, I heard an ominous rumbling sound behind me, and spun round to find myself looking right at – or rather, up at – an enormous Ogrim.

With a cry of terror I ran for the nearest source of cover, a couple of tall rock pillars with a small gap between them, just as the Daedra’s fist crashed down on the spot where I’d been standing a moment earlier. Luckily for me, Ogrims aren’t that smart – it lumbered up to the rocks, growling angrily, but didn’t think to go round them. Trying to stay calm, I drew my sword and poked it through the gap in the rocks, thrusting it several times into the Ogrim’s gigantic stomach. It was like jabbing a needle into an orange.

Just as I was about to cut and run, the sword’s Frost magicka finally overcame the Ogrim, and it tumbled to the ground with a crash that must have been heard half a mile away. I sank to the ground, shaking, and took some time to rest and recover before taking on the other Daedra.

I could see the Hungers in the distance, wandering around near a small hut. As I took careful aim with my bow, I wondered how exactly they planned to drive Azura’s priestess to madness. Presumably they couldn’t actually approach her without voiding the wager, so what else could they do? Sit outside the hut all day whistling really annoying tunes?

Marksmanship has never been my strongest skill – I’m not a bad shot, but not a particularly good one either, especially at this distance. My first arrow was caught by the wind and went wide of the mark. The second time I adjusted my aim a bit and managed to hit one of the Hungers, but unfortunately, the other one spotted me and came bounding towards me with an angry roar. I quickly ducked behind the rock I was using for cover, cast the Chameleon enchantment on my Amulet of Shadows, and drew my sword in readiness.

As the ugly, shrivelled-up creature paused only feet away from me, sniffing the air to try and catch my scent, I strode up to it, swung my sword with all my strength and brought the blade down heavily on its spindly neck. It’s a good thing Daedra don’t bleed, or it would have made quite a mess.

Glancing back towards the hut, I spotted one more Daedra standing guard by the door – a Golden Saint, one of the most powerful servants of Sheogorath. They appear as scantily-clad women with shining golden skin – a little like Altmer, only much more dangerous. I’d only met a couple of them before, but ‘saintly’ is the last word I’d use to describe them.

I ran up towards the Saint, aware that I didn’t have much time before the Chameleon enchantment wore off. She didn’t see or hear me as I snuck up behind her, so I took the opportunity to stab her through the heart from behind, killing her almost instantly. Not very honourable, I know, but then I’ve never met a Daedra who even tried to fight fair (they don’t really ‘die’ in any case – killing them just sends them back to the waters of Oblivion for a while).

Bending over the Saint’s corpse, I noticed a ring on her finger bearing the symbol of Sheogorath, the Madgod. I still couldn’t believe he and Azura would go to such lengths just to win a stupid bet. Still, I guess that when you’re a bored, immortal, quasi-omnipotent being with too much time on your hands, you have to find some way to amuse yourself.

I took the ring as proof to show to Azura, and made my way back to the village of Dagon Fel, where I rented a room at the End of the World inn. I spent a reasonably comfortable night there, and set out on my three-day return journey to Sadrith Mora the next morning.

Dusk was falling when I disembarked at the Sadrith Mora docks and walked up to the Gateway Inn, which stood at the edge of the city. It was a typical Telvanni mushroom building except for the fact that it was set into a hill, above a large round stone door that presumably led through to the city. As far as I could see, it was the only way through unless you were into rock-climbing.

Leading up to the mushroom building were two narrow sets of steps, carved out of roots, on either side of the doorway. I carefully made my way up one of the stairways and entered the inn, where I was met by a Dunmer official. “Excuse me, please,” I said. “Could you open the gate for me? I need to get to Wolverine Hall.”

“Do you have Hospitality Papers?” he asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“According to the Collective Articles of the Council of the Great House Telvanni, out-house and outlander guests in Sadrith Mora may not travel in town or speak to or conduct business with citizens, tradesmen, or publicans unless they have Hospitality Papers,” he said mechanically. “This is for the comfort and safety of our guests. As Prefect of Hospitality for Sadrith Mora, I can provide you with these papers for 25 gold.”

I blinked. “Hang on. You’re saying I have to purchase ‘Hospitality Papers’ just to travel through the city?”

“These are the laws of the Telvanni Council. Unless you are a member of the House, of course.”

“But all I want is to get to Wolverine Hall!” I couldn’t believe this. “You seriously expect people to pay 25 drakes just to walk through your town?”

The prefect sighed, giving me the impression I wasn’t the first visitor to react this way. “Rules are rules, outlander. Would you care to purchase these Hospitality Papers?”

I could have kicked up a fuss, but in all honesty, I was just too tired. All I really wanted right now was to take a proper bath and sleep in a proper bed for the first time in days. So I agreed to buy the papers – with a very bad grace, I must admit – and returned to Wolverine Hall, now convinced that everything I’d been told about the Telvanni was true. ‘Hospitality’, indeed…

The next morning, following a quick trip back to Vivec to renew my Levitation spell, I returned to the Shrine of Azura. This time I hoped I might be able to have a proper conversation with her, perhaps even get a few answers. I walked up to the statue and waited there for a few seconds, wondering if she would appear spontaneously as she had last time. When nothing happened, I hesitantly took out Sheogorath’s ring and placed it on the base of the statue.

Immediately I felt Azura’s presence fill the shrine. “Well done, mortal,” said that strange, ethereal voice. “You have preserved the integrity of my wager with Sheogorath. Now it will end as fated, and not due to the meddling of the Daedra Prince. Take this, and use it wisely.”

“Azura, wait! Lady Azura – ” But it was no use. The presence was gone, and next to the ring lay a small but beautiful replica of Azura’s eight-pointed star.

I’d heard of Azura’s Star, of course; it was actually a powerful soulgem. I knew that it was technically a great favour to have it granted to me, something many people would literally kill for, but the problem was that I never used Soultrap spells. Other than using it as a way to impress people – “Look, I was granted this by Azura herself!” –there wasn’t an awful lot I could do with it. What was more, I couldn’t even sell it for fear of upsetting Her Ladyship.

Still, I didn’t want to risk offending Azura by turning down her gift. So I picked up the ring and the star and tucked them both carefully away in my backpack, before leaving to search for the entrance to Aharnabi.

There’s not really much to say about my encounter with Honthjolf, the traitorous Nord who’d deserted the Legion. I didn’t like the idea of having to kill a fellow Legionnaire, even if he did worship Daedra – and really, how could I condemn that after what I’d just done myself? But I’d long since resigned myself to the fact that being a fighter could be a nasty job at times, so I did what I had to. Honthjolf didn’t give me a choice in any case; the minute he realised I was a Legionnaire, he attacked me.

Afterwards I used my last Divine Intervention scroll to return to Wolverine Hall, then travelled back to Vivec by Guild Guide. After cleaning myself up and changing clothes, my first priority was to safely store away my new treasures in a bank. I didn’t want to announce to the entire world that I was carrying around a priceless Daedric artifact, so when I got to the bank, I asked if I could speak to the manager. The clerk I spoke to was reluctant at first, but quickly changed her tune when I explained that I had some valuable items to deposit.

The bank manager’s reaction to me pulling Azura’s Star out of my grotty backpack was surprisingly calm; perhaps it wasn’t the first time a humble-looking adventurer had turned up with rare and valuable artifacts. Vvardenfell seemed to be practically crawling with them, after all. He looked it over carefully, and though he didn’t say anything, I could tell he was examining it to check that it wasn’t a fake. When he’d satisfied himself that the star was genuine, I produced Sheogorath’s ring and asked if he could tell me how much it was worth.

Again he examined the ring carefully before replying. “Yes, this is Sheogorath’s symbol,” he said at last. “And the ring itself is clearly Daedric workmanship. This could be quite valuable.”

“I’m not very well up on the technical terms,” I said. “Exactly how valuable is ‘quite valuable’?”

“Well, I’m not a jeweller – you would have to get it valued professionally. But at a rough guess, I would say it could be worth as much as thirty thousand drakes.”

A Paralysis spell couldn’t have rooted me to the spot more effectively. THIRTY THOUSAND drakes? Maybe he’d made a mistake and had actually meant to say ‘thirty’?

“Forgive me,” I said weakly. “Did you just say that this ring could be worth thirty thousand septims?”

“That would be my estimate, yes. Perhaps a few thousand more, or less.”

My knees felt weak all of a sudden. Thirty thousand septims. I could buy passage to Cyrodiil twenty times over with that kind of money – heck, I could buy my own ship with that amount. I was finding it hard to believe this wasn’t all just a cruel joke.

“I’m not sure there is anyone in Vvardenfell who trades in this kind of item,” the manager continued. “You may have to travel to the mainland.” Ah. There’s always a catch, isn’t there?

Still, I wouldn’t let myself be downcast. “But I could use it as security for a loan or something, right?”

“Of course.”

I was still finding this hard to take in. “Wonderful,” I said. “Thank you so much. I’ll leave it in your vaults for the moment, then.”

As I left the bank, I felt as if I were walking on air. My troubles were over. I could pay off the rest of my ‘loan’ from House Hlaalu – not that there was much of it left anyway – and I could go back to Cyrodiil. Home.

All at once I felt my eyes fill with tears. I hadn’t heard anything more about riots in the Imperial City, so I’d assumed that things had calmed down for the moment – but even so, the relief of knowing that I could go back if I wanted was tremendous. With so many other things to think about, I hadn’t realised how much it had been weighing on my mind.

I was in such a good mood that I even felt up to going back to the Fighters Guild and speaking to Lorbumol gro-Aglakh. I didn’t really want to take any more jobs from him after the last one, but on the other hand, I was keen to get back my old rank of Defender before returning home. At least that way I might stand some chance of being accepted back into the Cyrodiil guild. So I accepted a bounty contract on a Khajiit named Dro’Sakhar, whom he described as an outlaw.

Rather than go back to Ald’ruhn yet again to talk to Percius, I confirmed with the local Ordinators that there was a bounty on Dro’Sakhar’s head, and then went to search for his hideout in the St. Olms canton. I finally found him in a poky one-room house on the lowest level of the canton. No one had told me his bounty was for, but the first thing I noticed on entering the house was a wooden training dummy with several daggers stuck into it. Not a nice person, clearly.

Instead of killing Dro’Sakhar, I simply used my Star of the West power to knock him out before handing him over to the guards. I returned to Lorbumol for my coveted promotion to Defender, and a reward of five hundred septims – enough to pay off the remainder of my debt to House Hlaalu, and then some.

I celebrated my newfound wealth by buying myself some really nice clothes – well, you never know when you might get invited to a party – and a beautiful enchanted robe called a ‘Frostmirror Robe’, which offered protection against frost magic. After that I went to bed, exhausted after such a tiring day. I had some rather strange dreams that night, one involving Daedra, and another where I was being chased through long, narrow passageways by an unknown enemy.

Even this couldn’t dent my good mood, however. I began the next day by travelling to the Hawkmoth Legion garrison in Ebonheart, taking the boat for once (I didn’t want to push my luck) and reporting back to Frald the White on Honthjolf’s death.

“It is always sad when someone betrays the Legions,” he said sombrely, “but we cannot allow such traitors to live. Well done, Champion.” He paused. “In fact, I am proud to give you the rank of Knight Errant… ” He was joking, surely? “…and this cuirass and greaves.”

I blinked. Frald was opening up a heavy chest that stood behind him in a corner, and taking out several pieces of beautiful golden Templar armour – the kind only worn by the higher ranks of the Legion. Was he serious? He was making me a Knight?

“Lost your tongue, Knight?” he asked, seeing my stupefied expression.

“N-no, sir! Thank you, sir!” I tried to sound somewhat like a professional soldier, rather than a little girl who’d just been offered that marvellous doll in the shop window.

Frald handed the cuirass and greaves to me and turned away to speak to a messenger who’d just entered, leaving me half-convinced that this was all a wonderful dream, and I’d wake up any moment. Could Azura be behind this sudden extraordinary run of good luck? If so, I would definitely have to rethink my attitude towards Daedra worship.

I spent some time considering whether I ought to wear the Templar armour on my travels. It was really ceremonial armour, meant for officers who didn’t do so much actual fighting – on the other hand, it still offered excellent protection, as good as if not better than the normal Imperial armour. In the end, my love of shiny things won out and I decided to keep it. Since there was no way I could carry around two sets of heavy armour, I handed in the old armour to the fort’s smith to be repaired and sold on.

Wearing my new armour, I returned to the Vivec Mages’ Guild and travelled to Balmora to see Caius Cosades. For a few hilarious seconds I considered demanding that he call me ‘Lady Ada’ from now on, but I was feeling too generous. I wanted to buy the whole world a drink, even Caius. For once, even the dirty conditions and stink of skooma in his house didn’t bother me too much.

“Greetings, muthsera,” I said, giving him my best ‘look, I’m picking up the lingo’ smile. After all, I wasn’t doing too badly: I’d learned the words for ‘sir/madam’, ‘friend’, ‘bloody foreigner’, ‘mushroom forest’, and ‘fire-river’. (And that’s all you need really, isn’t it?)

Caius returned the smile. “Ah, I see you’re learning some Dunmeris. Does this mean you’ve decided to stay on?”

“No.”

“Why am I not surprised by this? Anyway, I take it you’re here for orders.” I nodded. “Okay, here’s your mission: Fort Buckmoth sent a patrol to Gnaar Mok, hunting smugglers with Sixth House connections. They found a Sixth House base, a shrine, and a priest named Dagoth Gares. Speak to Champion Raesa Pullia at Fort Buckmoth, and she’ll tell you what happened. Your orders are to find that base, kill Dagoth Gares, and bring me a full report.”

“Righty-ho. Where’s Fort Buckmoth?”

“Just south of Ald’ruhn. Be careful though, Ada,” he added. “Don’t take any chances. I think this will be a tough one.”

While walking through Ald’ruhn later in the day, I noticed something new: people were starting to recognise me. They weren’t running up for autographs or anything, but they would nod to me as I passed and greet me with “three blessings, sera,” or occasionally even by name. I wondered if they’d got to hear of how I handled the case of Varvur Sarethi and the ash statues. Regardless, it was actually quite a nice feeling.

It didn’t stop there: when I reached Fort Buckmoth and spoke to Raesa Pullia, I was astonished by how polite and deferential she seemed. It took a minute or two for me to realise that I actually outranked her. What was more, I was making it pretty obvious, marching around decked out in fancy Templar armour. Maybe I’d better be more careful how I acted around the locals, now that I was technically a high-ranking Legion commander.

She told me that only one trooper had returned alive from the assault on the Sixth House base. “He died soon after, horribly disfigured with corprus disease, and out of his wits,” she said. “His flesh was all swollen and covered with growths, and his bones twisted and lost their shape.” I tried not to shudder. “We wouldn’t have recognised him if it hadn’t been for his clothing and armour. The fort chaplain tried spells and potions, but he couldn’t cure the disease.”

“What happened to him at the base?”

“In his ravings, he spoke of a cavern on the coast Gnaar Mok – he called it ‘Ilunibi’. They fought with cultists and disfigured man-beasts – corprus monsters, I think – then they ran into a half-man creature named Dagoth Gares. This Dagoth Gares slew the rest of the patrol, but spared the one trooper. He told the trooper he was being spared, so he might tell others that ‘The Sleeper Awakes’, and ‘The Sixth House has Risen’, and ‘Dagoth Ur is Lord, and I am his Priest’.”

Yes, that all sounded wearisomely familiar. “Did he give you any idea of where to find Ilunibi?” I asked.

“It’s not on our maps, ma’am, and no one here has heard of it. Maybe the locals in Gnaar Mok can tell you where to find it?”

I wasn’t exactly jumping for joy at the thought of having to take on this Dagoth Gares alone where an entire patrol had failed, but something told me I wasn’t likely to get any volunteers after what had happened to the last lot. Guess I’d just have to be very careful if I ran into any corprus monsters.

Based on how long it had taken me to walk to Drulene Falen’s farm those two times, I guessed that it would take most of the day to reach the coast. Oh, my kingdom for a horse… I thought of setting off the next day, but decided I needed a rest after the excitement of the past week. This turned out to be a good thing, as another Blight storm struck in the early morning and raged until nightfall.

On the following day I set out for Gnaar Mok, another of those dirt-poor fishing villages that dotted the Bitter Coast. It was on a small island that could only be reached by crossing a series of narrow wooden bridges, more accurately described as ‘planks’. The only building there that wasn’t basically a shack was a large Hlaalu-style manor surrounded by high walls.

There weren’t many people about, but I came across a Wood Elf sitting on the steps of a shack. “Welcome to Gnaar Mok, outlander,” he said gloomily. “It’s small, but dumpy. How may I help you?”

When I told him that I needed to find Ilunibi, he frowned. “That’s what they call the old sea cave up on the north end of the island, right on Khartag Point. Don’t be poking your nose in there – someone might object.”

I suspected he was right, but unfortunately I didn’t have much choice about whether to ‘poke my nose in’. I was far too tired to do anything about it that night, however. “I don’t suppose there’s anywhere to stay here?” I asked, without much hope.

“If you’re House Hlaalu, you can get beds and services at Arenim Manor,” he said. “Otherwise… not really.”

Sighing, I went to look for a suitable tree to shelter under.

The next morning, just before dawn, I set out find the cavern of Ilunibi – not difficult, as it was only a short way from where I’d set up camp. The ordinary-looking wooden gate at the entrance turned out to conceal a vast cavern network, tastefully decorated throughout with red candles and rotting corpses. A good deal of it seemed to be flooded, including the entrance, where I had to crawl practically through a waterfall to reach the floor of the cave. Apparently my luck was back to normal again.

There seemed to be relatively few Sixth House guards in the cave, perhaps because the previous Imperial assault had killed off most of them. Of the enemies I did face, most of them were undead – skeletons and bonelords, nothing too tough. But one encounter was particularly disturbing.

Peering cautiously round a corner in a dimly-lit passageway, I spotted a human-like figure not far off. Its back was turned to me, so I carefully drew my bow and fired a shot. The figure let out a roar of pain and wheeled round, striding towards me with a slow but entirely steady gait.

I fired another arrow, but the thing didn’t even slow down. Even as I backed round the corner to get in more shots, it kept coming, arrows sticking out of it like needles in a pincushion. My next shot hit it right in the chest, but it still lumbered on towards me, relentless. The word that came to mind was zombie.

Just as I was thinking I’d have to ditch my bow and face it up close, I saw the thing stagger and collapse to the ground just a few yards away from me. As I drew closer, I realised to my horror that it was human – dreadfully, hideously deformed, but human. Its body was grotesquely swollen, covered with sores and strange markings, and its face appeared to be literally rotting away. Blessed Arkay, was this one of the ‘corprus monsters’ Raesa Pullia had described to me?

My suspicions were confirmed when I bent over the corpse and saw a few frayed scraps of clothing hanging off its – his? – body. Shuddering, I backed away and edged past the body, staying as far away from it as possible. The idea that this thing had once been human made it seem far more disturbing than any of the other monsters I’d seen.

I crept onwards, hoping I wouldn’t run into any more of those creatures. Finally, in the heart of the maze-like cavern network, I edged round a corner and spotted another strange creature – a humanoid figure with a sort of long trunk where its face ought to be, dressed in a priest’s robe. It was standing on a raised platform in front of a set of six large bells. Could this be the ‘Dagoth Gares’ I’d been told about?

I ducked back round the corner and cast the Amulet of Shadows enchantment, but Gares must have already spotted me. Either that or he had some other way of sensing I was there.

“The Sixth House greets you, Lord Nerevar,” he said pleasantly, as I approached with sword drawn. “Or ‘Ada Ventura’, as you call yourself. I am known as Dagoth Gares, priest of Ilunibi Shrine, and minister to Sixth House servants. My Lord, Dagoth Ur, has informed me of your coming – I wish that this time you had come to honour your Lord’s friendship, not to betray it.”

I walked right up to him. “Okay, mate, let’s just get one thing clear: I’m not Lord Nerevar, all right? And you’re not going to persuade me to join your idiotic messiah cult by telling me I am, so you might as well give it up and tell me what the hell’s going on here!”

He continued if he hadn’t even heard me. “Lord Dagoth gives me these words to say to you, so you may give them thought. ‘Once we were friends and brothers, Lord Nerevar, in peace and in war. Yet beneath Red Mountain, you struck me down as I guarded the treasure you bound me by oath to defend. But, remembering our old friendship, I would forgive you, and raise you high in my service.’”

“You’re not listening, are you?” I said in exasperation. “I’m not your Lord Dagoth Ur’s friend. And I can’t have ‘struck him down’ or betrayed his friendship, because I’ve never met him!”

“My Lord Dagoth bids you come to Red Mountain,” Gares continued, in that infuriatingly calm tone of voice. “For the friendship and honour that once you shared, he would grant you counsel and power, if only you would pledge that friendship anew. I am not your Lord Dagoth, yet I, too, would say to you... Do you come with weapons to strike me down? Or would you put away your weapon, and join me in friendship?”

Okay, now I was getting really angry. “Join you in friendship? You kill my fellow soldiers, you send a bunch of crazed monsters to attack me, and now you expect me to join you in friendship?”

“Forgive the rude welcome,” he said, “but until you have declared for us, we must treat you as our enemy. Lord Dagoth would far rather have you as a friend than as an enemy – but until you submit to him, Sixth House servants will treat you as an enemy, and try to destroy you. If you wish to be our friend, first you must go to Lord Dagoth in his citadel on Red Mountain, and make your submission.”

Right. I’d had it up to here with this guy. I drew a deep breath, and stepped forward.

“Tell your Lord Dagoth,” I said, “that this is my answer.” And I plunged my blade deep into his chest.

To my surprise, Gares didn’t make any attempt to fight back. He doubled over and fell to his knees, blood soaking through the front of his robe, and I saw a terrible smile spread across his deformed face.

“Even as my Master wills,” he said hoarsely, “you shall come to him, in his flesh, and of his flesh.”

As he sank to the ground, I heard him mutter some sort of incantation with his dying breath. Suddenly I began to feel very weird – not physically weak, exactly, but dull and confused and emotionally drained. Damn it, he must have cursed me.

I drank a few restoration potions and felt a lot better. Searching Dagoth Gares’ body, I found a letter apparently from Dagoth Ur himself:

Lord Nerevar Indoril, Hai Resdaynia

My Lord, Friend, and Companion

Once we were friends and brothers, Lord Nerevar, in peace and in war. No houseman ever served you better, or more faithfully. Much that I did was at your command, at great cost to myself, and my honour.

Yet beneath Red Mountain, you struck me down as I guarded the treasure you bound me by oath to defend. It was a cruel blow, a bitter betrayal, to be felled by your hand.

But, remembering our old friendship, I would forgive you, and raise you high in my service. The Sixth House was not dead, but only sleeping. Now we wake from our long dream, coming forth to free Morrowind of foreign rulers and divine pretenders. When the land is swept clean of false friends and greedy thieves, the children of Veloth will build anew a garden of plenty in this blighted wasteland.

Come to Red Mountain, old friend. For the fellowship and honour that once we shared, I would grant you counsel and power, if only you would pledge that friendship anew. The path to Red Mountain is long, and filled with danger, but if you are worthy, you will find there wisdom, a firm friend, and all the power you need to set the world aright.

As ever, your respectful servant and loyal friend,

Lord Voryn Dagoth, Dagoth Ur

How very strange. Either this was some sort of bizarre psychological warfare, or… for some reason, Dagoth Ur genuinely did believe I was his old ‘friend and companion’ Nerevar. And that Nerevar had betrayed him somehow, if the letter was to be believed. But wait… wasn’t he the one who was supposed to have betrayed the Dunmer?

Oh well, this wasn’t the time to worry about things like that. I shoved the letter into my pack, deciding to show it to Caius when I got back to him. No doubt he’d try to insist it proved I was the Nerevarine, but I wasn’t buying it. And he was about to learn that I wasn’t willing to play his silly game any longer – not now that I had the means to leave Morrowind.

Ah, the joys of walking around with rank. Such a useful thing to have, knighthood is, when one knows how to use the intangible benefits properly. Shame Awtwyr never got himself that.

I'm particularly enjoying Ada's developing plans to head home to glorious Cyrodiil, despite what Caius and the Emperor seem to want. She's a woman on a mission, d@mnit, and won't be stopped. Still, I wonder how she'll deal with the follies of her 'Best laid plans'.

Good write-up, with all the down-to-earth humor and snark that makes Ada so lovable. Easy to see why Varvur would want her, as more than just a well dressed, toned, nubile and fiery redhead.

Chapter 20: Off To See The Wizard

Before going back to Balmora, I searched the chamber for anything that might be of use. There were a couple of troughs containing some useful potions and scrolls, but the real find was the pair of heavy armoured gauntlets I found lying by the side of one of the troughs.

I noticed that the right glove had a Fortify Strength enchantment on it (I recognised it well, as it was from the Restoration school of magic). It was very heavy, much more so than my own steel gauntlets – but when I put it on, I suddenly felt as strong as an ox. I attempted to lift up the stone trough and found that I could easily tip it half way over. With the gauntlet off, I could barely shift the thing at all.

The left gauntlet, which had a Fortify Agility enchantment, made me feel like I could leap tall buildings in a single bound. Wow, what a find! I’d have to be careful wearing these, though – with that powerful strength enchantment, I could practically knock someone over just by tapping them on the shoulder.

Unfortunately, by the time I was ready to travel back to Balmora, I was starting to feel ill again. It looked like Dagoth Gares had struck me with some kind of disease, rather than just a temporary curse effect. Taking a Cure Common Disease potion didn’t work, so I realised it was probably one of the Blight diseases I’d been warned about.

Well, I could deal with it later. For the moment I just wanted to report back to Caius, hand in my resignation, and be done with him and the Blades once and for all.

I tried to cast Almsivi Intervention, but I was finding it so hard to concentrate that I kept making mistakes. By the time I finally succeeded, after nearly a dozen failed attempts, I was snarling with frustration. I was vaguely aware that I ought to be happy – I was one step closer to freedom, after all – but instead I felt pissed-off, irritable and very much on edge. Caius had better not give me any crap this time, I thought.

As I walked through the streets of Balmora, I noticed that I was getting some rather strange looks from a few passers-by. “You got a problem?” I growled at one of them. He backed away hastily, but the encounter did nothing to improve my foul mood. When I reached Caius’ place and he opened his door to me, I shoved right past him into the house without even a ‘hello’.

“Dagoth Gares is dead,” I said, before he had the chance to speak. “Here, I found this letter on him. But he’s cursed me with some sort of disease, so – why are you looking at me like that?”

Caius opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated. “Ada,” he said very carefully, “I think you may have corprus disease.”

“Corprus disease?” I said sharply. “I don’t have corprus disease. What do you mean, I have corprus disease?”

“Give me your shield.” I handed it to him, bewildered, and he turned it round so that I could see my face in the polished surface.

I stared the distorted reflection, trying to work out what was wrong with it, and suddenly my blood ran cold. It wasn’t just the reflection that was distorted – right there, on my face and neck, were several distinct marks and faint signs of swellings. The same kind I’d seen on that hideous, shambling creature in the Ilunibi cavern.

“I have corprus disease!” I wailed.

Caius nodded grimly. “It’s a rare disease that usually drives victims mad, and causes terrible, deformed growths on the body. I don’t know of any cure, but – ”

“OH DEAR GODS!!”

“Wait a second, Ada,” he said. “I may have some good news in that department. I canvassed my informants for possible treatments, just in case you contracted the disease during your mission – ”

My mouth fell open. “You… you did what? You knew this was going to happen!”

“Well, not exactly, but I did suspect that perhaps – ”

“You f*cking b*stard!” I screeched. “You… you s’wit! You n’wah!” He burst out laughing, which wasn’t quite the effect I’d intended. “You knew I’d catch corprus! In fact, I bet you planned it all along!”

I grabbed a metal tankard from the table and hurled it at him. He ducked. I threw a fork and a wooden plate, which he also neatly dodged. I burst into tears.

“Look where you’ve got me!” I sobbed. “You and your stupid Neveragaine crap! Now I have corprus disease, and I’m going to turn into a disgusting zombie-creature and then die, and it’s ALL! YOUR! FAULT!”

I continued to yell at him, calling him every name I could think of in several different languages, until finally I had to give up from sheer exhaustion. “Finished?” he asked. “Good. Now, do you want to get cured of this disease?”

I hiccupped a few times, trying unsuccessfully to wipe away the tears and snot from my face. “Yes!”

“Very well. As I was saying, I canvassed my informants for possible treatments. I learned from Fast Eddie that your best chance of getting cured is Divayth Fyr, an ancient Telvanni wizard who runs a Corprusarium for victims of corprus.”

“A Telvanni? Are you crazy?”

“Take this Dwemer artifact,” he said, handing me something that looked like a piece of alchemical equipment. “I’ve been told he collects them, and a gift may sweeten his disposition. Here’s 1,000 drakes for expenses, and a couple of Levitation potions – I hear you’ll need them in Telvanni towers. Go to Tel Fyr, and get that corprus disease cured.”

I watched, still glowering, as he marked the tower of Tel Fyr on my map. “All right, Caius,” I told him, my voice trembling with rage. “I’ll go. But this is the last time I ever do anything for you, you hear me? The LAST! TIME!”

I marched to the door and yanked it open, then turned back. “And PUT A SHIRT ON!” I roared, before slamming the door so hard that it practically flew off its hinges. The bang it made was so loud that it echoed down the entire street.

Then I ran. I ran through the grotty back-streets of eastern Balmora, over the bridge, up the main street with all the guilds and shops, and into the Mages’ Guild. I hurtled down the steps two at a time into the basement, where Masalinie Merian performed her Guild Guide service. “Get me to Sadrith Mora now!” I barked.

Mesalinie backed away hastily, her face chalk-white. “Ada… you have corprus disease. That’s a death sentence. I’m sorry, but… please, just stay away from me.”

“Just do it!” She obeyed so quickly that I didn’t even have time to reach for my purse.

I hit the ground running the instant I materialised in the Wolverine Hall Guild, ignoring the astonished expressions of the mages there. “Can’t stop,” I yelled over my shoulder. “Corprus disease.”

I rushed down the steps out of the Hall and through the courtyard, across the bridge, and down a steep slope to the water’s edge. Caius’s scrawlings on my map showed the tower of Tel Fyr lying on one of a chain of small islands to the southwest. There was no boat.

By now we were well into the month of Frostfall, and the weather was getting distinctly colder and wetter, but that was the least of my worries right now. I dumped my armour unceremoniously in a heap by the waterside and frantically cast and re-cast my Water Walking spell until I finally got it right, then pelted across the water in the direction of Tel Fyr, only stopping to gulp down potions of magicka restoration and re-cast the spell. When the inevitable happened and I plunged into the freezing water half-way to the next island, I spat out mouthfuls of salty brine and half-swam, half-waded to the shore, tears rolling down my cheeks.

By the time I dragged myself ashore on the island of Tel Fyr, I was sobbing with exhaustion and despair and my lungs felt as if they were ready to burst. How had I come to this? Only this morning, my future had seemed so rosy; now here I was, standing on a lonely shore in one of the bleakest parts of Vvardenfell, stricken with an incurable disease and facing an extended stay as a patient in Divayth Fyr’s ‘Corprusarium’. At best.

What if he didn’t manage to cure me? I shuddered violently, remembering the state of that corprus victim in Ilunibi. No, anything was preferable to a fate like that – even death. I gripped the hilt of my sword, slightly comforted by the thought that if the worst came to the worst, I had another way out.

I had to squeeze the water out of my clothes before entering Fyr’s mushroom tower. The narrow passageways, low ceilings and wet, fleshy walls somehow seemed even more disturbing than usual, and I had no idea which way to go. I spotted a Dunmer woman standing in a room just by the entrance, and paused to speak to her.

“Have you come to plunder the dungeon?” she asked, before I could say anything. “Or did you come to see Divayth Fyr? I’m Beyte Fyr, his wife... well, one of them. Sort of.”

I frowned. I was finding it quite hard to think straight at this point, but that last part definitely hadn’t sounded right. “One of them?”

“Yes. Well, not ‘wife’ in the ‘married’ sense, but... you know. ‘Paramour.’ ‘Consort.’ Something like that.” She shrugged. “It’s a bit awkward, really. Because... well... he made us, too, so, though we aren’t really his daughters or anything…”

“His daughters?” Good grief. I’d heard about the kind of things people got up to in these out-of-the-way places, but...

“Well… it’s like we were his daughters. Because he made us. You see?”

I didn’t see, and now I was struggling to recall what I’d come here for in the first place. “I’d like to see Divayth Fyr, please,” I said at last.

“He’s up above in his study. You can’t get up there unless you can fly.” She gave me a hard look. “You can levitate, can’t you?”

“Er… yes.” Well, technically I could. With a potion.

I followed Beyte’s directions to the living quarters, where there was supposed to be a way up to Divayth’s study, but I just couldn’t find it. I spent several minutes wandering around aimlessly before finally looking up and spotting a small, circular hole in the ceiling of the passage. The room above looked to be a long way up, but I had to trust to the potions Caius had given me. One potion allowed me to levitate for just long enough to reach the upper tower, where I spotted an elderly male Dunmer – presumably Divayth Fyr – standing by a desk in an adjoining room.

For all my distress, I couldn’t help being curious to see what this ‘ancient’ wizard would look like. As it turned out, he didn’t really look that old at all, apart from being one of the few Dunmer I’d seen with white hair – if he’d been human, I’d have guessed him to be in his seventies. I noticed that he also wore almost a full set of Daedric armour, not something I’d have expected to see on an aged wizard.

“Well, what a pleasure!” he exclaimed, as soon as I entered the room. “A visitor! An entertaining diversion! Come to consult the great Divayth Fyr?” Unlike most Dunmer I’d met, he spoke Tamrielic without a trace of an accent. He could easily have passed for a well-bred gentleman from the Heartlands.

“Yes. Um, I brought you a gift,” I added, suddenly remembering the Dwemer piece. “It’s a Dwemer… something.”

“A gift for me? How thoughtful! And shrewd.” He took it from me with a wink. “I suppose you know I am a collector, and that such a gift is bound to please me. So, why have you tried to butter me up? Want to plunder the dungeon? Or leer at my daughters?”

I was a little taken aback by that last one. “Er…”

“Not bad for something born in a jar, eh?” he said with a wink. “Alfe, Beyte, Delte and Uupse. Not daughters, really – a little project, a side benefit of my researches into corprus disease. Made them myself, from my own flesh. Quite a comfort to me in my old age… hah, hah.”

I stared at him, feeling slightly dizzy all of a sudden. Gods help me, this guy was my only hope. My entire life lay in the hands of a crazed Telvanni mage who created ‘daughters’ from his own flesh and then slept with them.

With a great effort, I managed to pull myself together. “Actually, sera, I came here because I have corprus disease. I… was hoping you might be able to help me?” I couldn’t keep the note of pleading out of my voice.

“Ah, yes. I see now.” He got up from his seat and walked over to me in order to examine me more closely.

“The magical principles of corprus disease are elusive and miraculous,” he stated ponderously, prodding at one of the swellings on my neck. “I’m persuaded that it is in some manner the curse or blessing of a god – perhaps both. The victim, of course, cannot appreciate the marvellous nature of corprus – ” well, you don’t say! “ – but to a wizard, it is a profound and glorious mystery, a riddle worth a long lifetime of study.”

Gods, I couldn’t believe this. Typical bloody wizard! You come to them with a hideous flesh-eating disease that leaves you half-crazed, swollen up like a balloon and covered in weeping sores, and all they can say is “oh, how fascinating.”

“Did you know that corprus makes you immune to disease?” he continued, oblivious to my growing terror. “Have you ever heard of the prophecies of the Nerevarine? Ashlanders say the Nerevarine will be immune to disease. I’ve always thought that maybe I have the Nerevarine down in my Corprusarium, and I don’t even know it.” He chuckled softly. “The Nerevarine is a fat, disgusting corprus monster, and mad as a marsh rat. Wouldn’t that be funny?”

I drew a shaky breath, trying to fight down a rising sense of hysteria. “Ser Fyr,” I begged. “Please. If you have any idea of how to cure this – any way at all – then please, please tell me about it. I’ll do anything you want. Join House Telvanni. Please.” What the hell, I thought, I’d already tried the other two; might as well make it a hat-trick!

Fyr chuckled again. “Join my House? I’m not sure you would… fit in, my friend. Best stick to Redoran.”

How the heck did he know I was a Redoran? Oh well, it hardly mattered at this point. “Something else, then,” I begged. “Please?”

“Well. I’ve got a potion.” He paused. “In theory, it should cure corprus. Doesn’t work, though – probably kill you. Killed all my test subjects. But you’ve got nothing to lose, have you?”

I didn’t waste even a second thinking about my answer. “Fine. I’ll take it.”

He raised a finger. “Before I give it to you, though, I want you to look around below in the Corprusarium. Know what’s in store if you don’t take the potion. And while you’re there, I want you to pick up a pair of boots from a victim, calls himself Yagrum Bagarn. Bring the boots back, and then you can have the potion.”

A pair of boots? That was all he wanted in return for possibly saving my life?

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll do it. I’ll go now. Er… what was the guy’s name again?”

When I got down to the Corprusarium entrance, in the lower part of the tower, I found it guarded by an Argonian in steel armour. “I am Vistha-Kai, Warden of the Corprusarium,” he hissed. “I am here to warn you: do not harm the inmates. If you come to plunder the dungeon, you must endure their attacks, and take your chances with me, their Warden and Protector.”

“I’m not here to plunder the bloody dungeon,” I snarled, close to tears again (looking back, I realise the corprus was causing me some fairly violent mood swings). “I just came to collect some boots for Divayth Fyr.”

He shrugged. “Well, I will not tolerate you adding to their suffering. Indeed, they are brutal and ferocious, and they will kill you if they can. But you are their guests, and you may not harm them, or you will answer to me.”

“Okay, whatever.” What exactly was I was supposed to do to stop them attacking me, then? Oh, right… I had a Chameleon amulet, didn’t I.

The inside of the Corprusarium was the closest thing I’d ever seen to a living nightmare. All around me those deranged, bloated creatures lurched and shambled about, wandering aimlessly back and forth with only the occasional groan or roar of pain. And yet, when I looked at them closely I could see that some of them were still semi-rational, and vaguely aware of what was happening to them. Nothing on Nirn, I thought, could possibly be worse than that.

Deep within the Corprusarium I came across a small secluded area with a wardrobe, a cluttered table, and some chests and cushions. There were two people there – one was a Dunmer woman in bonemold armour, presumably another of Divayth Fyr’s daughters… wives… whatever. The other was a very short and incredibly fat man, who seemed to have no legs at all, just an enormous belly. He was sitting on something that looked like a giant mechanical spider, and his body was hideously disfigured with corprus – but as I drew closer I realised that he was very much conscious and alert.

“Excuse me,” I said hesitantly, forgetting that my Chameleon spell was still active. “Are you Yagrum Bagarn, by any chance?”

“What? Where… oh, there you are.” He sighed with relief. “Please, do try not to startle me like that. Anyway, what brings you to visit Yagrum Bagarn, Master Crafter, and Last Living Dwarf?”

I stared at him, feeling a little dizzy. “Last living Dwarf?”

He nodded. “This is how I style myself. I do not know for a fact that I am the last, but in my travels thousands of years ago, I never encountered another. And since I have been here, I often ask Lord Fyr, but he says he has never heard a credible rumor of another Dwemer – on Tamriel, or in any Outer Realm.”

“But… but that’s…” My voice trailed off as I remembered that no one actually knew what had happened to the Dwarves – for all I knew, there could still be some around. Certainly I had to admit that he didn’t look like any race I was familiar with.

“Anyway, you’re here for the Dwemer boots,” he continued, taking up a pair from the cushion beside him. “Tell my gracious Keeper that I have done what I could – only a Dwemer magecrafter could have done so much. But only idiots could have created these boots. It shames my race that we must be judged by the works of such lack-wit blunderers.”

“Uhh…” I croaked, completely lost for words. I just wasn’t in any state to cope with this right now. If this guy really was a Dwarf – which I still doubted, to be honest – this could have been the opportunity of a lifetime, the chance to solve a mystery that had plagued scholars for millennia. But I simply couldn’t handle any more of this craziness; I felt like I was going mad already.

I took the boots and hurried back through the Corprusarium and the tower, pausing only to re-cast the Chameleon enchantment. When I got back to Fyr I found him sitting at his desk, scribbling some notes. “Here,” I gasped, flinging the boots onto the desk. “Now give me the potion. Please.”

“Very well,” he said. “I’ll give you the potion, on the following condition: you must drink it here, before my eyes. It should act immediately, and I need to observe you very carefully. Agreed?”

“Yes, yes, just give it to me! Please!”

Fyr took a small vial full of dark liquid from his strongbox and handed it to me. Here goes nothing, I thought, as I tore out the stopper and gulped it down. Talk about kill or cure!

The taste was utterly, indescribably revolting. I actually had to squeeze my lips shut with my fingers to stop myself from spitting the mixture out and force myself to swallow it. Nothing happened for a second or two; then, suddenly, I felt a faint tingling sensation in my scalp. As I stood there I could feel it slowly spreading throughout my body, right down to the tips of my fingers and toes.

“What’s happening?” I said anxiously. “Is it doing anything?” Well, at least it hadn’t killed me yet.

Fyr hesitated, a very strange expression on his face. “Goodness…” Suddenly he leapt to his feet. “Good grief! Look! Look! It’s... WORKING!”

He rushed over to me and grabbed hold of my shoulder, peering closely into my face. He poked and prodded me in several different places, spun me around, made me open my mouth so he could examine my tongue, and finally let me go.

“Amazing,” he breathed. “I think it worked. No sign of the disease at all. Of course, you still have corprus disease, just like I planned – ”

“WHAT?”

“But all your symptoms are gone,” he continued blithely. “Marvellous. I’ll go try it out on some of the more desperate inmates. But I’ll answer any questions you have before you go.”

For several seconds I hesitated, unsure whether to believe him or not. I cast a suspicious glance down at my hands, arms and legs, all of which looked healthy. Gingerly I patted at my face and neck; the swellings were gone. The fog seemed to have lifted from my mind, and I could think clearly again.

I took a deep breath. “Okay, so you say I still have corprus. What does that mean, practically? Is it still possible for me to infect other people?”

“No, but the positive effects of the disease are still active. Increased strength, for example, and immunity to all other diseases. And you’ll live forever, barring accidents.”

I was starting to feel slightly dizzy again. Had I heard that right? “Live forever? So… so you’re saying I’m immortal?”

“As I said… barring accidents.”

Immortality and immunity to disease… why did that sound familiar? Lines of poetry flashed through my mind: Neither Blight nor age shall harm him, The Curse-of-flesh before him flies…

I swallowed hard, feeling a slight shiver run down my spine. “You’re sure I’m not still infectious?” I asked, trying to keep my mind on the here-and-now.

“Yes, yes,” he said, waving a hand impatiently. “You’re completely cured. Now, will that be all? I don’t wish to be rude, but I have many other matters to attend to.”

“Okay. Well… thanks, I guess,” I said. “For everything. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

“Not at all.” He lifted the Dwemer artifact I’d brought him from his desk and placed it carefully onto a shelf. “Always a pleasure to find a new subject for study… Now, be off with you.”

I have to admit I was pretty relieved that he wasn’t going to hold me to my promise of joining House Telvanni. Now that my mind was clear again, I could think of a thousand reasons why that would be a really bad idea. Let’s face it, Fyr was right: I wouldn’t fit in. And besides, I rather liked the Redorans, even if they were a bit stingy about actually paying me for the work I did for them.

I left the room slowly, deep in thought, and very nearly fell down the narrow chute leading to the lower part of the tower. It was then that I realised I didn’t actually have any way to get down, short of jumping (and probably breaking a few limbs in the process). Caius had only given me three Rising Force potions, and I’d drunk them all.

I glanced back nervously at Divayth Fyr, who was busy writing at his desk. The last thing I wanted was to have to go back to him and say “sorry, but I can’t get down.” Luckily, at that moment I spotted one of his ‘daughters’ emerging from another room.

“Um, excuse me,” I said. “Sorry to bother you, but, er...”

She glanced from me to the hole in the floor, and sighed. “You flew up here using a Rising Force potion, didn’t you?”

“That’s right,” I said, trying not to wince.

“And now you don’t have any way to get down, do you?”

“Um… no.”

She rolled her eyes. “Another genius here, I see.”

“Look, give me a break,” I mumbled, crimson with embarrassment. “I was dying of corprus disease when I came up here, can you blame me for being a bit distracted?”

Ms. Fyr narrowed her eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Do you want to get down there or not?”

“Yes. Please,” I said hastily.

She raised her hands towards me and mumbled some words in Daedric. There was a flash of white light. “Okay, I’ve cast a Slowfall spell on you. It won’t last long, so get down there quickly before it wears off.”

I’d no idea whether it really was a Slowfall spell she’d just cast on me, but it wasn’t like I had much choice. Gritting my teeth, I stepped over the edge of the hole, and found myself floating gently down towards the ground. I landed with a slight bump just as the spell wore off.

I emerged from the tower into the weak evening light. Was it really only that same morning that I’d set out for Ilunibi? It felt like days had passed since then. As I walked towards the coast, dreading the thought of having to water-walk my way back again, I spotted something I hadn’t noticed before: a small ferry-boat by a dock in the distance.

Why hadn’t anyone told me there was a boat? Then again, they’d probably have refused to take me anyway while I was suffering from corprus. I walked over to the boat to speak to the shipmaster, who turned out to be an Imperial woman like me.

“I can’t bring people to the island from Sadrith Mora,” she explained. “I can only take them back again.”

Was I right in thinking that made no sense whatsoever, or was it just a hangover from the corprus disease? Nope, I was right: it didn’t make any sense.

The shipmaster tried to make conversation as we travelled back to Sadrith Mora, but I wasn’t really in the mood for talking. I was still finding it hard to take in what Divayth Fyr had told me about the effects of corprus. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to live forever – I couldn’t help remembering a tale I’d once read, of a legendary swordsman who was unable to die. Would I end up like him, wandering the whole world and fighting everyone I met, desperately seeking someone to put me out of my misery?

And what was more, I couldn’t get that verse from The Seven Visions out of my mind. I hadn’t paid any attention to the ‘born on a certain day’ crap, but to have become ageless and immune to disease on top of that, and the letter from Dagoth Ur… it was hard to dismiss all this as just coincidence. Could it possibly be that…?

No, it was still ridiculous. Even if I was Nerevar’s reincarnation, and somehow managed to persuade the Dunmer to believe this, wasn’t the Nerevarine supposed to drive the Imperials out of Morrowind? Well, screw that. I’m not what you’d call hugely patriotic, but there was no way I was going to declare war against my own people.

It’s wasn’t my problem, I told myself. They’d just have to… wait for him to be reincarnated into someone else, or something. (I tried not to think about the fact that I’d probably have to die before this could happen.)

I found my armour lying just where I had left it, and spent some time cleaning and polishing it back at Wolverine Hall before returning to the Mages’ Guild to teleport back to Balmora. Iniel, the High Elf woman who acted as Guild Guide there, looked at me with deep suspicion. “Didn’t you have corprus disease just a few hours ago?”

“That’s right,” I said. “I got better.”

It was very late when I arrived back in Balmora, and I was dead tired – but I decided to go to Caius’ house anyway, just in case he was waiting for me. Turned out I was right: when I reached his house I saw a dim light in the window and realised that he’d sat up for me all evening. A wave of guilt swept over me as I remembered how I’d yelled at him earlier.

“Ah, Ada,” he said, as soon as he opened the door to me. “So… Divayth Fyr managed to help you, did he?” I could swear I saw a trace of relief in his eyes. Could it be that he himself was feeling slightly guilty about the mess he’d got me into?

“Yes. Er, Caius,” I said gruffly. “About the things I said earlier… I just wanted to say that I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean any of it, I was just a bit… over-emotional. What with the corprus and all.”

He waved this away. “Never mind that. I’m very happy to see you’ve been cured. But I’ve had a bit of bad news, I’m afraid.” He paused. “I’ve been recalled to the Imperial City.”

“Sorry to hear it,” I said politely, though privately I couldn’t help being delighted. This could only make it easier for me to leave Morrowind myself. “Er, how will this affect me, exactly?”

“You’ll be promoted to Operative, and will head the Blades here in Vvardenfell until I return,” he said. “I’ve only waited here to give you your final orders before I go.”

I nearly fell over. “What? Caius, is this a joke?”

“Not at all. I’m quite serious.”

“But I don’t know how to be a spymaster!”

“There’s nothing to it,” he said, shrugging. “Each agent has his own assignment, and reports directly to Cyrodiil. You’re promoted to Operative mostly to preserve your independence.”

I gaped at him, fury welling up inside me. So much for feeling guilty for all the names I’d called him! So this was his plan to keep me in Morrowind, was it? Well, I wasn’t falling for it this time.

I drew in a deep breath, and looked straight at him. “No.”

“No?”

“No. I won’t do this, Caius. I told you that last mission was the last thing I’d ever do for you, and I meant it.”

“But surely, after all that’s happened, you must see – ”

“No! N-O! Look, Caius,” I said, “all this Nerevarine stuff was okay at first, but it’s gone beyond a joke. If Divayth Fyr hadn’t happened to have the right potion, I’d be rotting in his Corprusarium right now. I’m not playing any longer. Soon as I save up enough money, I’m going straight back to Cyrodiil.”

Caius regarded me doubtfully, rubbing his chin. Apparently it was just beginning to sink in that I actually meant what I was saying. “Ada,” he said carefully, “I know it isn’t easy to accept that you’re the Nerevarine, but – ”

“I won’t do it,” I said. “You can’t make me.”

He shook his head slowly. “The Emperor will not be pleased.”

“The Emperor can kiss my – ” I broke off, trying to think of a way to finish that sentence that wouldn’t get me killed. “I’m sorry, Caius, but no. Even the Emperor would have to admit that I’ve more than paid off my debt to him by now. I am not doing it, and that’s my final answer.”

He said nothing. “Well, goodbye,” I said at last. “I hope everything goes well for you back in Cyrodiil. Blessings of Akatosh, Caius.”

Caius remained silent. I sighed, shrugged, and left the house without another word.

As I walked back to the Fighters’ Guild, I felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Sure, it was a shame about the argument with Caius, but still… I was free. Finally free. No more crazy cults, no more prophecies, no more trips out to the back of beyond to con a bunch of Ashlanders into accepting me as their personal saviour.

By the time I reached the Guild I was so tired that I was ready to collapse. I barely even had the energy to strip off my damp, muddy clothes before falling into bed, dropping off to sleep almost the second my head touched the pillow. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to sleep for long.

I just bought Morrowind for the PC - now I'll be more familiar with the quests as I read them - if I can ever find the time to play!!!

Love Divayth Fyr. Probably in my top five all-time characters for the categories of: Morrowind; Crazy Old Wizard/Mad Scientist; Ancient and Wise Mentor; and Bad@ss Grandpa.

Your depiction of him is exactly what I always thought he should be: A dash of Sheogorath, an ability from Magnus, and the king of guy Sotha Sil might want to challenge to a Game of Drink.

Chapter 21: The Plot Thickens

Only a short while later – it can’t have been more than an hour after I fell asleep – I was awakened by a very strange noise, a sort of low-pitched moan. I opened my eyes and almost screamed in terror as I saw a not-quite-human shape looming over me in the dim light. I couldn’t make out its features, but I could very clearly see the silhouette of the large, spiked club it held in its hand. As I watched, momentarily frozen with shock, it grasped the weapon with both hands and raised it above its head, poised to strike.

Acting purely on instinct, I flung back the covers and kicked the mysterious figure squarely in the stomach. As it staggered backwards with a grunt of pain, I leapt to my feet, grabbed my sword – which I always kept by me in case of emergencies – and viciously slashed at the creature’s face, chest and stomach. It didn’t bleed, it… crumbled.

“What the hell’s going on?” The noise had woken several people in the other bunks, and a couple of guards had rushed to see what was happening, bringing lamps. “What is that thing?”

‘That thing’, which was now lying on the floor in a messy heap, was a humanoid figure wearing nothing but a loincloth. Its flesh was a strange powdery grey, as if it were made of ash – in fact, it appeared to me that it was made of ash. The scariest thing about it was that it seemed to have no face – just a burnt-out hole in place of its eyes and nose, and a large, curved gash where its mouth ought to be. I didn’t have a clue what it was, but I had a pretty good idea who could tell me.

Wasting no time, I flung on some clothes and hurried out into the streets, leaving the others to clean up the mess. I ran at full tilt through the streets to Caius’ house, where I pounded on the door and banged at the windows, not caring who heard me. “Caius! Open up!”

About thirty seconds later, a sleepy-looking Caius answered the door in only his underclothes (ugh). “Ada?” he asked, stifling a yawn. “What is it?”

I leaned against the doorframe, panting heavily. “I’ve just been attacked in my bed by some sort of ash… zombie!”

“Ah,” he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Yes. I thought something like this might happen.”

“Whaaa…?”

“Come in.” He drew me into the house, shut the door, and steered me towards a chair. “Obviously I didn’t know this would happen, exactly. But I knew the Sixth House weren’t likely to give up that easily.”

“What do you mean?”

Caius sighed. “They know who you are now, Ada. Remember that letter you showed me? You may not believe you’re the Nerevarine, but Dagoth Ur certainly does. And as long as you’re alive, you’re still a threat to him.”

“So what shall I do?” I was starting to panic.

“Well, for a start, I’d stop sleeping in town from now on. Makes it too easy for them to find you. Maybe camping out in the backcountry is safer.”

I felt a painful throbbing in my left temple. “So you’re saying I can’t even sleep in a proper bed now?!”

“Up to you, of course. Or you could try taking the fight to them; they might have a base nearby.”

I winced. I didn’t even want to think about taking on any more Sixth House bases after what I’d been through in the last one. What was more, I had a horrible feeling I knew the answer to my next question.

“And… if I leave Morrowind?” I said weakly. “Will he still think I’m a threat?”

“I don’t know.”

I looked at him with deep suspicion. “You’re not just saying that to keep me here in Morrowind, are you?”

“No, Ada, I’m not. I honestly have no idea.”

I’d have loved to believe he was lying, but it was no use. When I’d had corprus I’d managed to convince myself that this was all part of Caius’ clever schemes, but now that I could think rationally again, I realised that this was impossible. Even Caius couldn’t summon up Sixth House creatures at his convenience just to punish me for disobeying his orders. Unless he was somehow in league with them, and… no, that was even more far-fetched.

If I’d only stood my ground, things might have turned out very differently. But I couldn’t help it; I simply didn’t have the energy to fight any more. I was exhausted, bewildered, sleep-deprived, aching all over from the previous day’s ‘adventure’, and all I wanted now was to curl up in a ball and sleep for the rest of the month, or preferably the year. I was spent.

“All right, Caius,” I said wearily, flopping back in my chair. “I give up. You win. If I have to fulfill the stupid prophecies to get Dagoth Ur off my back, that’s what I’ll do. Just tell me what needs to be done, and I’ll do it.”

“Very well.” He seemed wide awake all of a sudden. “Mehra Milo says the Dissident Priests do have records of Ashlander Nerevarine prophecies, and she has an idea how we might get a look at them. Go to the Hall of Wisdom and Justice and get Mehra to help you find the lost prophecies, then take them to Nibani Maesa and follow her advice. I can’t help you from now on, I’m afraid.”

“That’s all?”

He nodded. “Just remember that Mehra’s being watched. If something has gone wrong, find her private quarters; she’ll leave you a message there under the code word ‘amaya’. Oh, and one more thing…”

“Yes?”

“Just a little advice,” he said. “You’re no fool, Ada. The days of the Empire are almost over.”

I swallowed hard. “Things are really that bad?”

Caius nodded, his expression sombre. “When the Emperor dies, nine hells are going to break loose. Forget about the Imperial City – think locally. Worry about the Sixth House and Dagoth Ur, and squabbles between the Great Houses and the colonists. The rest of the political nonsense doesn’t amount to a plate of scuttle.”

I’d forgotten to bring my journal, so he had to write everything down for me on a scrap of paper. “Take these blacks,” he said just before I left, handing me a neatly-folded black shirt and pair of pants. So he did have a shirt! “You can use the house until I return, and I won’t be needing this ring while I’m in Cyrodiil. Take good care of them… and good luck.”

I plodded slowly back towards the Fighters’ Guild, thinking over what Caius had said to me. I knew I ought to be shocked, and upset, but right now I just felt numb. Maybe it was just too much to take in on top of everything else.

If the Empire did fall, what would replace it? I wasn’t much of a scholar, but I knew enough history to realise that the fall of Empires didn’t tend to be followed by a Golden Age of peace and prosperity. The last time the Empire had come close to collapse was during the Imperial Simulacrum, when the Emperor’s chief battlemage had imprisoned him in Oblivion and secretly taken his place. I was too young to remember those times, but my parents weren’t, and from what they’d told me – when they were willing to discuss it at all – I got the impression it had been anything but a pleasant time to live through.

As I crossed the bridge over the Odai, I was so deep in thought that I barely noticed the guy standing right in front of me. It wasn’t until I got up close to him that I realised he wasn’t moving, and was blocking my way. I looked up at him in bewilderment, and realised with a sinking heart that I recognised him: a green robe, a scarred face, and an all-too-familiar glazed look in his eyes.

“The wickwheat is winnowed, and under the harrow, the earth is prepared for planting.” His red eyes glowed eerily in the flickering light of the torch he carried. “The n’wah must die, and their flesh serve to sweeten the soil.”

Hang on, this was a new one. “The n’wah must die?”

“You, foreigner! You must die.” He leaned in towards me, his face contorted with hatred. “Beasts and men, outlander mer, all must die. Flee his wrath and quit this land, if you would live, or your flesh shall feed the earth.”

To say that I really didn’t need this right now would be an understatement. “Get away from me.” I could hear the tremor in my voice. “Get out of my way now or I’ll shove you into the river.”

He just stood there, those red gimlet-eyes boring right into me. For a second I thought I might actually have to make good on my threat, but at the last moment he suddenly turned and stalked away. As the retreating figure vanished into an alleyway, I realised that I was shaking.

Back at the Fighters’ Guild, I took stock of the situation. I basically had two choices: hire bodyguards, or follow Caius’ advice and sleep outside of town. Since the first option wasn’t exactly practical on my current budget, it looked like I’d either have to bunk down in the nearest cave or try the barracks at Fort Moonmoth.

Would the Sixth House servants find me if I slept at the fort? Well, it was worth a try. At the very least, being surrounded by a lot of heavily-armed soldiers would make me feel a bit safer.

I packed up as many of my belongings as I could and set out for the fort, now so tired that I was literally close to collapse. Upon arrival, I rolled into the first bed available and fell into a long, mercifully uninterrupted sleep.

It was almost midday when I finally woke up the next morning. I lay there for several minutes, replaying the previous day’s events in my head as I tried to collect my thoughts. Okay… I’d killed a Sixth House priest, been cursed with corprus disease, got cured of corprus disease, met a guy who claimed to be the Last Living Dwarf, and nearly got myself brained by an ash creature. Now I just had to work out which of those had actually happened and which I’d just imagined.

The ‘Last Living Dwarf’ part I was fairly sure was a hallucination, either on my part or more likely on his. That was one of the symptoms of corprus, wasn’t it? Perhaps the guy I’d met was in the early stages: still able to speak coherently and hold a conversation, but completely delusional. Poor b*stard.

Everything else, though, I was fairly sure had really happened. And I had a nasty feeling that somewhere along the line I’d agreed to become the Imperial Spymaster for Vvardenfell. Clearly I needed to grab Caius before he left and have a long talk about what this actually meant, and how long I’d be doing it for.

I walked back to Balmora in the early afternoon, after a long and vigorous bath and a hearty meal. Before doing anything else, I stopped by the Mages’ Guild to buy supplies. Masalinie Merian had already gone to bed when I’d returned the previous night, and her eyes nearly popped out of her head when she saw me.

“Ada!” She took a nervous step backwards as I approached. “Are you… did you…?”

“Yep, I’m cured,” I said flatly. “I could explain how, but it would probably take all afternoon.”

She hesitated, still hovering nervously at a safe distance. “Are you sure you’re cured?”

“I’m fine,” I told her. “I promise. I am no longer infectious.”

She still looked a bit suspicious, but I finally managed to convince her that I really was 100% corprus-free. “Well,” she said. “That’s truly amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

As I left the room, I could hear her and some of the other mages whispering together. No doubt a wildly-exaggerated version of the story would be all over Balmora before the week was out.

Afterwards I crossed the river into eastern Balmora to visit Caius. I knocked at his door several times, but for the first time ever, he didn’t answer. Thinking he might be out, I leaned against the door to wait – and was astonished when it instantly swung inwards under my weight.

The house was empty. It looked exactly as it had done the night before, only… no Caius. Looking around the room, I spotted a money pouch lying on the table alongside a short note.

Ada,

Had to leave sooner than I expected. I’ve left you some gold – you’ll need it for expenses.

Caius

So he’d gone. I picked up the bag of gold and jiggled it about in my hands. For ages I’d wanted to be rid of Caius, but now that he’d gone, I actually felt a little lost. What was I going to do now?

I walked back to the Mages’ Guild with a heavy heart. Masalinie realised something was wrong the minute she saw me. “What’s the matter, Ada?”

“He’s gone,” I said dully.

“Gone? Who’s gone?”

“Caius. I visited him just last night, and now he’s… well, gone.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” To my immense surprise, she wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tightly. “Men are such beasts, aren’t they? But Ada, my love, I’m sure an attractive girl like you can do better than that.” She wrinkled her nose. “To be quite honest, none of us could understand what you saw in him in the first place.”

I opened my mouth to protest, and then closed it again. What did it matter now, anyway? “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Take my advice, and find someone closer to your own age. One of those strapping lads at the Fighters’ Guild should be just your type.” She winked. “After all, you know what they say about the best way to get over a man…”

I’d heard that expression, yes. Maybe it was time I found a boyfriend, I thought. After all, it looked like I was going to be here for quite a while yet. And it was certainly long enough since I’d last slept with anyone (though given that I’d spent most of that time in prison, that was probably a good thing).

Masalinie transported me to Vivec, where I hurried to the Temple canton to look for the Temple priestess Mehra Milo. She wasn’t anywhere in the Library of Vivec, so I decided to take Caius’ advice and look for her quarters. How was I supposed to find them, though? It wasn’t like I could ask anyone.

I finally managed to locate them through a scribbled floor plan someone had left on a desk. The door was locked, and no one answered when I tried knocking. After checking no one was nearby, I set out to pick the lock, which luckily wasn’t too much of a challenge.

The room behind the door was clean and tidy, but Mehra wasn’t there. She’d left a short note on top of a chest of drawers, and my heart sank as I read it:

Amaya,

Sorry I missed you. I had to run some old documents over to the Inquisitor at the Ministry of Truth, and I’m likely to be tied up there for a while. Why don’t you meet me there as soon as you can? Then we can leave together as soon as I’m done. And Amaya, don’t forget to bring me the two Divine Intervention scrolls you borrowed. Or, if you used them, buy a couple of new ones for me. I think I’m going to need them soon. Janand Maulinie at the Mages Guild in the Foreign Quarter keeps them in stock.

Alvela Saram is the guard at the entrance; just tell her you’re looking for me, and she’ll let you in.

Your faithful friend,
Mehra

PS: I left a couple of Levitate potions here for you, just in case. I couldn’t remember if you knew the spell or not, so I drew a couple from stock.

How a message like this could possibly have fooled even the most brain-damaged Ordinator was beyond me. Honestly, “I’m likely to be tied up there for a while?” Even I could have done a better job of writing a ‘coded’ message based on the spy novels I’d read as a teenager. No wonder the Dissident Priests kept getting themselves arrested if this was their idea of ‘secret’ communications.

So Mehra needed me to spring her from jail, did she? Great, another marvellous opportunity to get myself arrested and tortured. At least I had the Divine Intervention scrolls she’d asked for, so I could make a hasty exit if things got too hairy.

Sighing, I took the letter and the Rising Force potions and made my way to the shrine of Vivec on top of the canton. Rather than just drinking one of the potions, I donated one to the shrine for the usual 24-hour Levitation blessing. The last thing I wanted was for the spell to wear off at an inconvenient moment. I levitated up to the Ministry of Truth, where a female Ordinator stood guard on one of the balconies – I could tell she was female because she didn’t wear the usual closed helmet.

“Excuse me,” I said cautiously, hovering a few feet away from her. “Are you Alvela Saram?”

“I’m sorry. No pilgrims allowed in the Ministry,” she said firmly. “I’ll have to ask you to lea- wait, you’re not here to visit anyone, are you?”

I shook my head, and she quickly handed me a key she’d concealed beneath her belt. “Mehra said you would come,” she whispered. “I’ll say you subdued me with magic and stole my key. It opens all three exterior doors – the upper back door is best.”

“I don’t suppose you happen to have keys to the cells, do you?”

“I’m afraid not.” Of course; that would have been too easy. “Search for the keys in desks; no one carries keys while on duty. Mehra is in Prison Keep in the cell on the far right. Oh… and some of us are sympathetic to the Dissident priests, but kill an Ordinator, and you’ll lose that sympathy. Mehra said you’ve got rank in the Temple, so maybe you can bluff your way through.”

Somehow I doubted that my extremely low rank in the Temple would allow me to bluff my way past the guards – or, for that matter, that anyone would believe I was capable of subduing an Ordinator with magic. My only hope was to stay out of sight until I got to Mehra. Luckily I had a secret weapon: my Amulet of Shadows. (Boy was I glad I’d been lucky enough to find that thing!)

I flew up to the back door Alvela had mentioned and cast the amulet’s enchantment before braving the Ministry of Truth – probably the first time a non-Dunmer had ever entered it except as a prisoner. The interior was gloomy and forbidding, as you’d expect from a prison carved out of a big floating rock. I didn’t waste time searching for keys – I just hurried through the corridors, past doors with creepy names like ‘Hall of Processing’, until I reached the one marked ‘Prison Keep’ and used an Ondusi’s Unhinging scroll to open it.

I found myself in a vaguely circular, cavern-like room with a high domed ceiling. Heavily-armed Ordinators patrolled the room on raised wooden platforms, while a group of miserable-looking prisoners milled about on the rock floor below. Mehra wasn’t among them, but I could see a heavy door on the right side of the room which presumably led to her cell.

I floated up and over the guards and down to the cell door, where I prepared to cast the Chameleon enchantment again before trying the lock – only to realise there wasn’t enough charge left on the amulet. Bugger. I didn’t have any Ondusi’s Unhinging scrolls left either, and there certainly wasn’t time to try and pick the lock.

I tried casting the Unhinging spell myself, once again cursing myself for not having paid more attention to my magic lessons. I’d been the despair of my Alteration tutor, but she’d certainly had the last laugh. It failed, of course, and now I had only seconds left before the spell wore off.

My second attempt failed just as miserably, and moments later I realised my hands had become visible again. I cast a desperate glance around me, and noticed several of the prisoners looking at me in astonishment and confusion. The guards hadn’t spotted me yet, but they soon would. Ignoring the other prisoners, I closed my eyes, concentrated really hard, and whispered the words of the spell one last time.

The click of the lock sliding back was the most wonderful sound I’d ever heard. Quickly I yanked open the door and slipped through it, hoping the loud creaking sound wouldn’t alert the guards. But it seemed my luck had run out – just as the door swung shut behind me, I heard an angry shout.

“Sh*t!” I announced to a surprised-looking Mehra Milo. “I think they’re on to us.”

With admirable presence of mind, Mehra strode over to the door and cast a Lock spell on it. It would buy us some time, though probably only a minute or two at most. “Do you have the scrolls?” she demanded.

I nodded and started to dig around in my pack for the Divine Intervention scrolls. Outside I could hear loud banging on the door, and lots of yelling in Dunmeris – angry curses and shouts of “Find the key!”

I found the scrolls, threw one of them to Mehra and quickly cast the other myself. Seconds later we were both standing in the courtyard of a large Imperial-style stone building. “Where are we?” I asked, blinking.

“Outside the Imperial Chapels in Ebonheart.” She smiled. “Of course, normally I only use Almsivi Intervention scrolls. But for my escape from the Ministry of Truth, a Divine Intervention scroll was just what I needed.”

A grin spread across my face as I realised how clever she’d been. Even if the Ordinators worked out where we’d gone, none of them would know Divine Intervention spells. By the time they got to Ebonheart we’d be long gone.

“We need to go to the secret Dissident Priests monastery at Holamayan,” Mehra continued. “I have a friend named Blatta Hateria who can take us there by boat. When we arrive we will get the lost prophecies from Gilvas Barelo, the leader of the Dissident Priests.”

We hurried through Ebonheart – me flying, Mehra walking – until we reached the docks, where a young Imperial woman stood on board a small fishing boat. I’d noticed her and her boat a few times in passing, but hadn’t thought anything of it. “Hello, Mehra,” she said with a smile. “Want to go fishing?”

“We certainly do.” Mehra hurried me onto the boat, and we set off for the headquarters of the Dissident Priests.

Holomayan was another three-days’ journey away, out on one of the remote islands of Azura’s Coast. While we travelled, I told Mehra everything that had happened to me since I last saw her, and mentioned that Caius had been recalled to Cyrodiil.

“I wonder,” she said, frowning. “I never know what he’s thinking. I think he’s involved in something secret, something dangerous. I was hoping he might help us, and now he’s gone…”

We reached Holomayan a few hours before dawn on a cold, misty day. As we walked up the steps to the monastery, Mehra told me that it had once been a shrine to Azura – I just couldn’t get away from Her Twilightness, it seemed. Apparently the door to the shrine only opened at dawn and dusk, the magical twilight hours sacred to Azura.

We settled down outside the door to wait patiently (well, not quite so patiently on my part) for it to open. Finally, as the first rays of sunlight peeked over the horizon, the magically-sealed door slid open with a loud rumbling sound.

Mehra led me inside, and while I took the opportunity to eat and freshen up, she went to explain the situation to Master Gilvas Barelo. A short while later she took me to Barelo, an elderly man with a gentle, wise face, and introduced me – to my horror – as the outlander who believed she might be the Nerevarine. Having kindly dumped me right in it, she left us alone so that we could discuss the Lost Prophecies.

Master Barelo showed me copies of several documents from the ‘Apographa’, the priestly writings suppressed by the Temple. The first one was the document actually known as ‘The Lost Prophecy’, which he read out to me:

“From seventh sign of eleventh generation,
Neither Hound nor Guar, nor Seed nor Harrow,
But Dragon-born and far-star-marked,
Outlander Incarnate beneath Red Mountain,
Blessed Guest counters seven curses,
Star-blessed hand wields thrice-cursed blade,
To reap the harvest of the unmourned house.”

“I’ve annotated your copy with our best efforts at interpretation,” he said. “But a rough summary might be: ‘An outlander – foreign-born, but welcomed as a guest – confronts seven curses beneath Red Mountain. His hand, blessed by Azura, uses a cursed blade to bring justice to House Dagoth, or House Dwemer, or both.’” He shook his head. “The Nerevarine? An outlander? That wouldn’t please many Ashlanders, and it may explain how the prophecy got lost.”

I could well imagine that it wouldn’t please the Ashlanders. On the other hand, ‘Dragon-born’ certainly seemed like a pretty clear reference to Cyrodiil, or at least the Empire. No matter how little I liked it, the idea of my being the Nerevarine was getting more and more plausible.

“The prophecies all say ‘he’,” I pointed out, grasping at straws. “Doesn’t that mean the Nerevarine would have to be male?”

“Well, the word in the original Ashlander tongue is gender-neutral,” he explained. “It was translated as ‘he’ simply because everyone assumed that Nerevar’s reincarnation would be a man.” Oh.

The next document he showed me was a poem describing the ‘seven curses’ mentioned in the Lost Prophecy:

...through the doors of the unmourned house
where scoffers scoff and schemers scheme
from the halls of the oath-breaking house
rings seven curses of gods blasphemed

first curse, Curse-of-Fire
second curse, Curse-of-Ash
third curse, Curse-of-Flesh
fourth curse, Curse-of-Ghosts
fifth curse, Curse-of-Seed
sixth curse, Curse-of-Despair
seventh curse, Curse-of-Dreams...

Heaven save me from yet more Ashlander poetry. At least this one vaguely rhymed, sort of.

“Fire and ash come from Red Mountain,” Barelo explained. “Flesh is corprus. Ghosts, Seed, and Despair are unclear, but Curse-of-Dreams seems to refer to recent cases of soul sickness and Sleeper attacks in the towns.”

As I was still trying to absorb all this, he shoved a heavy pile of books into my arms. “Here are a few books about Nerevar you might find of interest. We have also prepared a document for you called Kagrenac’s Tools, which will explain to you the terrible secret that the Temple conceals about the true history of the Tribunal. It is to conceal this secret that the Temple persecutes the Nerevarine and the Dissident Priests.”

I thanked him, trying to look grateful, and retreated to the library to study the books he’d given me. To my surprise, I actually found them quite interesting. It seemed there was rather more to the story of Nerevar and Dagoth Ur than most people thought.

All the ‘official’ accounts of Nerevar’s life agreed on several points: Dagoth Ur of House Dagoth had betrayed the Dunmer during their war against the Dwemer. Lord Nerevar, with the help of his three closest counsellors – his wife Almalexia, and his friends Vivec and Sotha Sil – had united the other Houses against the Dwemer-Dagoth forces. The Dwemer were defeated in the Battle of Red Mountain, Dagoth Ur was killed, and House Dagoth utterly destroyed.

However, Kagrenac’s Tools told a slightly different story. According to this, the Dwemer had discovered the heart of the god Lorkhan beneath Red Mountain. A Dwarven priest named Kagrenac had crafted enchanted tools to steal power from the heart, hoping the Dwemer could use them to create a new god for their own benefit. When he used the tools at the Battle of Red Mountain, the entire Dwemer race had instantly vanished from the mortal world.

Dagoth Ur had not betrayed the Dunmer – instead, Nerevar had left him to guard the tools while he went to consult his counsellors. But Dagoth was seduced by the power of the tools, and used them to grant himself divine powers. When Nerevar and the Tribunal returned, they fought and Dagoth was badly wounded – but not killed. After Nerevar’s death, the Tribunal succumbed to the temptation to use the tools, turning themselves into gods the same way as Dagoth Ur.

This, the author claimed, was why the Tribunal’s powers were fading. Dagoth Ur had been driven mad by the corrupt power of the tools, but the Tribunal had been corrupted by them as well. And since Dagoth Ur was closer to the source of their power, he was slowly growing stronger, while they grew weaker.

It all sounded very far-fetched – gods’ hearts, evil cursed tools of DOOM – yet as I thought about it, everything seemed to click into place. The sudden disappearance of the Dwarves… the Tribunal’s failure to stop the Blight… and that letter from Dagoth Ur talking about Nerevar’s ‘betrayal’. In his madness, no doubt he’d convinced himself that he really was innocent of any wrongdoing.

I wandered over to Mehra Milo, who was seated at a table nearby, hoping she might be able to tell me more. She was completely absorbed in a book, and didn’t even notice me there until I coughed politely. “Ah, Ada,” she said, with a somewhat dreamy smile. “Forgive me; I was caught up in my reading.”

I looked down at the book she’d been reading. To my surprise I realised that it was Children of the Sky, a simple schoolroom book about the Nords of Skyrim. “Are you interested in Nord culture?” I asked her.

She shrugged. “These people are our ancient enemies. Like all man races, they are of inferior blood, but otherwise are human in every respect. Are they capable of enlightenment? Do they have souls? Who can say?”

I gazed at her for several moments in stunned silence. Had she just said what I thought she had said?

Now don’t get me wrong: while I’ve met people of every race who don’t fit the usual stereotypes, I have to admit that for the most part they largely hold true. The Nords are hard-drinking louts who live for fighting, the Khajiit have refined thievery into an art form, and we Cyrodiils will talk you into selling your own grandmother and then haggle over the price. Deep down almost everyone prefers their own people and culture, and anyone who tells you they don’t is probably lying. But to convince yourself that your own race really is better, that being born Altmer or Imperial or Dunmer actually makes you a superior being – that’s a different matter entirely.

Here was an intelligent, educated woman, with several human friends, open-minded enough to challenge the doctrine of the Temple she belonged to – and yet she was questioning whether Nords (and by extension, all humans) had souls. Did she even realise she was talking to a member of the ‘inferior’ man races? From the faraway expression on her face, I got the impression that she’d completely forgotten. But even if she hadn’t, I suddenly realised, it didn’t matter – from her perspective she was just making a simple statement of fact. Almost all Dunmer probably felt that way, even if they were better at hiding it.

Suddenly I felt a long, long way from home. Who the heck was I kidding, thinking that these people would ever accept me as their Nerevarine? I had to get out of here.

I wandered out of the room, leaving Mehra to her book, and went to speak to Gilvas Barelo. “Well, I think I’d better be going,” I said, trying to sound casual. “I… need some time to think about all this.”

“So soon?” he asked, a little surprised. “But you know you can only enter or leave Holamayan at dusk and dawn? Please, make yourself comfortable here. Rest in our beds, and make good use of our services.”

“It’s OK,” I said firmly. “I have some Almsivi Intervention scrolls left. Thanks for all your help with the prophecies.”

I’d taken one of them from my pack while I was speaking. Before Master Barelo could reply I unrolled it and cast the spell, not even caring where it would take me. It was time to go back to Plan A.

Hm, interesting approach to the jail-break quest. One of my more preferred Morrowind MQ jobs, but the bat-like Ada keeping to the upper shadows was a nice way of going about it. I always used the chameleon enchantment, had a short invisibility spell handy, and stealth-casted my to the cell door.

Also, Ada's rude awakening, incident with the Sleeper, and relocation to the fort was a nice touch. It shows a lot about her in how she deals with Caius, her greater acceptance of being the Nerevarine, what to do after.

One nit:


Perhaps "Write everything down for me," or maybe "Inscribe everything down for me" was what you meant?

Other than that, my relatively untrained grammar experience detected nothing else wrong. All in all, another good installment.

Gaah... how did I manage to miss that? Anyway, I've corrected it now, and here are some screenshots:

Hi Mom!
Before the Shrine of Azura
Nice outfits

"Young Lady, you get down from that statue Right This VERY INSTANT!!



While she's only got the one, you have to admit, Azura's shrine is the most...um...eye-catching. Though it does have a tendency to cause one's gaze to miss her face entirely.



Now, be honest, how fast did it take you to get the money for those outfits? And wouldn't you get a greater return-on-investment if you sank your money into murder-oriented equipment and went dungeon-diving?

My fave - scary height !!!!

Chapter 22: Two’s Company

Seconds after casting the spell, I landed in some kind of outdoor courtyard and promptly choked on a mouthful of red dust. As I blundered around in the storm, trying to work out where the hell I was, I realised that I was standing on the open-topped plaza of a Vivec-style canton. Had I gone mad, or had the Blight suddenly spread to the Ascadian Isles while I was travelling to Holamayan?

It finally emerged that I had landed in Molag Mar, a Temple stronghold on the coast of the Molag Amur region (best described as ‘like the Ashlands, only worse’). Since I had absolutely no desire to stay there, I hopped on board the first available boat and settled in for the slow journey back to Vivec. When I arrived and went to the Fighters’ Guild to repair my equipment, I was accosted by the steward Lorbumol gro-Aglakh.

“I’ve been looking for you, Ventura,” he said, giving me a hearty slap on the back. “Fancy taking on a debt collection job?”

I hated that kind of mission. I was about to mumble some sort of excuse when he continued, “2,000 septims, and you get to keep half of it.”

Wow. I had to admit, I could really use that kind of money right now. “Who owes the money?” I asked, privately wondering whom it was owed to as well.

“A woman called Lirielle Stoine, at the Rat in the Pot tavern in Ald’ruhn.”

Damn it. I’d got to know Lirielle quite well during the time I’d spent in Ald’ruhn, and I rather liked her – besides, I felt I owed her one for helping me get those shirts back. Perhaps, if all else failed, I could help her the way I’d helped Tongue-Toad.

As I left the guild, I noticed a crowd of people gathered around a ‘Wanted’ poster pinned to the wall. “Have you heard?” one of them said excitedly. “Somebody broke into the Ministry of Truth and freed a prisoner!”

The poster offered a very large reward for information on the intruder, described as ‘of unknown age, race and sex’ – clearly the other prisoners hadn’t talked. I fervently hoped that no one would ever collect that reward. Given that it also described the unknown intruder as ‘a powerful spellcaster’, it didn’t seem very likely.

I went to Ald’ruhn via the Mages’ Guild and headed over to the Rat in the Pot to eat lunch, while thinking over the problem of Lirielle’s debt. I decided it would be better not to ask her about it directly – if she knew the Fighters’ Guild had sent me after her, she might clam up. When I finished eating, I went to Lirielle and quietly asked her if I could speak to her in private for a minute. She nodded and led me to a storeroom beneath the tavern.

“I know about your debt problems,” I said, as soon as I was sure we were alone. “Don’t bother asking me how. I just wondered if there was anything I could do to help.”

Lirielle looked taken aback. She hesitated for a moment, but finally shook her head. “My brother Ruran is dead,” she said flatly. “At least, I believe he is. The Camonna Tong said he owed them money, which I don’t dispute – but now they say I owe my brother’s debts, and I just don’t have the money. How can I pay what I don’t have?”

Damn, it was worse than I thought. “Why do you think your brother is dead?” I asked her.

“He knew he was in debt,” she said, shrugging. “He went off to ‘seek his fortune’ in some place called Mallapi northeast of Gnaar Mok, and I haven’t heard from him since. That was two months ago.”

After what had happened in Ilunibi, the mere mention of Gnaar Mok was enough to make me shudder. What was more, I suspected Lirielle was right about her brother – it was possible he was still alive, but after two months, the chances weren’t high. Even so, I felt I ought to at least offer to search for him.

“Would you like me to go there and look for him?” I asked.

Lirielle sighed. “Thank you for offering to help, but I very much doubt you’ll find him alive. And even if you do, he’s not likely to have the money.”

I got the feeling there wasn’t too much love lost between her and her brother, given how little she seemed to care whether he was actually dead or not. Still, looking for Ruran was one option; maybe Percius Mercius would have some better ideas.

I didn’t go to him immediately, though; instead I went to Skar to visit Athyn Sarethi, my House Redoran sponsor. As usual he appeared warm and friendly, even taking time to introduce me to his wife Domesea, but after my conversation with Mehra Milo it all seemed rather hollow. Did he feel the same way about humans, underneath all the friendliness? I tried to tell myself that it didn’t matter – after all, he was still my best hope of ever getting off this godsforsaken island.

Athyn must have sensed that something was wrong. “Are you all right, my friend?” he asked, once we had retreated into his study. “I have not seen you in some weeks. I hope all is well?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said quickly. “Just a little… stressed, that’s all.”

“Why? What has happened?”

Let’s see…First I managed to accidentally summon the Daedra Lord Azura, who bullied me into helping her win a bet against Sheogorath. Then I was sent to clean out a Sixth House base and ended up being cursed with corprus disease. To find a cure I had to crawl through the dungeons of a mad Telvanni wizard, then when I got back I was attacked in my bed by a zombie and forcibly promoted to leader of the Emperor’s Blades. I broke into the Ministry of Truth to rescue a Dissident Priest, and discovered a secret that could shake the Tribunal Temple to its foundations. Did I mention that I may well be the Nerevarine? “It’s… kind of a long story,” I told him.

“There is time,” he said, shrugging.

I decided not to mention Azura and her bet on the grounds that he wouldn’t believe me, and the Dissident Priests business for obvious reasons. Instead I gave him a heavily-edited account of my mission to Ilunibi – I didn’t mention anything about the Blades, only that the Legion had sent me there (which at least was technically true). Amazingly enough, he seemed a tad skeptical of my ‘miracle cure’ story.

“Are you sure of this, sera?” he asked doubtfully. “In my whole life, I have never heard of anyone recovering from corprus. Could it perhaps have been a less serious disease?”

“No, I’m pretty sure it was corprus,” I said, and explained about my visit to Divayth Fyr.

Athyn listened carefully to my story, a neutral expression on his face. If he thought I was lying, he didn’t show it. “Well, if this is true, it is hopeful news,” he said at last, with a rather sad smile. “I have seen far too many lives destroyed by this disease.”

I didn’t tell him what Fyr had said about living forever, or the letter I’d been given by Dagoth Gares. He clearly found my tale unbelievable enough as it was, and what was more, I couldn’t be sure whether he’d heard of the Nerevarine prophecies – the last thing I wanted was for him to start getting suspicious.

I asked if there were any more Redoran duties I could perform for him, and he nodded. “I believe there are smugglers operating near the coast in the cave of Shurinbaal. Before I send you to investigate, though, I must ask another favour of you.”

“What is it?”

For the first time since I’d met him, Athyn looked slightly embarrassed. “I would like you to take my son with you.”

Ah. “Varvur is my youngest child, and my only son,” he continued. “He is a good son, but I believe my wife and I may have… over-indulged him a little. He needs some occupation that will give him a sense of purpose, and distract him from his grief over his friend’s death. Would you be willing to help me?”

I didn’t see any reason to refuse. Back when I worked for the Cyrodiil Fighters’ Guild, middle-ranking members like me were often charged with taking care of the new recruits – a task we sarcastically referred to as ‘babysitting’. On one particular job I’d even managed to end up with Vitellus Donton, the Guildmaster’s son. That was one heck of a nerve-racking mission, I can tell you.

“Of course,” I said, mentally adding ‘keep sponsor’s son alive at all costs’ to my list of mission objectives. “I take it he does know how to fight?”

Sarethi nodded. “He has training, but little experience. I hope he will not be a burden to you, but we must all begin somewhere.”

We agreed that I should come back the next morning to collect Varvur before setting off for Shurinbaal, yet another cave near to Gnaar Mok (how had this wretched little village got to be such a hotbed of underworld activity?). Since I was going there anyway, I thought I might as well pop into Mallapi on the way and see if I could find any trace of Lirielle’s brother. Athyn also told me that he suspected the smugglers had a contact in Ald’ruhn, and asked me to investigate.

I spent the rest of the day in Ald’ruhn before going out to spend the night at Buckmoth Legion Fort. The next day I returned to Sarethi Manor, where Varvur was waiting for me in his room. He wore a full set of bonemold armour and looked distinctly nervous.

“Kinsman,” he murmured, giving me a weak smile. “It is good to see you again.”

I smiled back, trying to put him at his ease. “Hello, Varvur. I don’t think we were ever properly introduced. I’m Ada Ventura.” I held out a hand, forgetting that it wasn’t the custom among the Dunmer. He took it awkwardly and held it in both of his for a moment before letting it drop.

“I know. I will always remember what you did for me when I was in trouble.” His face flushed slightly, and he lowered his eyes to my Legion cuirass. “You are a Legionnaire, then? I didn’t realise.”

“Yep. Knight Errant, as it happens.” There was an awkward silence. “Okay, let’s get down to business. What sort of weapon do you prefer to use?”

He shrugged. “I can fight with swords, or spears. Which is better?”

“Whichever you’re best at,” I told him. “Remember, this isn’t a drill. These guys aren’t going to go easy on you just because you’ve never done this before.”

Varvur eventually chose a spear (I had to resist the temptation to ask whether he had an Argonian maidservant to polish it). He said goodbye to his father and his distraught-looking mother, who seemed one step away from flinging her arms around him and sobbing “My baby!”, and then we set off – out through the gates of Ald’ruhn and down the long, boring, cliff racer-infested route to Gnaar Mok on the coast.

I tried to engage Varvur in conversation as we went along, but he didn’t seem to have much to say for himself. I got the impression he was either very shy, or slightly in awe of me, or both. New recruits to the Guild would normally be ruthlessly mocked until they got over their shyness, but for once I held back – I’d no idea if Varvur was the type to run crying to Daddy if he thought I was being mean to him, but I wasn’t going to risk it. Besides, in all honesty, I thought the poor kid had been through enough humiliation recently.

“Are you all right?” I asked eventually, when we stopped by the wayside to rest and eat.

He sighed. “I’m sorry. I know I am not good company right now, but… I was thinking about my friend, Bralen Carvaren. I still feel as if this was all my fault.”

“How was it your fault?” I asked. “Didn’t the priest say that your mind was being affected by that ash statue?”

“But I should have realised! If I had only told someone about those dreams…” He clenched his fists. “But I didn’t, and now my best friend is dead. I can never forgive myself.”

Oh, boy. “Varvur, can I offer you some advice?” I said. “Don’t waste time beating yourself up over it. It won’t change what’s happened and it won’t help anyone, least of all you. I’ve been there, believe me.”

He nodded wearily. “I know. My father says this as well…. but it is difficult.”

“At least you had a good excuse,” I pointed out. “I – I knew someone in Cyrodiil who killed a guy in a fight. She didn’t have any excuse; she was just drunk. It was an accident, but she ended up being jailed for murder.” I paused. “I guess… I’m saying it could be worse, that’s all.”

“You’re right, of course.” He gave me a rather strained smile. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t be troubling you with my problems.”

Neither of us said much else until our next rest stop just outside Gnaar Mok, when I decided it was time to set down some ground rules. “Okay, Varvur, listen up! Before we go hunting smugglers, there’s a few rules you need to know about.” I paused. “Tell me, have you ever actually killed anyone before? Er – in battle, I mean?” I added hastily, wanting to kick myself for my tactlessness.

Varvur hesitated slightly. “I have killed before… but only animals, on hunting trips. Not people.”

“Okay, so at least you’re not a complete beginner. Anyway, Rule Number 1: If we get into combat you do exactly what I say, at once, without question. Got it?”

“Yes, Kinsman.”

“Call me Ada,” I said. “Rule Number 2: make sure you stay out of my way at all times. Don’t go ahead of me unless I tell you to. Don’t even think about getting between me and an enemy I’m trying to fight.” I winced reflexively. “This little Bosmer guy in the Fighters’ Guild tried that once and nearly got his arm lopped off. Don’t be like him.”

“No, sera – Ada.”

“Number 3: if I give you advice, remember it. I want you to think it over afterwards and include it in your practice sessions. Got it? Okay, let’s go.”

The small collection of rotting shacks on Gnaar Mok island looked even more dismal than I’d remembered. I didn’t really want to talk to any of the locals, in case the smugglers had contacts in the village, but as I had no idea where Shurinbaal was I didn’t have much choice. The first person I met was the same Wood Elf I’d spoken to on my last visit, still sitting hunched-up on the steps of his hut.

“Are you here to kill the breeding netch?” he asked, as I approached.

“Breeding netch?”

“There’s a pair of them just north of here. We drove them off a few times, but I’m sure they’ll be back unless someone does something.” He scowled. “We’ve asked the Legion for help, but they keep saying it’s ‘not a priority’.”

“I see,” I said knowingly, disguising the fact that I didn’t have a clue what a netch was or how to kill one. “Well, I might be able to help if you give me some information. I’m looking for two caves, Shurinbaal and Mallapi.”

His expression didn’t change. “Kill the netch, and then we’ll talk.”

Resisting the urge to swear at him, I turned away, and then suddenly a good idea struck me. “Okay, Varvur!” I said brightly, turning to my unfortunate lackey. “Time to show what you’re made of. Think you can handle a breeding netch?”

“I will try,” he said, shrugging. “It seems a shame to kill them, though. They are beautiful animals.” The Bosmer just snorted.

We headed out across the narrow plank bridge, and walked slowly northwards until Varvur spotted one of the netch in the distance. I have to admit that my first instinct was to laugh: the thing could only be described as something like a giant floating jellyfish. I didn’t see how it could possibly harm anyone, except by exploding and showering them with blue gunk.

“Go ahead,” I said to Varvur, taking down my bow. “I’ll stay back here and shoot it down if you get into trouble.”

Spear at the ready, Varvur bravely advanced on the fearsome jellyfish. I watched as he neatly dodged under its dangling tentacles and thrust the spear several times into its underbelly, then ducked out of the way as it sank to the ground like a deflated balloon. “Not bad,” I said approvingly, when he returned. “Okay, I’ll tackle the next one.”

I managed to shoot down the other netch before it could get anywhere near us. Knights in books got to fight dragons and monstrous sea-serpents, I thought; I got to fight giant jellyfish. Talk about embarrassing ways to die...

We returned to the village, where the Wood Elf thanked us for killing the netch. “Mallapi’s north-east of here, and Shurinbaal’s south-west on the coast,” he told me. “I take it you know the place is crawling with smugglers? Well, it was nice knowing you.”

It was getting dark now and starting to rain quite heavily, so Varvur and I wasted no time in looking for a place to sleep. I managed to guilt-trip the village shipmaster into letting us stay in the hold, where we spent a cramped, stuffy, uncomfortable night. I guessed that the smugglers probably did most of their business at night and slept during the day, so we waited until morning in the hope of catching them unawares. Unfortunately it seemed they’d already got wind of our arrival by then, as they were waiting for us.

The moment we entered the cave, we were rushed by two female smugglers in quick succession. The first was a hefty Redguard in bonemold armour, who carried a nasty-looking axe. Luckily she wasn’t wearing any leg protection, and Varvur managed to stab her in the thigh with his spear before she could get close enough to attack us, while I tackled the other woman. The battle was quick but messy – I could only hope the shouts hadn’t alerted other smugglers deeper into the caverns.

“Are you all right?” I asked Varvur, who was breathing heavily. It was hard to see in the dim light, but his face looked distinctly paler than usual.

“Yes. I – ” He broke off. “I’m sorry, it is just… all that blood. For a moment it made me think of – of…”

Gods. I was sorry for him, truly I was, but at the same time I couldn’t help feeling slightly exasperated – I hadn’t realised that the job of tutoring Varvur would involve dealing with his guilt complex as well. To say that I wasn’t qualified for this would be putting it mildly. I need a raise, I thought, and then remembered that I wasn’t even getting paid for this mission.

“Okay, calm down. Deep breaths.” I sheathed my sword and laid my hands on his shoulders. “Want to beat a retreat? I could try and take on the rest by myself if – ”

“No! I promise you, I am fine.” He was gripping his spear tightly. “It won’t happen again. Let’s move on.”

I was still a bit wary, but finally decided to give him a chance. At least he wasn’t fainting, or throwing up, or doing any of the other crazy things raw recruits tend to do.

In the end I was glad I did, because Varvur actually handled himself pretty well. He was nervous, of course, and made mistakes, but he held his nerve and obeyed instantly whenever I gave him an order. I couldn’t teach him all that much about fighting with spears, not being very familiar with them myself, but he listened carefully to what I said and seemed to be taking it in.

After dealing with the rest of the guards as quickly and quietly as possible, we finally reached the heart of the caverns and came upon a storeroom blocked off by a wooden gate. There were two people inside; I couldn’t see much of them but I could tell by their voices that they were a man and a woman. They were deep in conversation and didn’t spot us.

“Do you still have your Chameleon amulet?” Varvur whispered.

I nodded – I always carried it around my neck these days, just in case. After casting the enchantment, I whispered some instructions to Varvur, then moved to stand just by the gate and motioned to Varvur to walk forward. The two smugglers leapt to their feet at the sound of footsteps and rushed to the gate, drawing their weapons. “What the hell…?”

The woman was the first to burst through the gate, and I’d cut her down before I even realised that she was wearing Legion uniform. At the same time Varvur moved forward to tackle her companion, who wore only light armour. The fight was over in seconds.

I bent over the woman’s body, astonished and slightly upset to realise I’d killed a fellow Legionnaire. Had she been the smugglers’ contact in Fort Buckmoth, then? Or was she just a deserter? “Shame we couldn’t take her alive,” I muttered. “She might have given us good information.”

Varvur had knelt down beside the body to examine it more closely. “An Imperial soldier,” he said in disgust. “I should have kno – ”

He broke off quickly, but not quickly enough. “Care to repeat that, Varvur?” I said quietly.

“Forgive me.” His face had flushed deep maroon. “Forgive me, Ada. I didn’t mean – I spoke without thinking.”

I took a deep breath, trying to control my temper. “Never mind,” I said at last, through clenched teeth. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard that, and it probably won’t be the last. Come on.”

I made to enter the storeroom, but he was blocking my way. “Surely you would not deny there is corruption in the Legions!”

“Well, of course there is! There’s corruption everywhere, Varvur! You think everyone in House Redoran is completely honest and upright?” He was silent. “Oh, right, I forgot: you’re Dunmer. Only us humans with our ‘inferior blood’ could possibly be corrupt.”

Varvur’s mouth fell open. “I- inferior blood? I have never said this!” His eyes glittered with indignation. “Who has said this to you?”

Instantly I regretted bringing it up. “No one important,” I mumbled. “Just… someone I thought was a friend, that’s all.”

“A Redoran?”

“No, not a Redoran.” I lifted the dead Legionnaire’s body and hauled it away from the door, shoving it into a corner. “Let’s get going.”

The room beyond turned out to be a veritable treasure trove. Crate after crate revealed piles of smuggled goods worth a fortune: gems, weapons, alcohol, skooma, enchanted jewellery. “We’d better not take any of this,” I said, rather regretfully. “The Legion will want to take it in as evidence later on.”

No matter how hard we searched, however, we couldn’t find a single scrap of evidence connecting the smugglers to anyone in Ald’ruhn. “You could ask the Imperials at Fort Buckmoth,” Varvur suggested. “They may have suspects.” For now that seemed to be the only option.

We searched the rest of the caverns carefully in case anyone had managed to hide from us, but we didn’t find anything. There was only one cave left unexplored, and this turned out to contain a deep, peaceful-looking natural pool. The smugglers had built a wooden walkway over it, with steps leading down into the water. “Might as well have a bath while we’re here,” I remarked to Varvur.

His eyes widened. “A bath?”

“Yes, a bath. Not together, of course!” I said impatiently. “We’ll take it in turns.”

He reddened. “I didn’t mean – ”

“That’s OK.” I slung my pack down on a crate and started to dig around in it. “Please don’t tell me I forgot to bring shampoo…”

By now he was looking at me as if I were completely insane. “You bring shampoo with you on a mission?”

“Well, yes, of course. What else would I use to wash my hair?” I was still hunting around for soap and shampoo, when I noticed that Varvur was staring fixedly at the water below.

“Ada,” he said slowly. “I think… perhaps you should see this first.”

I followed his gaze to the water, and nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw what he was looking at. Just below the surface of the water, staring right up at us, was a large creature with the head and body of a human, but octopus-like tentacles in place of arms and legs. A dreugh.

“Okay… maybe I’ll skip the bath for now,” I said rather faintly. I didn’t feel quite up to mud-wrestling a dreugh on top of everything else we’d done that day.

We left the cavern and went back to the village to rest, eat and clean ourselves up as best we could, before heading out to Mallapi. It took us quite a while to find the entrance out in the swamps surrounding Gnaar Mok. “What are we looking for here?” Varvur asked, as we stood before the small wooden gate.

“You know Lirielle Stoine at the Rat in the Pot?” He nodded. “I’m looking for her brother. He owes money to the Camonna Tong, and they’re pestering her about it.”

Varvur’s face darkened. “The Camonna Tong? Lirielle never told me this. How did you find out?”

“Long story,” I murmured, wishing I’d never agreed to take on this job. How was I supposed to explain why the local mobsters seemed to be using the Fighters’ Guild to collect their debts? Especially when they supposedly hated everyone and everything associated with the Empire? One thing was certain: I needed to have a long talk about this with Percius Mercius at some point.

I didn’t have much idea what we might find inside the cave, but one thing I certainly hadn’t expected to see was a scamp. The frost enchantment on my sword killed it pretty quickly, but it worried me to see Daedra here – if we ran into a more powerful one in such close quarters, we’d be in trouble. “I wonder how that got in here?” Varvur mused aloud.

“Could have been summoned by a conjurer.” We exchanged glances. “Better watch our backs in here, I think.”

I really wasn’t enjoying the thought of tangling with a bunch of spellcasters, but in the end there was no need – we found Ruran Stoine’s body, or what was left of it, in a pool of water near to the entrance. Clearly the poor guy hadn’t had as much luck fighting the Daedra as we had. His corpse was in a pretty disgusting state after lying in a muddy puddle for months, and I nearly gagged at the smell as I reluctantly searched it for any treasure he might have been carrying. I did find an oilskin money pouch, but it only contained about 800 septims – far less than the 2,000 I needed.

“How will you find the rest of the money?” Varvur asked.

“I’ll have to pay it myself, I guess.”

He looked at me in surprise. “You would pay her debts for her?”

“I’ll get most of it back anyway,” I admitted. “Though I’m not sure I actually have 1,200 drakes right now…”

Varvur hesitated. “Perhaps I could…”

“No! Don’t even think about it, Varvur.” I shook my head vehemently. “Lirielle won’t take money from you, and neither will I. This is my job, not yours.”

“But if you don’t have the money – ”

“I’ll sort it out. Don’t worry.”

“You are kind,” he said quietly. “And you have honour.” I felt even worse.

We emerged from the cave to find that a raging storm had blown up. There was no way we could walk back to Ald’ruhn in these conditions, so we had to spend another night on board that horrible boat. By the next morning I was really wishing I’d taken the opportunity to have a bath, even if it would have meant fighting off a dreugh first.

We began the journey back to Ald’ruhn after breakfast. Varvur was rather more talkative now that we knew each other better – I noticed that his Tamrielic seemed more fluent as well – and we chatted about various things along the way. Unfortunately, at one point the conversation somehow drifted onto the subject of slavery. Varvur was brave enough – or foolish enough – to admit that he disapproved of abolitionists, and the discussion went sharply downhill from there.

Looking back, I really ought to have known better than to argue about this with a Dunmer, but I couldn’t help it – that particular topic is like a red rag to a bull for me. “How can you do it?” I asked at last. “How can you look a Khajiit or Argonian in the face and tell them that it’s all right for their people to be enslaved?”

“You don’t understand.” Varvur looked frustrated. “Of course I would like to see slavery abolished – many Dunmer would. But… it must be the Dunmer people who decide this, not the Imperials. After all, it is our country.”

“And until that happens?” I demanded. “We’re just supposed to stand there and watch people being treated like animals, are we?”

“You have no right to interfere! In Morrowind we believe necromancy is evil beyond words, but we don’t invade Cyrodiil to stop your necromancers from tormenting the spirits of their ancestors. You Imperials seem to think that – ”

I hated that expression. “Stop saying ‘you Imperials’! We’re not a bloody hive mind!”

“All right then, most – some Imperials seem to think that we are barely more than savages.” He heaved an exasperated sigh. “You may rule Tamriel now, but Morrowind was a great nation before Western men were even civilised. Sometimes… sometimes it makes us impatient to hear Imperials preach to us of civilisation.”

“Well, I don’t see how kidnapping people from their homes and locking them up and selling them on like livestock can be described as ‘civilised’,” I muttered, without looking at him. He didn’t answer.

We walked on in stony silence, right up until we were almost in sight of Ald’ruhn, when I paused to drink some water in the shade of a giant boulder. As I shoved the canteen back into my pack, Varvur shyly laid a hand on my arm.

“Ada?” he said softly. “I apologise for the way I spoke to you earlier. I forgot that you are my superior in the House and I should show you respect, even if – if I don’t agree with what you say. I’m very sorry.”

All of a sudden I felt incredibly guilty. This was the second time in two days that I’d blown up at Varvur over something relatively trivial. My behaviour had been at least as bad as his, and I was supposed to be the leader here. No wonder if he hadn’t shown me proper respect; it wasn’t like I’d done anything to deserve it.

“I’m the one who should apologise,” I said. “I’ve been a complete b*tch this last couple of days, and – well, I don’t really have any excuse. I’m sorry too.”

“There is no need. I was the one at fault.”

“No, really, I – ” I broke off. “Look, if we don’t stop apologising now we’ll be at it all night.”

“You are not angry with me?”

“Honestly, Varvur, it’s fine. You Redorans need to lighten up a bit,” I said, with a wink.

“‘Lighten up’?”

“Take things less seriously, I mean.”

“Ah.” A cautious smile hovered around his lips. “Is that an order, Kinsman?”

I grinned. “See? You’re getting the hang of it already.”

We walked on, Ald’ruhn looming large in the distance. “So you really don’t believe humans are inferior?” I said at last, only half-jokingly.

“Of course not,” he said, looking shocked. “My father would never have allowed me to believe such a thing. He always says that he owes his life to a human.”

“Really?”

Varvur nodded. “He grew up among humans, in Hammerfell. He was sent there for his education. Have you not read the book The Hope of the Redoran?”

“I haven’t,” I admitted. So Athyn had been educated in the West, had he? That would certainly explain a lot.

As we parted at the gates of Ald’ruhn, I was starting to realise just how hypocritical I’d been. Wasn’t I showing as much prejudice as Mehra Milo, by judging all Dunmer on the basis of one person’s comment? As I walked towards Fort Buckmoth, where I planned to spend the night, I wondered if perhaps I ought to make that visit to the Urshilaku after all. At the very least, it couldn’t hurt to try.

Ah, babysitting duty. Whether the son of Mistress Donton back in Cyrodiil, or our young Sarethi hear on Vvardenfell, it never really seems to change. At least it isn't a twerpy Bosmer upset with the low pay...

*Reflexive shudder* God. Maglir. I really enjoyed killing that guy.

Hey, I enjoyed it so much, that I stopped after I was done, reloaded (which took me back to "Find and interrogate the Blackwood Company official," another enjoyable replay) and made a new save file just before heading into the Blackwood Company the final time. I have killed Maglir multiple times (after killing off the rest of the Blackwood Company multiple times) as a source of stress relief and humor.

It got to the point where I'd use Awtwyr's over-powered battlemage status to make Maglir do funny things as I killed him:

Light him on fire, have a barbecue
Turn him into a Bosmer-cicle
Invent the new energizer bunny (that one was hilarious)
Damage his speed and strafe around punching him (Raging Bull!!!)
Shot an arrow and pinned him to the floor
Telekinesis + Damage Health + Paralysis = Force Choke comes to Oblivion!
Spell stacking practice: multiple stacked weakness to magicka effects, + 10 points drain health
Be the Great Bambino: Warhammer + 100 Blunt skill = "And It's OUTTA HERE!"

And my personal favorite;
The Way of Zen: Just stand there. Allow him to bring about his own downfall. Reflect tranquilly on the sound that one hand makes. Also, take a moment to be thankful for 101% Reflect Damage, and how it restores balance and serenity to a wounded world.

Then...laugh hysterically when he dies.

"There is no love without a quarrel"

Eh, Helena?

The UESP Wiki entry for that quest even has a note saying "yes, you get to kill him this time."


Not if it's Ada you're in love with, certainly

Chapter 23: Humble Pie

Just outside Ald’ruhn, en route to Fort Buckmoth, I came across a Dunmer man standing in the road. He was barefoot, dressed in nothing but pants despite the cold weather, and had a faraway expression on his face as if he was daydreaming about something. While he didn’t seem to be in distress, I couldn’t help wondering what the heck he was doing out here on such a chilly evening.

“Are you okay?” I asked, walking up to him. “Need any help?”

He fixed me with an icy stare. “You have betrayed Lord Dagoth. Taste his vengeance.”

Talos, not this again! “Who are you?” I asked sharply. “Are you following me?”

“We have you in our discerning eye, Ada Ventura.” The expressionless tone of his voice made his words even more creepy. “We see you, waking and sleeping.”

Okay, this was getting beyond a joke. “Well, you can just take your ‘discerning eye’ off me,” I snarled. “Get away from here, and stay away, or I’ll have you arrested. Got it?”

He didn’t move. Sighing in exasperation, I wheeled round and stomped off in the direction of Fort Buckmoth. Maybe I could ask the guards to – hang on, I could order them, couldn’t I?

“You two!” I barked at the two Legionnaires who stood guard by the entrance of the fort. They saluted smartly. “There’s a guy wandering around half-naked just outside of Ald’ruhn, babbling on about Lord Dagoth. Know anything about him?”

The two men exchanged glances. “Sounds like one of the Dreamers, ma’am,” one of them replied. “They’ve been showing up outside towns and cities all over Vvardenfell. They don’t do much, just wander about and talk about how they ‘dream dreams’ of the ‘Sixth House’.”

“Okay,” I said, sighing. “Well, make sure you keep an eye on him. You never know when he might turn nasty.” They saluted again, and I went on into the fort.

The commander of Buckmoth fort was a Nord woman named Imsin the Dreamer (no relation, presumably). When I told her about the Legion soldier I’d killed in Shurinbaal, she confirmed that it was a deserter, Eponis Vinipter. “I believe a man named Drinar Varyon is the smugglers’ contact in Ald’ruhn,” she told me. “He claims to be studying local pottery techniques, but I’m sure he has Dwemer artifacts hidden somewhere in his house.”

“Is there any way I can help?” I asked.

She nodded. “I hate to ask you to break the law, but we need evidence to convict him. Go to his place in Ald’ruhn and bring me any Dwemer artifacts you find inside.”

I was much too tired to tackle any more smugglers that day, so I took a long-overdue bath and ate a hearty meal, before settling in for my first good night’s sleep in three days. The next morning I bought a Divine Intervention spell from one of the Imperial Cult priests, thinking I’d probably need it now that I was forced to spend most nights out in Legion forts. It was no easier to cast than Almsivi Intervention, but no more difficult either – and at least it would allow me to avoid these ‘Dreamers’ as much as possible.

Having learned the spell, I needed to decide which of my current jobs to tackle first. Varvur would have told his father about Shurinbaal, so that was all right. I eventually decided that Lirielle’s problem was the most urgent, but I still wasn’t sure where I was going to get the rest of the money – I might just about have that much in my account, but I wasn’t keen to dip into my savings to pay off the Camonna Tong. However, thinking about the bank account suddenly gave me a good idea.

I returned to Ald’ruhn and took the Guild Guide to Vivec, where I went to see the manager at the Bank of Vvardenfell. “I’d like to withdraw 200 drakes,” I told him. “Also, I have a rather… unusual request.”

“Yes?”

“I’d like to take out a loan for 1,000 septims. Only,” I continued, “I can pay it back again within the hour.”

He hesitated. “You have my ring,” I reminded him.

The manager pursed his lips. It was obvious that he wanted to ask me all sorts of things, but wasn’t sure whether he would like the answers. Finally he got up, went to a cupboard, counted out some money into a purse, and handed it over to me without saying a word. I got the feeling that ours was going to be a ‘no questions asked’ sort of relationship.

I went to the Fighters’ Guild, paid over the 2,000 drakes to Lorbumol gro-Aglakh, received 1,000 back as a fee, and returned to the bank in just under a quarter of an hour. “Don’t ask,” I said to the manager. He didn’t ask.

My next stop was in Balmora, where I tried out my Divine Intervention spell to get to Fort Moonmoth. Apparently the commander here, Radd Hard-Heart, was the one in charge of the Breeding Netch Elimination Programme for Gnaar Mok. I got a mild shock when I realised that he was the guy who’d caught me with Dwemer artifacts from Arkngthand, but it was nothing compared to his shock when he recognised me and saw my Templar Knight uniform.

He took it in good part, laughing heartily when I explained how I’d risen from raw recruit to Knight Errant in less than two months. “Who’d have thought it?” he guffawed. “So you’ve dealt with the breeding netch, have you? Good work. Want another assignment while you’re here?”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to take on anything else right now. “I would, sir, but I’m rather busy – ”

“Well, if you have time, we need someone to go to Arkngthand and collect scrap metal.”

Surely he wasn’t serious. “Scrap metal, sir?”

“The Ordinators have challenged us to a hunt,” he explained. “They claim they’ll bring in the skin of a Corprus beast. We plan to do them one better by bringing the scrap metal from a Dwemer centurion.”

I was starting to wonder if the Legion brass ever did any actual soldiering, or if they spent their entire time getting into pissing contests with the local forces. “I’m investigating smugglers in Ald’ruhn for Imsin the Dreamer, sir. I’m very sorry.”

“Hmph. Well, when you’re finished with that you could go looking for that fool Jocien Ancois.” His eyes narrowed. “He’s been trying to teach the Erabenimsun Ashlanders of Imperial culture and virtue, but apparently some of them don’t appreciate his efforts. Can’t imagine why.”

I had to hide a smile. Hard-Heart might be a Legionnaire, but he was very much a Nord, and I wondered if he’d been on the receiving end of some of Jocien Ancois’ lectures. When he marked the Erabenimsun camp on my map I realised that it was right in the middle of Molag Mar, miles away from anything resembling civilisation. I promised to look into it if I was ever in the area (and if I ever worked out how to pronounce ‘Erabenimsun’ without stuttering).

A couple of teleports later I was back in Ald’ruhn, where I went to the Rat in the Pot to tell Lirielle her debt problem was sorted. She took the news of her brother’s death as well as could be expected, without any histrionics.

“Thank you for taking care of his debt,” she said quietly, when I’d explained everything to her. “I do miss him, fool that he was.”

Now that I’d got that over with, all there was left to do was work out how to get evidence from Drinar Varyon’s house. Imsin had made it pretty clear that she didn’t mind me going outside the bounds of the law for this mission, but I decided to start by paying Drinar a visit and scouting out the place. Even I had the sense to realise that knocking at his door in full Legion uniform would be a bad idea, so I stored my gear at the Fighter’s Guild before walking to Varyon’s house. I just hoped he wouldn’t recognise me.

Varyon was an ‘artsy’-looking type with several piercings in his large, pointed ears. For someone who didn’t appear to be wealthy or influential, he certainly seemed pretty full of himself. “What do you want?” he said haughtily, as soon as I entered the house. “I am Drinar Varyon, of the famous Varyon family.”

“Varyon family?” I asked innocently.

He frowned. “Surely even a foreigner has heard of the Varyon family?”

“I’m afraid not,” I said. “Have you heard of the Ventura family?”

“No.”

“Well then.”

Varyon’s frown deepened. “Well, I do not want to waste my time educating you. I am only here to study local pottery techniques.”

I told him that I was looking to buy a redware vase as a gift for one of my friends. While he worked at his pottery wheel (ignoring me completely), I pretended to look at samples of his work, but actually I was scanning the room to try and work out where he could have hidden smuggled goods. There were a good number of crates and chests in the place, but I didn’t dare look into any of them with Varyon around. I’d have to come back later on… when he wasn’t there.

Over dinner I tried to come up with a plan to break into Drinar’s house. I’d have to be very careful – the Legion might be willing to overlook a spot of breaking and entering, but the local Redoran guards probably wouldn’t. I was just wondering what sort of clothes to wear for a task like this, when I suddenly remembered the black garments which Caius had left to me. I really didn’t fancy trying on anything that Caius had worn, but on inspecting the clothes I found that they were thoroughly clean – and, more importantly, enchanted with spells that would improve my sneaking skills.

Just after midnight, I put on my slightly-too-loose clothes and used Almsivi Intervention to teleport from Fort Buckmoth to the Ald’ruhn temple. I made my way to Varyon’s house, hiding in the shadows to avoid the guards, and cast an unlocking spell to open the door while no one was looking. Luckily there were still lights burning in the house, though Drinar seemed to be asleep in the room downstairs.

I carefully began to search the house for evidence, praying that Varyon wouldn’t wake up and hear me. There was nothing of interest in the crates – only food and other provisions. The chests looked more interesting, but unfortunately the locks were simply too tough to pick or break, even with an Ondusi’s Unhinging scroll.

Frustrated, I looked around for anything else that I could use as evidence. I was just about to give up, when suddenly I noticed something glinting among the rows of pots and vases on the table – ones which Drinar had told me were not for sale. Looking closely, I saw that it was a small glass tube, of the kind I’d occasionally seen in Dwemer ruins.

That was when it hit me: Varyon was storing the larger goods in his chests and baking the smaller ones, such as coins and these little tubes, into his own pottery. Smart – but not smart enough to fool Ada Ventura, Legion Investigator.

I was busy congratulating myself on my cleverness when I suddenly realised that I’d forgotten to bring a spell to re-lock the door. Damn! I’d have to act quickly, or Drinar would find the door unlocked the next morning and work out what had happened.

I teleported back to Fort Buckmoth – by this point I was using so many magicka restoration potions that I was in serious danger of getting addicted – and quickly explained the situation to the Champion Raesa Pullia, who was on duty that night. She listened carefully and promised to take care of everything.

The next morning, Imsin the Dreamer took me aside and quietly told me that Drinar Varyon had been arrested for smuggling during the night. She rewarded me by promoting me to Knight Bachelor – just one rank below her own. If I wasn’t careful, I’d end up in charge of a fort myself.

Now we came to the part I’d really been dreading: having to return to the Urshilaku camp. If I’d realised I’d have to go back again, I might not have capped off my last visit by throwing a tantrum and insulting their revered wise woman. It didn’t help that the more I thought back on that conversation, the more I could see that I really had been unforgivably rude to her. I was going to have to do some serious grovelling to get back into her good books.

What was more, I really wasn’t looking forward to yet another trip up the Foyada Bani-Dad. “I wish there were some kind of spell you could use to set a teleport point anywhere you wanted,” I complained to Edwinna Elbert at the Mages’ Guild. “Like a portable Guild Guide spell.”

Her brow furrowed. “Something like a Mark and Recall spell, you mean?”

When I’d finished swearing, she told me that these spells – which I’d never heard of before, of course – were sold by a mage called Sirilonwe in Vivec. “While you’re there, I have a task for you,” Edwinna said airily. “Sirilonwe has somehow acquired a copy of Chimarvamidium, one of Marobar Sul’s ‘Ancient Tales of the Dwemer’. She is trying to keep it secret, but I must have that book.”

“Are you saying you want me to steal it?”

“Not steal!” she protested. “I prefer the word ‘borrow’. I will return it later, of course.” I hesitated. “Don’t think of it as breaking your oath to the Guild, Ada – think of it as a small favour, for the advancement of the art and science of magic.”

I didn’t give a stuff about ‘the art and science of magic’, but I was well aware that Edwinna could easily kick me out of the Guild if I refused – meaning no more free potions. So, with extreme reluctance, I agreed to ‘borrow’ the book from Sirilonwe. While the High Elf mage was writing up the instructions for the Mark and Recall spells, I hunted around in her room and found the book in a locked chest. I just had time to pick the lock and stuff the book into my bag before hurrying back to Sirilonwe, hoping I’d be far away by the time she noticed the book was missing.

I brought Edwinna her precious Chimarvamidium, then bought a copy of The Hope of The Redoran to amuse myself on the journey to Maar Gan. I read it with great interest – it seemed that Athyn Sarethi had once fought his own cousin in a duel to the death, dressed as a barbarian, and armed with nothing more than a wooden club. I must say I found it hard to imagine staid, sensible Athyn doing anything like that. It made me wish I’d known him in his younger, very-slightly-wilder days.

The walk from Maar Gan to the Urshilaku camp was the usual mixture of boredom and nail-biting terror whenever I spotted a cliff racer in the distance. As soon as I arrived at the camp I attempted to cast the Mark spell, hoping I’d never have to make that journey again. Unfortunately it was more difficult to cast than I’d thought, and I quickly found myself running out of magicka.

Before too long, a crowd of Ashlanders had gathered to watch my feeble attempts at casting a simple Mysticism spell. There were sniggers, and several loud comments in the Ashlander language, which was too far removed from normal Dunmeris for me to understand. Just as I was about to burn up with embarrassment, a young girl – she couldn’t have been more than about fifteen or sixteen – broke away from the group and shyly approached me.

“You cast travel spell, Clanfriend?” she asked in broken Tamrielic. “With the hands, like this.”

I watched as my teenage tutor demonstrated the correct hand gestures, and attempted to copy her. After two or three more tries, I finally managed to cast the spell. There was an ironic round of applause from the watching Ashlanders.

“Thank you,” I said to the girl. She nodded and ran back to her gaggle of friends, who collapsed into giggles. I suspected it would be an uphill battle to persuade these guys that I was the Nerevarine.

But even this humilation was a picnic compared to my second meeting with Nibani Maesa. When I entered the tent her brows instantly shot up, and she gave me a look that could have frozen lava. “So you have returned, outlander,” she said stiffly. “Have you come to insult me and my tribe once more, or have you learned some courtesy in the weeks since our last meeting?”

“Nibani, I’m truly sorry,” I said, throwing up my hands. “My behaviour was absolutely appalling, and I know it. You welcomed me here as a guest and I just threw that back in your face. I can’t apologise enough.” She said nothing. “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you? A favour, a gift… anything?”

There was a long silence. I was just debating whether falling to my knees would be a bit too melodramatic, when Nibani finally spoke. “Fine words, outlander, but it is your deeds that will truly speak for you. Prove that you have the interests of our tribe at heart, and I will believe you are sincere.”

“What do you want me to do?”

She shrugged. “That is your affair. Perform a service to the tribe, or someone in the tribe, and then return to me.”

I left the tent even more at a loss than before. What the heck was I supposed to do to help the Urshilaku? In the end I resorted to stopping random people and asking them if I could perform a service for them. Finally one of them told me to talk to Kurapli, the trader.

Kurapli was a young woman with a look of deep sadness in her eyes. When I spoke to her, she asked if I could assist her with a matter of personal vengeance. It seemed that her husband Airan-Ahhe had recently been murdered by Zallay Subaddamael, an outcast Ashlander.

“Zallay betrayed Urshilaku hospitality and killed my husband,” she said. “If you could find him, kill him, and bring the justice of his death to me, I can promise you a fine reward – my dead husband’s enchanted Spirit Spear. It is a great treasure, but I would be glad if it might purchase the vengeance that would set my husband’s spirit to rest.”

I didn’t even want an enchanted spear, but this sounded like the kind of thing that might please Nibani Maesa. “Where can I find Zallay?” I asked.

“I have heard that he has taken refuge in a place called Aharasaplit on the island of Sheogorad, the large island north of Vvardenfell,” she said. “You might find information in the fishing village of Dagon Fel.”

I had to suppress a groan. Not Dagon Fel again! Of course it made sense that a fugitive Ashlander would go as far away as possible, but couldn’t he at least have stuck to Vvardenfell island?

After studying my map carefully, I decided that it would be quicker to walk from the camp to Dagon Fel than to return to Khuul, the nearest settlement, and take a ship. But I’d reckoned without the thick fog that descended soon after I began my journey, making it far slower going than I’d expected. To make things worse, the place was crawling with blighted animals, including several massive black beetles (I later found out they were called ‘shalk’) which attacked with fire magicka when they got close. I didn’t dare to stop and rest in case they attacked me while I slept.

By the time I reached the crossing point, where a chain of small islands led over the water to Sheogorad, it was getting dark and I had no magicka left for Water Walking spells. I spent a cold, miserable night curled up under an overhanging rock, constantly jolted awake by the screech of a cliff racer or the growl of an animal in the distance. When dawn came and the fog lifted, it took nearly half an hour for the stiffness to leave my arms, legs and hands.

But when I crossed the water, I had an unexpected stroke of luck. I came ashore on the southern coast of Sheogorad, and immediately spotted a group of tents pitched a little way down the beach. They looked very much like the yurts I’d seen in Ashlander camps.

I cautiously approached one of the tattooed, weather-beaten men milling about outside the tents. “Is this Aharasaplit Camp, by any chance?” I asked, hoping he’d understand me.

He nodded. “Is there a man named Zallay Subaddamael here?”

The man jerked his thumb towards the largest of the tents and turned away. Shrugging, I entered the yurt and found myself facing another man dressed in Ashlander garb. “Zallay Subaddamael?”

“What do you want?”

“I’m here on behalf of an Urshilaku woman called Kurapli,” I said. “She tells me you murdered her husband.”

I’d expected him to try and defend himself. For all I knew there could be all sorts of extenuating circumstances, and I didn’t want to kill him just on Kurapli’s say-so. But he just shrugged and nodded.

“No excuses?” I asked. “No explanation for why you killed this guy?” He shook his head. “Well, in that case… I guess I’ll have to challenge you to a duel on Kurapli’s behalf.”

I must confess to being a bit surprised when Zallay emerged from his tent holding a claymore – a fairly poor-quality one, made of iron, but still a fearsome weapon. It still wasn’t really a fair fight, given that Zallay didn’t wear any armour, but it was more difficult than I expected. I’d worried that the other men might be drawn into the fight, but they didn’t seem to care in the slightest, even when their ‘friend’ lay bleeding to death on the ground. I thought I’d become de-sensitised to killing over the years, but this was just creepy.

As soon as I was sure Zallay was dead, I walked away from the yurts and cast the Recall spell to the Urshilaku camp. “Zallay Subaddamael is dead,” I told Kurapli, realising too late that I didn’t actually have any proof of this.

But Kurapli seemed prepared to take it on trust. “I thank you, and do you honour, Clanfriend,” she said, and took up one of the spears that lay against the wall of the yurt. “I have long kept Airan-Ahhe’s spear. He no longer has any use for it. It is with pride that I pass it on to you, and ask only that you remember his name when you use it.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. The spear was quite short and light, but it had some useful enchantments on it, and looked valuable. It didn’t seem right to take it when I’d only really done this to curry favour with Nibani, and I never even fought with spears anyway. I would have refused it if I hadn’t remembered how seriously the Ashlanders took their gift-giving customs.

“Are you sure you can afford to part with this, Kurapli?” I asked softly. She nodded. “Well, thank you. It’s beautiful… and I promise I’ll remember your husband’s name.”

By the time I got back to Nibani Maesa, I was feeling distinctly humbled. “So you have avenged Airan-Ahhe’s death,” she said, when I explained everything to her. “Very well, you have shown that you are a friend to our tribe. I assume you came here to seek my help? Have you found the Lost Prophecies?”

I nodded, and was about to hand them over to her when I remembered that she couldn’t read. Instead I had to read them out to her – over and over again, until she’d learned them off by heart – and then explain how I’d been cured of Corprus, fulfilling the second of the ‘Seven Visions’. I have to admit, I was impressed by how calmly she took the news that the Nerevarine was an outlander – most religious cults would have been screaming blue murder at that kind of ‘re-interpretation’ of their doctrine. My respect for the Urshilaku had just increased by several notches.

“You must leave me,” Nibani said at last, when I timidly asked what she thought of the new prophecies. “Hunt, sleep, train, feed, learn the land. I must place these things before my ancestors, and listen to them, and to the skies and stars of my dreams. And then, when the moons have come and gone, return, and I will give you my judgement.”

I was very happy to delay the fatal decision a bit longer, but unfortunately I had no idea what she meant by ‘when the moons have come and gone’ – and I was too embarrassed to ask. A day? A month? I decided to split the difference and give it a week.

For all the Ashlanders’ kindness, it was still a massive relief to get back to the relative civilisation of Redoran territory. When I finally arrived back in Ald’ruhn by silt strider, it felt almost like coming home. I pondered what to do with Airan-Ahhe’s spear and eventually took it to Athyn Sarethi, hoping he might keep it for me.

“Why didn’t you return here with my son?” he asked, when we’d exchanged greetings. “I wanted to thank you for taking care of the smuggling operation.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, suddenly realising how rude it must have seemed. “I had… other business for the Legion.”

Athyn nodded. “I heard about Drinar Varyon’s arrest. I must congratulate you, sera. If you wish it, I will promote you to the rank of House Cousin.”

“Really? Well, that’s – ” I broke off. “Er… is there any reason I wouldn’t wish it?”

He looked solemn. “I will tell you what I told Neminda, and all the other outlanders I have sponsored. Most Redorans will welcome you into the House, or at least not object, but there are some – including our Archmaster – who very much dislike seeing outlanders in the higher ranks. I am not saying he would directly oppose you, but if you rise much further you may attract… unwanted attention. That is all.”

Well, that did it. I didn’t even want the promotion that much, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to let Venim scare me off. “I’m not afraid of him,” I said defiantly. “I’ve earned my rank. If it bothers Venim, that’s his problem.”

“As you wish. I very much hope that you will not regret it.”

“Will you regret it, Athyn?” I asked.

“No, I don’t believe so.” His expression was rather grim. “After you rescued my son, I called an emergency meeting of the Council, where certain matters were… discussed. I do not think there will be any more attacks on me, or my family.”

“So it was him sending the assassins?”

He shrugged. “I have no proof, but…” From the expression on his face, it was clear that he didn’t need any.

“What a coward,” I said in disgust. “He doesn’t dare attack you himself, so he sends other people to do his dirty work.”

Athyn shook his head. “No, Bolvyn is not a coward. He would love to challenge me openly, but he lacks a pretext.”

I wondered what on Nirn could have happened to cause such hatred between the two of them. Not that Athyn actually seemed to hate Venim; in fact, he was almost exasperatingly fair and reasonable towards him. Honestly, people who write books with titles like The True Noble’s Code aren’t supposed to live up to it. They’re supposed to get caught fiddling their taxes, or cheating on their spouse with someone half their age, so that the rest of us can laugh at their hypocrisy and feel better about ourselves.

When I asked Athyn about the spear, he suggested I take it to Varvur, who was training in the Council halls. On the way there I stopped to talk to Neminda, whom I hadn’t seen in over a month.

“Yes, Varvur’s in there,” she told me. “Training very hard from what I see.” She winked. “Looks to me like he’s trying to impress someone.”

I found Varvur practising sword-fighting techniques with one of the drillmasters. He certainly looked like he’d been working hard – he was drenched in sweat, and his spiky hair had gone a bit floppy. It looked rather cute, actually.

“Ada!” he exclaimed, breaking off from the fight when he saw me. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You too,” I said. “Are you working out for something?”

“Yes, I believe I will soon be sent out on another mission. With a partner, of course.” He reddened slightly. “I… was hoping it might be you.”

I was genuinely flattered. I hadn’t thought he’d want anything more to do with me after our last mission. “I didn’t do enough to scare you off last time, then?”

Varvur laughed. “Most Redorans I know would have been much harsher with me! You are a good fighter, and… I like you.” He turned away with an embarrassed cough. “Would you like to practise duelling with me?”

I wasn’t wearing armour, but I fought a friendly duel with Varvur while the drillmaster was attending to his other pupils. He was a tougher opponent than I’d expected, and suddenly I realised why: I might have more practical experience, but he’d been in training for much longer, probably since early childhood. My parents hadn’t even let me take archery lessons until I reached my teens. I couldn’t help feeling just a teeny bit jealous.

After that we fought a bout with spears instead of swords, and this time Varvur managed to win fairly handily. “That’s a beautiful spear,” he said afterwards. “Where did you get it from?”

“An Ashlander woman gave it to me to thank me for avenging her husband’s murder.”

“An Ashlander woman! Are you serious?” I nodded. “But how did you come to meet her?”

“Well, I travel around quite a bit,” I said, as casually as possible. “I’ve visited the Urshilaku camp a few times.”

Varvur was shaking his head. “You are a strange person, Ada. I have lived here all my life, and yet I’ve hardly ever even met an Ashlander. But you seem to know everyone. Next you will be telling me you’ve made friends with one of the Telvanni wizards.”

“Well, as it happens…”

“Surely you are joking now!”

I just smiled enigmatically, but inside I was getting worried. How long would it be before people started asking serious questions about my trips out to the Ashland regions? With the high profile I seemed to be developing in both the Legion and House Redoran, I’d have to start watching my back.

Really great Maglir suggestions !!! I can't stand him! I used to think I had to protect him in that cave - when I found out he was essential I started letting him fight while I casually looted the chests, lol.

What, somebody hasn't met a Telvanni wizard? But that's something that should be on every Dunmer's bucket list.

Heck, I'd want it to be on my bucket list if I could figure it out for a moment. That, and have a date consisting solely of sparring with various unarmed and weapon techniques.

Also, I loved Ada's new adventures with Mysticism. Though I think the Ashlanders might be able to write up "Mysticism for Dummies: A Guide for the Rest of the Us." It could be a bestseller.

Chapter 24: The Madness Of Lord Mandas

Varvur’s hopes weren’t disappointed. When I talked to his father the next day, he told me that the priest Lloros Sarano had a mission for me, and that he’d like me to take Varvur along as well. The two of us set off for the Temple to find out what Lloros had in store for us.

Just as we were about to leave the manor, a young Bosmer woman of about Varvur’s age walked in through the door. She was stunningly beautiful, with a mass of long blond hair, and wearing a gown which I couldn’t have afforded if I’d saved up for a year. The moment Varvur saw her he coloured and mumbled a rather awkward greeting, which she returned, looking equally embarrassed. Hmm, I thought.

“So who’s Blondie?” I asked with a wink, once we were outside the door.

Varvur flushed even redder, avoiding my eyes. “Her name is Aeronwen. She’s another of the outlanders my father sponsors in the House.”

“She’s very pretty,” I said, stating the obvious.

“Yes, she is.” He clearly didn’t want to talk about this any more, so I let it go.

We walked over to the Temple, where Lloros Sarano briefed us on our next mission. It seemed that some Redoran soldiers had been sent to a derelict stronghold called Andasreth, where Lloros believed some bandits were hiding out, and hadn’t come back. Andasreth was a long way out west, near to Gnaar Mok (of course). It would take another day of walking to get there.

Though I didn’t mention it to Varvur, I couldn’t help noticing something a little strange about this mission. According to Lloros, four soldiers had left for Andasreth and failed to return… and he was sending two of us to chase them up. Either he had a whole lot of confidence in my abilities, or he just hadn’t thought this through very well.

Lloros had made it clear there was no time to lose in finding the missing Redorans, so we set out right away from the west gate of Ald’ruhn. Once again, Varvur didn’t seem very much inclined to talk. “Are you still thinking about your friend?” I asked at last.

He shrugged. “Not exactly. But we did once make a hunting expedition on this route, with some of the other Redorans my own age. It’s hard not to think about it whenever we walk down here.”

“You two must have been very close,” I said softly.

“We grew up together. We were more like brothers than friends.” He was silent for a few moments. “Bralen’s family were kin of the Venims. Venim didn’t care about him at all, but that was his excuse for arresting me after Bralen died. He called it ‘private justice’.” His knuckles were white.

“Venim didn’t treat you badly, did he?”

“No, but it was… humiliating. To be dragged to his manor and locked up… and then I found out he had sent assassins to kill my father while I was gone.” Varvur ground his teeth. “I only wish I had the strength to fight him. My father might, but I don’t.”

I hesitated. “Varvur, could I ask you a question? Why do Venim and your father hate each other so much?”

“My father doesn’t hate Venim,” he retorted. “Venim hates him because he sees him as a threat. If he were to challenge Bolvyn for the title of Archmaster, everyone else on the Council would support him.”

“So… no offence, but why doesn’t he? I mean, it seems pretty obvious to me that he’d make a better Archmaster…”

“I don’t know! He claims that it would damage the House, but in truth I think that he simply does not want to be Archmaster.” Varvur stopped walking. “If I tell you a secret, will you promise not to tell anyone else?”

“Of course.”

“Very well: A few months ago, the other Councillors invited my father to a secret meeting at Garisa Llethri’s house. They asked him to challenge Venim, and told him that they would all support him as Archmaster.”

“So how do you about know this?”

“I heard about it from Garisa’s son Sanvyn. Anyway, my father refused outright. In fact, he was quite angry that they had planned this without consulting him.” He drew a deep breath. “But Venim found out, and he was furious. Just a few weeks after that, the Morag Tong attacks started.”

Good grief. If I’d known half of what was going on in House Redoran before I joined, I’d have run a mile. “How do you think Venim found out?” I asked.

Varvur laughed shortly. “That is no secret. Everyone knows that he and Llethri’s wife Fathasa are lovers.”

“Watch out there, Varvur,” I protested. “Your father made me challenge a Hlaalu noble to a duel for spreading that rumour.”

“Well, he should not have done! Let Venim send his own retainers if he wants to defend himself!” He turned sharply away and stomped off down the road, leaving me hurrying to catch up with him.

When we finally came within sight of Andasreth, I could see why the ancient Dunmer had chosen this place to build a stronghold. It was built on the edge of a cliff, surrounded by high mountains, and only reachable by walking straight down a bare, featureless valley. We were too far away to see anyone standing on the building itself, but I guessed that the bandits would probably have lookouts posted. Our only hope was to attack under cover of darkness.

Varvur and I retreated a little way and set up camp, where we ate and took it in turns to sleep while waiting for it to get dark. We finally set off for Andasreth at around midnight. When we got close to the building, I slipped on the Chameleon ring which Larrius Varro, the Fort Moonmoth champion, had given to me. The enchantment wasn’t strong enough to be much use in the day, but at night it worked perfectly.

I crept up the steps leading to the main building and pressed myself against the wall, listening carefully. I could hear footsteps up on the roof above, so I guessed that a guard was patrolling up there. As soon as I heard the footsteps recede in the other direction, I beckoned to Varvur, who hurried up to join me as quickly and quietly as possible.

Inside the stronghold, it soon became clear what had happened to the Redoran party that came before us. We were quickly set upon by several roughly-dressed men and women – some armed with swords or daggers, others with Destruction spells. Any hope I’d had of finding the soldiers alive quickly faded, and vanished completely when we uncovered four decomposing bodies in a locked room.

Varvur entered the room first, and rushed forward with a cry of dismay. The corpses, still clad in bonemold armour, seemed to have been dumped in here as food for the rats that scampered around the room. From the position of the bodies, and the horrified grimaces frozen on the dead men’s faces, it was clear that some of them had still been alive when they were thrown in here to bleed to death. Clearly these bandits weren’t in the habit of taking prisoners.

“They murdered them.” Varvur’s face was pale with rage. “They just threw them in here to die like… like animals.”

“I’m sorry, Varvur.” I laid a hand on his arm. He didn’t reply, but muttered something under his breath in Dunmeris that sounded like a prayer.

There was silence for a few moments. “What should we do with them?” I said at last.

“We must take their shields back to Lloros Sarano.” He knelt down beside one of the men and carefully lifted up his bonemold tower shield, which was engraved with a picture of an insect – the Redoran symbol.

“Just the shields?”

“They are the symbol of our House,” he explained. “Bringing back the shields will show that these men died honourably, in battle. Their families will come later to take away their bodies for burial.”

“So, shall we leave now?” I asked. “Or do you want to finish off the rest of these bastards first?” The look on his face was quite enough of an answer.

When the rest of the bandits had been killed, or knocked out and tied up – then dumped in the room with the dead Redorans – Varvur and I made to leave. Both of us were tired, but not tired enough to bed down in Andasreth with a bunch of rotting corpses. Unfortunately, even with my extra strength from my enchanted gauntlets, there was no way I could carry two of the Redoran banner shields as well as my own. An Almsivi Intervention spell would have taken me straight back to the Ald’ruhn Temple, but I’d used up most of my magicka on healing spells.

“I’ll just have to leave it here, I suppose,” I said eventually. I had to stifle a groan at the thought of being forced to walk out here yet again to collect the shield. Maybe I should just buy a house in bloody Gnaar Mok.

“Will your commanders be angry?”

“I don’t know.” Certainly I doubted they’d react well to me marching in and demanding a new shield because I’d lost the old one.

I carefully cleaned my shield before leaving it propped up against a wall, and we set off back to Ald’ruhn. It was slower going this time, since we were tired and weighted down by the shields, and by the time we got back the entire town was awake and bustling.

Lloros was sad to hear about the soldiers’ deaths, but grateful for the return of the shields. To my surprise, when Varvur told him about me having to leave my Legion shield behind, he offered to give me a banner shield of my own.

“Really?” I asked. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. You are a Redoran and have served us well, so you should have a shield.” He smiled. “May it protect you well.”

After Varvur had gone home I held my new shield in my hands for a while, examining it. It was as strong as a Legion shield, and a bit lighter as well – not a bad trade, really. And of course, it was visible proof of my allegiance to House Redoran. Just as putting on my uniform for the first time had made me feel part of the Legion, having a Redoran shield helped me to feel that I really belonged in the House.

I spent most of the rest of the day in bed, catching up on sleep. The following morning I went over to Sarethi Manor to speak to Athyn. I told him that I’d have to leave Ald’ruhn on business in a few days, and asked if there was anything else he wanted me to do for him.

“I do have one more task for you,” he told me. “It concerns an old friend of mine, Arethan Mandas. Once he was a great noble of House Redoran, but his manor was destroyed by corprus monsters, and since then I fear he has gone mad. He now claims to be the Lord of West Gash, and is demanding ‘tribute’ from travellers on the road to Maar Gan.”

“Where can I find him?” I asked.

“In the cavern of Milk. Be warned: he has a few loyal followers, and some outlaws have joined his ‘estate’.” He took my map in order to mark the location of Milk. “But in any case, I would prefer that Arethan be cured of his madness, rather than killed. You might want to go to Ebonheart and speak with his father Llerar, who is the Redoran representative on the Grand Council.”

I wasn’t sure how anyone could be ‘cured’ of madness, unless it was caused by some sort of magic like those Sixth House statues. Still, the next day I set off for Ebonheart to see Llerar Mandas, using the Levitation spell from Vivec’s shrine to travel there. The priestess selling the Rising Force potions looked even more suspicious than before.

“I hope you would not think of abusing Lord Vivec’s blessing for your own gain, outlander,” she said pointedly. “For that would be blasphemy, and blasphemy is punishable by – ”

“Absolutely not,” I said hurriedly. “I like to pray to Lord Vivec whenever I have the chance, that’s all.” She narrowed her eyes, but said nothing. I decided to buy my Rising Force potions somewhere else from now on.

Llerar Mandas was a distinguished-looking elderly Dunmer, but he was dressed in the strangest suit of armour I’d ever seen. As far as I could tell, it seemed to be made out of pieces of metal from what looked like Dwemer machinery. You can get ‘Dwarven’ armour easily enough in Cyrodiil – assuming you’re fantastically rich, of course – but this was like nothing I’d ever seen before. Honestly, I couldn’t see how he could even walk in those enormous boots.

Llerar nodded sadly when I told him about his son attacking travellers. “Yes, I heard my son had gone mad. I fear his madness was caused when his daughter, Delyna, was captured.”

“Captured?”

He nodded again. “She is being held captive in Tel Fyr, the Telvanni tower of Sorcerer-Lord Divayth Fyr.”

“Divayth Fyr?” I exclaimed, with such horror that Llerar looked mildly surprised.

“Yes,” he said, with a sigh. “I am not sure how it happened, but if I know my granddaughter, I imagine she was spying on him. I do not want to lose another grandchild to the Telvanni.” Another? “Please bring her back to me.”

Oh, bloody hell. I could hardly have refused, but inside I wanted to scream. If there was one place in Morrowind I never, ever wanted to see again – apart from the Sixth House cavern of Ilunibi, of course – it was Divayth Fyr’s Telvanni tower. Of all the wizards’ towers in all Vvardenfell, why did Mandas’ daughter have to choose that one to get captured in?

At least this time I didn’t have to worry about flying, I thought, as I floated back over the ocean to Vivec’s Foreign Quarter. I could live without another humiliating scold from Fyr’s ‘daughters’, or whatever the hell they were. Suddenly a truly awful thought struck me – what if that mad old pervert had decided he wanted Delyna Mandas as a ‘wife’ as well? It was too horrible to think about.

The journey to Tel Fyr was much easier this time: I simply flew there from Wolverine Hall after teleporting to Sadrith Mora. Inside the tower, I was greeted by one of Fyr’s daughters – Beyte, if I remembered correctly. “Is your father in?” I asked. “I need to speak to him urgently.”

“He’s up in his study. I hope you’ve brought enough Levitation potions with you this time,” she called after me, as I hurried out of the room. I gritted my teeth and ignored her.

Fyr was sitting at his desk, looking exactly as he had when I last saw him – it was as if he hadn’t moved at all since then. “Hello, Ada,” he said cheerfully. “How are you doing? Bit of bad news, I’m afraid – the potion doesn’t seem to work on others. Tried it on two hopeless cases, and it killed them outright – deader than a garlic snail. But is there anything I can help you with?”

I had a little speech all prepared. “Master Fyr, I need to ask you for a great favour. It’s regarding a Redoran woman named Delyna Mandas.”

His face was completely blank. “Delyna Mandas? I don’t recall her name.”

“You… don’t?” Okay, this was unexpected. “I, er, was told that you were holding her prisoner.”

Fyr shrugged. “Many people try to steal from my tower or spy on me or enter the Corprusarium. I cannot be expected to keep track of them all. If you want to look for her, go right ahead.”

“You mean… you would agree to let her go?”

He nodded. “I will not interfere with your escape, but if she returns to my tower, I will not be held responsible.”

Talos, the guy was even crazier than I thought. How the heck could you capture a spy, lock her up, and then just forget about her? Well, at least it meant he probably hadn’t been torturing Delyna or using her as a test subject for his Corprus experiments. I just hoped someone had been remembering to feed her.

“Well, that’s very kind of you,” I said at last. “I’m sure her family will appreciate it. This wouldn’t happen to be a key to the dungeons, would it?” I asked, noticing a small key lying on the table beside him.

“Oh, I’m sure it unlocks something or other,” he said with a wink.

I took the key from the table and set off to look for the room where Delyna was held prisoner. It wasn’t difficult to find; there was only one door in the entire tower that looked remotely suitable. Unfortunately the key I’d taken from Divayth didn’t seem to fit in the lock. It was too hard to pick, and even my Ondusi’s Unhinging scrolls didn’t seemed to work.

Over in the next room, Beyte Fyr heard my exasperated grunts and came out to see what was going on. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get this door open, of course,” I growled, and then paused. “Er… your father said I could, by the way.”

She shrugged with complete indifference. “Would you happen to know where the key is?” I asked.

“No, I don’t,” she said with another shrug. “It’s probably somewhere in the Corprusarium.”

“The Corprusarium?”

“That’s where my father keeps most of his keys. He lets adventurers plunder the dungeon for treasure.”

I closed my eyes briefly. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to cast a spell to open this door, by any chance?”

“No.”

“Thought not.” I heaved a sigh. “Corprusarium it is, then.”

Down in the Corprusarium entrance, I prepared to search the dungeons by casting the Chameleon enchantment on my Amulet of Shadows. “Remember that you must not harm the inmates,” the warden called to me as I went by.

What followed was like a twisted kind of treasure hunt designed by an evil madman. I raced around the Corprusarium, avoiding the lumbering corprus monsters, and trying to find the chest which fitted Divayth’s key. Each of the chests in turn contained a different key, which opened another of the chests in the Corprusarium – including one at the bottom of a deep pool (why?!) If I hadn’t had the benefit of the levitation and Chameleon spells, I probably wouldn’t have made it out alive – or at least without being forced to kill some of the inmates.

Finally I found what seemed to be the final key. I emerged from the Corprusarium, dripping wet and on the verge of tears, and tried it on the golden door – only to find that it didn’t fit in the slightest. None of the others did either. I nearly howled in frustration.

“What’s the matter?” asked Beyte, hearing my strangled cry of rage.

“It doesn’t work!” I wailed. “I’ve tried all the keys, and none of them work!”

“Well, there are other chests within the tower itself,” she said calmly. “Perhaps you simply haven’t found the right key yet.”

It’s a good thing Fyr wasn’t there to hear the things I threatened to do to him (under my breath, of course) as I searched the tower for even more chests. At last I found one which could be opened by one of the Corprusarium keys. I tried the key from the new chest on the golden door, and finally, finally, it worked.

The door swung open to reveal a surprised-looking Dunmer woman in leather armour. “Delyna Mandas?” I asked wearily.

She nodded. “Who are you? Did my father send you?”

“Your grandfather, actually.” I sighed. “Next time you decide to spy on a Telvanni wizard, could you please try not to get caught? You wouldn’t believe what I’ve had to go through to get you out of here.”

“I can’t imagine,” she murmured, staring at my soaking-wet clothes and hair. I think she was picturing Divayth Fyr dunking me in a pond for his own amusement. I wouldn’t have put it past him, frankly.

As we left the tower together, I told Delyna about her father’s descent into madness. She looked grave. “I heard my father went mad with grief when I was captured, but I did not know how bad things were. I will see him as soon as I can.”

“Do you want me to take you back to Sadrith Mora?”

She shook her head. “I have duties that cannot be ignored. I will visit my father when I can. In the meantime, please take this locket to him.” She handed me a small engraved amulet from her pocket. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

I cast a Divine Intervention spell to get back to Wolverine Hall, leaving Delyna to finish off whatever business she had at Tel Fyr. I hoped to goodness she wouldn’t manage to get herself captured again. If she did, I thought, she’d better not expect me to get her out of there a second time.

I was far too tired to go looking for Arethan Mandas after all that, so I spent the rest of the day in Ald’ruhn before returning to Buckmoth for the night. The next day I set off again down that all-too-familiar route towards the west coast. According to my map, the cavern of Milk was just a little north-east of Drulene Falen’s hut.

Outside the cave entrance, I wondered what would be best: to walk straight in and try to talk Arethan’s guards into letting me see him, or sneak past them and hope that I’d find him alone. The first option was definitely more dangerous – for all I knew, the guards might attack me on sight. Athyn hadn’t forbidden me to kill them, but I didn’t want to do that unless I absolutely had to, even if they had been attacking travellers. I finally decided to rely on my Chameleon amulet.

No one spotted me as I ran through the caverns in search of Lord Mandas. Luckily it didn’t take me too long to find him, and he was alone. He was wearing a heavy suit of armour, and looked like he’d once been a powerful warrior, but I noticed that his face looked almost as worn and wrinkled as his father’s. I guess that’s what a complete nervous breakdown followed by months of living in a cave will do to you.

Mandas was pacing up and down in an agitated way, muttering to himself in Dunmeris. His speech was so confused that I could only make out a few words like ‘daughter’ and ‘tower’. I hid myself in an alcove until the spell wore off, and then stepped out to meet him.

“Lord Mandas?” I said softly, not wanting to alarm him. I didn’t know whether he might turn violent. “My name is Ada. Your daughter Delyna sent me here to visit you.”

Mandas slowly turned around to face me. His movements were hesitant, but there was a wild look in his eyes. “Daughter, my daughter, mine,” he said, looking directly at me. “Delyna Mandas. Saint Delyn, a man thus ain’t. Lock it, her locket. Keep it locked up. In her pocket. Who owns that locket?”

Sweet Mara. Athyn hadn’t been kidding when he told me that his friend had gone completely mad. “She’s all right, Lord Mandas,” I said, trying to sound calm and soothing. “I’ve seen her. She’s still alive.”

“Oh, my daughter,” he moaned. “My daughter, would you not listen? Delyna, daughter, so bold. So stupid. Bold and stupid spy…”

I kind of had to agree with him on that, but this wasn’t really the time to say so. “She’s fine,” I stated clearly, taking a step towards him. “Your daughter is safe. Look, she gave me her locket to show to you.” I took the locket from the pouch on my belt and held it out to him.

Arethan stared at my outstretched hands, his eyes fixed on the locket. “My daughter,” he whispered. “Where is she? Her locket... is it? Is she? No! Must know! Can’t bear to know!” His voice was starting to shake.

“She’s safe,” I repeated, looking straight into his eyes. “I rescued her from the tower. She asked me to bring her locket to you to show you that she’s safe.”

“Safe?” Arethan took a hesitant step towards me, and carefully lifted the amulet out of my hands. He cradled it in the palm of his hand for several seconds, staring at it.

“She’s... safe,” he said at last. “So safe. I must be there for her. I must…”

He looked up at me, and for the first time, the frenzied look was gone from his eyes. “Thank you, Ada. I will stop now.” He shook his head. “The attacks on the road. I knew it was wrong… but what could I do? My guards are loyal. Always looking out for me.”

He pottered off, presumably to tell the guards that they shouldn’t attack anyone else from now on. I hoped that extended to me as well. When he returned he was still clutching Delyna’s locket in his hand.

“Yes, my daughter is safe,” he said, nodding vigorously. “I can think in better categories now. Tell Athyn I will order no more attacks on the road out front my house.”

“I’ll tell him,” I promised.

“He should visit me.” Arethan glanced around the dark, dingy cave, and smiled. “The weather is very nice in here. Neither ash nor rain.”

I felt a painful lump in my throat, and had to blink back tears from my own eyes. Poor, poor guy. I hoped his daughter would soon be back to take care of him.

Arethan’s guards regarded me a little suspiciously as I walked back through the cave. None of them said or did anything, but I was still pretty happy to get out of there. As soon as I was back outside, I cast Almsivi Intervention to get back to Ald’ruhn.

Back in Sarethi Manor, I told Athyn the story behind Arethan’s madness, and how I’d managed to cure him of it (well, sort of). He listened to the entire story without saying a word, until I reached the end.

“From what you say, perhaps Arethan has not totally regained his senses, but his guards have stopped demanding tribute from travellers,” he said at last. He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “I did not believe it could be done. I am proud of you this day, Ada.”

I felt my face grew hot, and for a few moments I could hardly speak. “It is not usual for a new recruit to be promoted through the ranks so quickly,” he continued, “but I believe you have truly earned the title of House Brother. Congratulations, my friend.”

House Brother? Don’t get me wrong, I was immensely grateful – moved, even – but also a little confused. Shouldn’t that be ‘House Sister’? Well, under the circumstances, it seemed a bit petty to complain.

Before I left the manor, Athyn asked me to come to dinner that night with him and his family. A few weeks ago I’d have been happy about this because it showed I was gaining influence with him – influence which might help me get back to Cyrodiil. Now it made me happy for very different reasons. After a year in jail and two months of exile in a foreign land, where I literally didn’t know anyone at all, even something as simple as an invitation to dinner felt strangely heartwarming.

The only thing left to do now was to go to Llerar Mandas and tell him that his granddaughter and son were safe. The look of joy and relief in his eyes made all the trouble and inconvenience seem almost worth it, even that nightmarish scavenger-hunt through Divayth Fyr’s Corprusarium. After thanking me, he disappeared into a back room and returned carrying a closed ebony helm.

“Please take this helm from all the Mandas family,” he said, grasping my hand firmly. “Know that you have earned an ally in House Redoran.”

An ally on the Grand Council, eh? Well, that could be useful. As for the helm, I usually avoided ebony armour because of its sheer weight, but it certainly did offer excellent protection. Perhaps, if I ever managed to sell Sheogorath’s ring, I could use some of the cash to put a Feather enchantment on it.

Back in Ald’ruhn, I hired a room at the Ald Skar inn and spent the evening preparing for the dinner party. I wore my new clothes in honour of the occasion and spent a longer-than-usual time getting ready, carefully styling my hair and applying make-up. It wasn’t often I got to do this, after all.

Varvur looked mildly stunned when I showed up at Sarethi Manor in the elegant robes I’d bought in Vivec. “Ada!” he stammered. “You look very… nice.”

“So do you,” I replied, feeling myself blush. It was true, actually. Redoran fashions for men were rather plainer and simpler than the Western styles, but in Varvur’s case, it suited him.

Dinner was a cosy family affair, much nicer than my usual meals of bland food in grotty taverns and mess halls. Athyn and his wife chatted to me and asked me questions about my background, which I tried to answer without giving too much away. Varvur didn’t say very much, though I did catch him looking at me closely a couple of times.

The food was pretty good as well. “This is excellent,” I said to Athyn, as I munched my way through a slice of meat pie. “What is it?”

He smiled. “It’s a traditional Redoran recipe. Quite famous, in fact.”

“Really?” I hadn’t realised the Redorans were known for their cooking as well as their combat skills. “So what’s in it?”

“Hound and rat meat, mixed with kwama egg and scuttle.”

I nearly choked on a mouthful of pie. “Rat meat?”

“Yes. Have you never eaten rat before?” I shook my head, fighting a sudden urge to throw up. “The taste is not so good, but it is nutritious, and quite filling.”

“I… suppose so.” My appetite seemed to have disappeared all of a sudden. Varvur buried his face into a napkin, seemingly overcome by a heavy fit of coughing. I strongly suspected that he was trying not to laugh.

Somehow I forced myself to finish up the rest of my plate, and the next course (this time I had the sense not to ask what was in it). I washed it all down with several glasses of the local comberry wine, which was also excellent. In fact, it was so good that I ended up drinking a little too much.

“You know what I really miss about Cyrodiil?” I announced, as the servants were clearing our plates away. “Strawberries.”

“Strawberries?”

“Mmm, strawberries. They’re these little red berries, about this big.” I made a circle with my thumb and forefinger. “They’re expensive, of course, but they taste like the food of the Gods. I wonder if… no, you probably couldn’t import them. They’d go rotten.”

Varvur spoke up for almost the first time that evening. “What is it like, your homeland?”

“Cyrodiil? It’s beautiful,” I said dreamily. “Forests everywhere. There’s probably more trees in the Great Forest than in the whole of Vvardenfell. I miss trees.” I felt a dull ache in my throat.

“Up in the north there are mountains,” I went on, “and it snows almost all year round. And out west, on the Gold Coast, you can walk through these endless fields with miles and miles of… golden…” My voice trailed off as hot tears began to roll down my cheeks.

The Sarethis exchanged worried glances. Domesea was looking at me with a mixture of sympathy and bemusement. “If you love it so much, sera, why don’t you return there?”

“Because I can’t,” I wailed. Now that I’d started crying, I couldn’t seem to stop. “I’m sorry. I… I think I’d better be going.”

Athyn immediately invited me to stay the night in one of the guest rooms, but I didn’t want to trespass on his hospitality any longer. Besides, I’d already paid for a room at the inn. Varvur came over all gentlemanly and offered to walk me back there, but I refused – the last thing I wanted right now was people fussing over me. I mumbled my thanks for the lovely meal and hurried back to the Ald Skar, where I cried myself to sleep.

Awww The end almost made me cry too! -sniff- I love how reading this I can giggle at one point and cry at the next ♥

I always loved Divayth Fyr in "The Mad Lord of Milk." So focused on his own work, he probably just thought that if the Redoran spy wasn't interfering in his work, then things on Nirn were fine and dandy as far as he was concerned.

Fyr's the kind of guy who would only notice that there might be a new Telvanni Tower Stronghold on the island next door when the shad finally started to cause trouble for the plants he cultivates for Corprus research. Otherwise, he'd barely keep track of such things. He's got important, medically intensive research to do.

Reminds me of House, in his own way...

Chapter 25: OK, So Maybe I Really Am The Nerevarine

It wasn’t until I woke up the morning after my meal chez Sarethi – with a splitting headache, naturally – that I remembered I wasn’t supposed to be sleeping in town, for fear of night-time zombie attacks. (“See, Aunt Sybilla, I told you the monsters would come and get me…”) Nothing had happened that night, though. I wondered if there was some reason for this, or if I’d just been lucky.

I had to gulp down a Cure Poison potion – one of the ones I was supposed to be saving for my missions in the wilderness – before I could even think about facing the world again. Memories of last night were resurfacing, and I had a horrible vision of drinking too much and getting all mawkish over Cyrodiil before fleeing the house in tears. Way to impress your Redoran sponsor there, Ada.

When I went up to tavern for breakfast, I was surprised to see Varvur sitting at the bar. He got to his feet as soon as he saw me. “I came here to see you, Ada. Are you all right? I was worried about you.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” I told him, surprised and rather touched. “Just a little hung over, that’s all. Why would you be worried?”

“Last night you seemed a little… upset,” he said carefully. “I thought perhaps you were missing more things than forests and… strawberries.”

I shrugged, trying to make light of it. “Yeah, I was feeling a bit homesick. And drunk, of course. I hope your parents weren’t offended?”

Varvur shook his head. “I think they understand… or at least my father does. He has often told me how homesick he was when he first arrived in Hammerfell.”

We ordered some breakfast, and took it to a table in the corner to eat. I wasn’t really all that hungry, and my stomach lurched whenever I thought of last night’s Rat Surprise, but I did feel a little better once I had some food inside me. A large mug of Hackle-lo tea helped as well.

“Ada, may I ask you a question?” said Varvur, as we were eating. “You said that you could not go back to Cyrodiil, even if you wanted to. Why is that?”

I hesitated. Of course, I’d already told my story to the innkeeper in Seyda Neen on the first day I arrived, but confessing my past crimes to a stranger whom I’d never see again was different from revealing them to a friend and fellow Redoran. And that was without even mentioning all the palaver with the Blades and the Nerevarine prophecies.

“Do you remember when we were walking to Shurinbaal?” I said at last. “And I told you that I had a friend who’d killed someone and been jailed for murder? Well…”

“Ah.” He nodded. “This was you, yes? I thought that might be… but I could not imagine you murdering anyone, even if you were drunk. How did it happen?”

I told him the whole story, as briefly and straightforwardly as possible. “I’m not asking for sympathy, by the way,” I said, when I reached the end. “The guy was an arsehole, but he didn’t deserve to die. I just wish I’d been jailed for the right reasons, that’s all.”

Varvur nodded slowly, thinking over what I had said. “You should have challenged him to a duel. Or your father or brother – ”

“Don’t have either,” I said shortly. “I’ve never met my real family. I don’t even know who they are.”

“Really? You are an orphan, then?”

“Yup.” I explained how I’d been found and adopted as a baby, and my own pet theory as to who my real parents had been. It went something like this: High-born Imperial lady has affair with totally unsuitable Nord commoner. High-born lady’s parents find out and put a stop to it, but not before she becomes pregnant with unwanted b*stard child. Parents abandon poor, innocent baby outside a Temple, where nice kind priests find her and… well, you know the rest.

Varvur listened to the whole thing, shaking his head. “It is so sad,” he said, when I’d finished.

“Why?” I asked in surprise. “I was happy enough with my adoptive parents. You can’t miss what you’ve never had, right?”

“But your family, your ancestors…”

“Hey, if my parents didn’t want me, I’m guessing my ancestors probably don’t either.” I drained my mug of tea. “Anyway, it’s probably time I got going.”

We finished our meal and left the tavern together. “My father told me you would be going away on business,” Varvur said, when we were outside. “How long will you be gone?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe just a few days, maybe longer.”

“Well, in that case…” Suddenly he looked a little shy again. “Before you go, I would just like to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Not just for rescuing me, but for helping me to prove that I have strength and courage.” He took a deep breath. “When I returned from Andasreth, my father told me that I had made him proud. I cannot remember the last time he said this to me.”

Once again I felt a pang of sympathy for the guy. It couldn’t be easy, having to live up to a father whom everyone called ‘the Hope of the Redoran’. “There’s no need to thank me, Varvur,” I told him. “You’ve always had those things; you just needed a chance to show it.”

“And you gave me one.” He took a hesitant step forwards, and for a moment I thought he was about to hug me, but he settled for taking my hand in both of his and squeezing it tightly. “Thank you,” he said again, with a gentle smile, before turning and walking off towards Skar.

I have to admit, that melted my heart into a puddle. Varvur was the sweetest guy I’d ever met, bar none.

It was on that morning that I first began to suspect I was being followed. Maybe I was just being paranoid, but I kept thinking I saw someone, just out of the corner of my eye, who quickly moved away when I turned to look at them directly. It could be that this was the first time it happened, or that it had been happening for a while and I simply hadn’t noticed before. I didn’t know who it could be, either – the Sixth House, or maybe even the Temple? I wasn’t sure which prospect was worse.

At least they couldn’t follow me to the Urshilaku camp, I thought grimly. I decided to return there straight away, even though it wasn’t quite a week since I’d left. I could always spend some time in Gnisis if Nibani needed more time to read the tea leaves, or stare into her crystal ball, or whatever.

I walked into the enclosed courtyard of the Temple, where I could easily see anyone who tried to follow me in, and cast the Recall spell… and cast it again… and again… until at last it actually worked. My skill in Mysticism was very gradually improving, due to all the Intervention spells I’d been casting recently, but progress was painfully slow. What I really needed was a few heavy-duty sessions with one of the Mages’ Guild trainers, but I couldn’t afford it.

The Ashlanders looked only mildly surprised when I suddenly appeared in the middle of the camp. From the amused, dismissive looks on their faces, it seemed that they’d come to see me as eccentric, but harmless. Not exactly flattering, but I guess it was a step up from ‘looting, pillaging Imperial ravager’.

“I am ready to give you my judgement,” Nibani told me, as soon as I entered the yurt.

“Okay?” Suddenly I felt unaccountably nervous.

“The ancestors and stars have given me clear signs,” she said. “The lost prophecies leave no doubt – the Incarnate shall be an outlander. You, blessed by Azura, must lift the seven curses of Dagoth Ur.”

I breathed in deeply. “So… it’s true, then? I am the Nerevarine?”

She didn’t directly answer the question. “Prophecy has shown the seven steps of the Nerevarine’s path, and I have been chosen as your guide for each step on that path. I will read the signs, and show you the way. It is time for you to walk the path of the Seven Visions, and pass the Seven Trials of the Seven Visions.”

Oh, boy. I’d almost forgotten about those. I began to search my pack for a copy of the Seven Visions as Nibani continued speaking.

“You are born on a certain day to uncertain parents,” she said, “so you have passed the first trial. My dreams show me that you also fulfil the second trial. That you have overcome the Curse-of-Flesh is strange enough, but that it should protect you from blight and age is past belief – yet the signs of my dreams are clear. But the third trial is unfulfilled.”

I dug the crumpled piece of paper out of my pack and smoothed it out on the table. “‘In caverns dark Azura’s eye sees,’” I read out loud, “‘and makes to shine the moon and star.’ What’s that supposed to mean?”

“In legend there is a shrine to Azura called the Cavern of the Incarnate. There are secrets I may not tell you about this cavern, so do not ask.” Gee, thanks a lot. “As for the moon and star, legend says that Nerevar’s family standard bore this symbol, as I told you before. I think this is the mark of the Nerevarine, but you do not have this mark – so you are not the Nerevarine.”

“Okay… sorry,” I said, pressing a hand to my forehead. “I’m probably just being a bit thick here, but I don’t quite understand. You’re saying I’m not the Nerevarine?”

“As I said, you do not have the moon-and-star mark. So you are not the Nerevarine.”

“But you want me to take these Seven Trials in any case?”

She nodded. I sucked in breath. “So basically the answer is ‘no, not yet, but maybe’?”

“Yes.”

Oh, for crying out loud. Had I really gone to all that trouble bringing Nibani the Lost Prophecies, and waited a week for her to study them, only to hear exactly the same thing she’d told me to start with? All I wanted to know was whether I was the reincarnation of Lord Nerevar Indoril, Dunmer warlord and hero of the First Era. Godsdammit, was that such a difficult question?

“So how do I fulfil the third trial?” I asked, trying to hide my annoyance.

“The mystery of the third trial is not my secret to share. Go to Sul-Matuul, the guardian of our cult, and he shall tell you of it. When you have fulfilled the trial, return to me for guidance on your next steps on the path of the Nerevarine.”

Some ‘wise woman’, I thought, as I made my way to Ashkhan Sul-Matuul’s yurt. It was pretty obvious that she didn’t really have a clue whether I was the Nerevarine or not. All that talk about ancestors and stars was a load of crap – she was probably just hedging her bets in case I really did turn out to be The One.

When I spoke to Sul-Matuul, it seemed that he was still a tiny bit skeptical about me being the Nerevarine – not that I could entirely blame him. “This is a hard thing to believe,” he said. “But Nibani Maesa has spoken to me at length of this, and I have had time to consider. Therefore I shall keep my own counsel, and set before you my own test.”

I might not have Nibani’s gift of foresight, but I had a sudden prophetic vision that I was going to face a lot of these ‘tests’ in the near future. “What kind of test?” I asked, my heart sinking.

“I do not dispute with the wise women,” he said, “but their ways are not the ways of the warrior. Many before have tried the path of the Nerevarine, but all have failed the warrior’s test. You must have strength, courage, and cunning. These things I would test.”

“And what is the warrior’s test?”

“Nearby lies Kogoruhn, the ancient halls of the forgotten house, House Dagoth. In recent time, creatures of the blight have come to dwell there.” His expression darkened. “I myself went there with some brave hunters, but it was a bad place, and I am not ashamed to say I was afraid for myself and my men. If you would have the secret of the Third Trial, you will first bring to me three tokens from dark Kogoruhn: corprus weepings from a corprus beast, a cup with the mark of House Dagoth, and the Shadow Shield.”

“Hang on, corprus weepings? You mean you want the… from their…” Dear Gods, that was probably the most disgusting thing I’d ever heard.

Sul-Matuul nodded. “This will show that you are proof against the disease’s corruption. I have myself seen the cups there, and the Shadow Shield lies on the Tomb of Dagoth Morin, in the lava tunnels deep beneath ruined Kogoruhn. Bring these things to me, and then I will tell you the secret of the Third Trial.”

And so, yet again, I found myself wandering out into the Ashlands in search of a bunch of random items while Mr. Ashkhan sat around in his cosy tent. Seeing on my map that the stronghold of Koguruhn wasn’t all that far from the camp, I decided to walk there, hoping I could reach the place before nightfall. Unfortunately I’d reckoned without something fairly important: ashstorms.

I must have been about half-way to Kogoruhn when I noticed that the wind was picking up. Only minutes later there were clouds of dust swirling around, the sky had turned an ugly red colour, and I realised with mild panic that a Blight storm was imminent. And this time I didn’t have a closed helmet to protect myself from it. What was I going to do?

Telling myself not to panic, I headed for the only shelter in sight: a bunch of tall rocks standing close together. I pulled one of my spare shirts from my pack and wound it tightly around my face so that it covered my eyes, nose and mouth. I could still breathe through the fabric, though not very comfortably. Then I sat down, curled myself into a tight ball, and prepared to wait out the storm.

The candidates for ‘worst day/night of my life’ had been piling up since I arrived in Morrowind, but this one had to be pretty high on the list. For the next few hours, which felt like a week, I sat shivering in the biting wind while ash seeped into every last crevice of my armour, clothing and body. Almost as bad was the knowledge that yet again, I’d nearly got myself into serious trouble by ignoring the dangers of blight storms. You are hard-headed, and ignorant…

By the time the storm died down, it was already too dark to go any further. I huddled up in a ball and went to sleep, knowing my limbs would be frozen and stiff the next morning.

As soon as it got light and I could move again, I gobbled down some food and potions and carried on towards Kogoruhn, eventually reaching it a couple of hours later. From the outside it looked very much like Andasreth, the stronghold I’d visited with Varvur: huge, austere and forbidding. I was about to discover that the inside was a thousand times worse.

Luckily I had the sense to cast a Chameleon enchantment before entering the first of the small, domed buildings on Kogoruhn’s base. If I hadn’t, I’d have immediately attracted the attention of the hideous… thing… that stood inside, half-turned towards me. It was about seven feet tall, entirely shrouded in a cloak apart from its head and spindly hands, with a ‘face’ that consisted entirely of several long, greyish-green tentacles. As soon as I’d finished hyperventilating with terror, I very carefully backed out through the door and closed it behind me.

The second small building housed another ash creature looking exactly like Dagoth Gares, the Sixth House servant in Ilunibi. I could probably have taken him on, but as it happened, I didn’t need to. Lying on a table in plain sight was just what I needed: a jewelled goblet with the mark of House Dagoth on it. I literally just picked it up and slipped it into my pack without being noticed.

As I was leaving the room, I spotted some Daedric words written on the floor in bright-red chalk. When I paused to read the words, I realised that they said ‘The Dreamer is awake’, and a sudden chill ran down my spine.

The first level of Kogoruhn’s main building looked pretty much like the inside of Andasreth, only with a bunch of eerie symbols scrawled on the walls and floor. There weren’t even a lot of enemies around – only a handful of ash creatures and corprus beasts. I managed to pick up some of the weepings from the fleshy sores on their bodies, wrapping them carefully in a piece of cloth without letting any get on my hands. Corprus resistance or not, there was no way I was actually touching that stuff.

As I went lower, however, things began to get scarier. In a large chamber on the next level I found another of those ghoul-creatures resembling Dagoth Gares. He didn’t speak, just attacked me, but afterwards I found a scrawled note pinned to a table with a dagger:

ALL CRIES ARE WAKING!
Whitest White of all White!
Blackest Blacks of all Blacks!
Shame and Son, Sun, and Shadow!

Stronger than gods, brighter than mortals!
Only He is Awake!
Only He is Alive!

It rambled on like this for about six verses before finishing:

I see you with MY EYE!
And all is SILENCE!
I Wake! I Remember!
LORD!

Clearly the authors of the Nerevarine Prophecies didn’t have a monopoly on bad poetry. But it frightened me to think what sort of broken mind could dream up this stuff.

Another level down and things were getting seriously creepy. The stone halls here were bathed in eerie red light, and decorated with more of those huge ash statues, which filled my head with maddening whispers whenever I came near them. Behind several locked doors in one section I found the dead bodies of other adventurers, some of them carrying expensive armour and weaponry. Since none of them held anything like the ‘Shadow Shield’ I was supposed to be looking for, I left them in peace.

But nothing prepared me for coming face to face with another of those tentacled creatures deep in a vault. It spotted me as soon as I walked into the room, and so I had no time to cast a Chameleon enchantment – or any others for that matter. As I froze in fear, the creature let out a rumble of deep, breathy laughter.

“Welcome to Kogoruhn, ‘Nerevar’!” it – or he – said in a mocking tone. “I am Dagoth Ulen, an Ascended Sleeper, and servant of Dagoth Ur.”

I leapt backwards as if I’d been scorched by a firebolt. The creature bent towards me a little, and I noticed several small holes in his head that presumably functioned as eyes. Another deep laugh emerged from somewhere in his bloated body.

“Look! It’s Azura’s Fool!” he taunted me. “Look at you. Not a real thing at all – just a pathetic puppet of prophecy. And you think you can trust the Daedra Lords?”

“Azura’s Fool? What are you talking about?”

Dagoth Tentacles shook his head. “Ah, she’s sucked you in with her pretty prophecies. Promised you power, did she? Promised you justice, did she?”

“Um, no and no,” I said, now genuinely confused. “What ‘pretty prophecies’? All she did when I met her was ask me to fight a bunch of Daedra.”

He laughed. “Mortals are but simple sport to the Daedra Lords. They pull the strings, and you poor fools leap and dance. Why do you serve them? Why do you fall for their honeyed lies?”

“What honeyed lies? Nobody’s told me any honeyed lies! The only thing Azura promised me was a soulgem I didn’t even want in any case!”

“Come on!” he mocked, completely ignoring what I’d just said. “You’re the prophesied Incarnate!” Azura has promised you fame and glory – ”

“No she HASN’T!”

“… so surely you can’t be afraid of me, can you? Don’t be shy. With a Daedra Lord for ally and patron, how could you lose? Oh, please don’t hurt me, star-blessed hero!”

Before he could even finish his last sentence, I stuck my blade right between his eyes. (Well, it worked for Dagoth Gares.) Unfortunately this guy put up a bit more of a fight. As I pulled the blade out of his forehead, he shrugged off the blow as if it were a minor scratch and viciously headbutted me, sending me staggering backwards. A moment later I felt a stinging cloud of poison magicka envelop me, wracking my whole body with agonising pain.

There was no time to take any kind of evasive action. My shield and armour wouldn’t defend me against magicka, so all I could do was stab at him again and again while he countered by blasting me with spells. I could feel myself growing weaker with every blow as the poison did its work. The pain was so intense that I could hardly see.

Finally another staggering blow from Ulen’s head knocked me to the ground. This is it, I thought – I’m dead. I took one last desperate swipe at his ankles, trying to cut his feet off, and to my astonishment he just vanished – literally crumbled into dust, leaving nothing behind but a skull.

I lay on the floor, gasping, almost too weak to move. I was shaking like a leaf, so much that I could hardly even hold the health potion I managed to tip out of my pack. It helped, but it didn’t cure the poison, and I was in no state to root around in my bag for a cure potion right now – if I even had one left after wasting so many on hangovers. I had to keep drinking vial after vial of restoration potions until the poison effect wore off.

That was a bizarre encounter, I thought, as I stumbled out of the room. Bizarre and painful. What the heck was all that about false promises and ‘honeyed lies’? Talos, I only wished people would seduce me with promises of fame and glory rather than “Okay sucker, go and bring me nineteen ash statues from the Foul Zombie-Infested Caverns of Filthiness, and I’ll read you some more of our terrible poetry.”

If Azura really was behind the Nerevarine prophecies – which was what Ulen seemed to be saying – why on Nirn hadn’t she told me about it when I visited her shrine? I mean, the whole ‘being the reincarnation of Nerevar’ thing did seem fairly important. You’d think she’d at least have mentioned it.

The next level down was some kind of sewer or storm drain, filled with canals. There were no Dagoths there, just a few atronachs. To be honest, this was almost a relief after what I’d just been through. If I’d been hoping things would get better from here on, though, I was to be disappointed.

Below the sewers was an underground cave filled with steaming lava pits. The heat was almost unbearable, and what was more, the place was crawling with Daedra and Sixth House creatures. I’d thought the ‘Ascended Sleepers’ were bad enough, but I got the shock of my life when I stumbled across one that looked – I swear to all the Divines – exactly like Dagoth Ur from my dreams. He was grey-skinned, wearing nothing but a loincloth over his strangely shrivelled-looking body, and had claw-like hands with long, pointed fingernails; all that was missing was the golden mask.

For a moment we just stared at each other, sizing each other up. “Are you Dagoth Ur?” I asked at last, knowing that if the answer was ‘yes’, my luck had just run out permanently.

He smiled. “No, I am Dagoth Uthol.”

“Oh good gods, there’s more than one of you?”

“I am the brother of Dagoth Ur.” He shrugged. “He said you would come to us, and he was right. Have you come to submit? Or come to die?”

I hesitated, seeing a tiny chance of possibly getting out of here alive. “If I wanted to submit, how would I do it?”

“Keep going,” he said. “These passages lead under the Ghostfence and into the crater of Red Mountain. Then enter the Mount of Dagoth Ur, and find Lord Dagoth. Make your submission, and perhaps you may join us… if you survive such a journey.”

“And what would I gain, if I ‘made my submission’?”

“Lord Dagoth says you will join us or die,” he said bluntly. “I thought you might just leave us alone, and go about your own affairs – but Lord Dagoth says it is not your way, to leave a thing well enough alone. I do my Lord’s bidding, so go to him and submit. You will be given power and place – and, perhaps, peace and forgiveness.”

“Okay, I’ll think about it,” I said. “Anything else?” He shook his head. “Right. I’ll… just be going then.”

I turned and walked away, fully expecting to get clobbered at any moment, but nothing happened. Had I really just talked a Sixth House demi-god into letting me wander freely through his lair? For an ancient immortal being of incredible power, this guy was remarkably stupid.

I finally found the Shadow Shield, the last item on Sul-Matuul’s shopping list, after defeating another ash ghoul creature. In terms of appearance it was a bit disappointing – just another piece of Dwemer junk, from what I could see – but it looked strong and did have some pretty good enchantments. As soon as I’d picked it up I cast a Recall spell, not wanting to give Dagoth Uthol a chance to change his mind.

When I landed in the Urshilaku camp I was shocked to realise that it was already dark. I’d spent the entire day in Kogoruhn. I couldn’t face hearing about the Third Trial that night, so I went to the trader Kurapli – the closest thing I had to a friend in the camp – and stayed the night in her yurt. She was gracious enough not to mention the fact that I was covered in ash and stank to high heaven.

The next morning, after washing myself as best I could, I went to Sul-Matuul and handed him the three tokens of my visit to Kogoruhn. In fairness I must say that he looked genuinely impressed. He even told me I could keep all of them, though the only one I could possibly have any use for was the Shadow Shield.

“You have passed the Warrior’s Test,” he said, “and I will give you the secret of the Third Trial. You must go to the Cavern of the Incarnate, a place sacred to Azura, and look for the moon and star.”

“But what is the moon and star?”

“The legend of Moon-and-Star is known to all loremasters,” he said. Except his own wise woman, apparently, but what the hell. “The enchanted ring called Moon-and-Star was forged for Nerevar by one of the Dwemer Sorcerer-Priest Kagrenac’s smiths, and blessed by the Daedra Lord Azura. The ring gave Nerevar supernatural powers of persuasion, and any other who tried to wear the ring would be killed instantly. No man but Nerevar may wear that ring and live.”

Ah, so it was a ring! And Azura really was mixed up in this somehow, was she? I guess I might have known.

“So you want me to find it, I take it?” I asked. “To prove that I really am the Nerevarine?”

Sul-Matuul nodded. “The secret of the Cavern of the Incarnate is set in a riddle:

The eye of the needle lies in the teeth of the wind
The mouth of the cave lies in the skin of the pearl
The dream is the door and the star is the key.”

Crap, more riddles. I hated riddles.

Sul-Matuul wouldn’t translate the riddle for me directly, of course – that would have been far too easy. Instead he told me to ‘take counsel of the wisdom of the tribes’, whatever that meant. He also gave me an enchanted belt which symbolised the blessing of the tribe.

After talking to Nibani, and various other people around the camp, I managed to piece together the riddle. It seemed to refer to a rock called ‘the Needle’ in a valley called the Valley of the Wind, east of Red Mountain. Below this rock was the entrance to the Cavern of the Incarnate, which opened only at dusk and dawn – the time when Azura’s Star appeared in the sky.

It might have been possible to walk to the valley from the Urshilaku camp, but there was no way I was going to do that. Instead I teleported back to Gnisis and spent the day happily soaking in a bath, before travelling back to Ald’ruhn by silt strider. I stored away the Shadow Shield, then bought several Rising Force potions from an alchemist and went to Vivec to use the Stop the Moon shrine (bring careful to avoid the priestess this time). Then I teleported to Sadrith Mora, the city nearest the valley, and flew north-west from there.

When I reached the Valley of the Wind, I could certainly see how it got its name. The wind whistling through it was relentless and almost unbearably loud. When I saw a small group of Ashlander tents below, I couldn’t understand how they could live in this place without going mad. I heard them yell at me as I flew overhead, and stuck my tongue out at them.

Unfortunately, by the time I finally managed to find the cavern entrance – an ancient-looking door, carved with moon and star symbols – it was past dusk. All I got was a voice saying that the door would not open and “the star is the key”.

Sighing, I settled down to wait out the night, and at dawn the next day I finally managed to enter the cavern. It was large and roughly circular, lit by the glow of luminous mushrooms, and filled with enormous stalagmites and stalactites. In the centre was a huge stone bust of Azura, her head slightly bent, as if she were looking down at something in her cupped hands. I shivered as I noticed several mummified bodies seated on the floor around her – was this what had become of other adventurers who’d stumbled upon the cavern?

As I walked closer, I saw a glint of metal in her outstretched hands. When I stood in front of the statue I could see what it was: a tiny ring, exquisitely carved and glowing faintly, with a small symbol of a silver moon and yellow star. So, at least one aspect of the prophecies was true: there really was a Moon-and-Star ring.

Suddenly I was scared. Really scared. If there was nothing in the prophecy, or if I really was Nerevar reborn – and I still couldn’t quite believe that – I’d nothing to fear either way. But if the legend was true, and I wasn’t the Incarnate, then I’d be killed – instantly. And, well… everything I’d been told so far had turned out to be true…

Well, here goes nothing, I thought. Taking a deep breath, I removed my gauntlet, scooped up the ring and slipped it onto my finger.

There was a blinding flash of light. For a moment I thought I must be dead – and then, I heard a voice.

“Nerevar Reborn, Incarnate!”

I cringed backwards, shielding my eyes. Azura’s voice, clear and powerful, echoed round the cavern. “Your first three trials are finished; now, two new trials lie before you. Seek the Ashlander Ashkhans, and the Great House Councils. Four tribes must name you Nerevarine; three Houses must name you Hortator.”

As she spoke, visions swirled before my eyes: towns, cities, Ashlander camps, and a brief glimpse of a golden-skinned figure inside a temple. I stood, transfixed.

“My servant Nibani Maesa shall be your guide. And when you are Hortator and Nerevarine, when you’ve stood before the False God and freed the heart from its prison, heal my people and restore Morrowind. Do this for me, and with my blessing.”

The vision faded, and the echoes died away. I clasped my hands together, staring at the Moon-and-Star ring on my finger, and slowly sank to the ground.

“Well,” I said shakily. “I guess I really am the Nerevarine.”

I find myself concentrating on any interchanges between Ada and Varvur to gather any clues to when certain things begin to transpire, lol.

Followed by a "Mother F---."

I liked the run-in with the Ash Vampire, and the quick use of wordplay by our talkative Imperial Heroine to get out of that one. I admit I was always of the "whack-a-mole" mindset, but hey, to each his/her own.

Although like you, I wonder if Sul-Matuul and Nibani have some form of "The First Rule of the Nerevarine Cult is, you do not talk about the Nerevarine Cult" thing going on.

When I saw a small group of Ashlander tents below, I couldn’t understand how they could live in this place without going mad. I heard them yell at me as I flew overhead, and stuck my tongue out at them.


Now....that's the Ada we all know and love!!!



I've read this once and I'll read it again
all to the glory of Helena the Dame!

Some screenshots from the last few chapters:

Leading the way to Andasreth
All dressed up for dinner with the Sarethis
I feel so small...

And onto the next chapter...

Chapter 26: The Ancestor's Tale

I don’t know how long I just sat there, my mind a whirl, staring vacantly at the ring on my finger. I was the Nerevarine. It was true. It was all true, and yet it sounded as insane as ever.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whispered to the statue of Azura, but there was no answer. She was gone.

Had she really said that I would have to go right into Red Mountain? And personally confront Dagoth Ur, face to face, man to… er, woman? How in the name of all the Divines was I supposed to do that? He was a god, for crying out loud!

“Calm down, Ada,” I mumbled to myself. “Okay, so you’re the Nerevarine. That means you have to fulfil the prophecies. No matter how crazy and impossible it may seem, you can’t fail, so there has to be some way to – AAAAAAH!”

I nearly jumped out of my skin as I realised, for the first time, that the room was filled with semi-transparent figures. There were six of them, all Dunmer, each standing beside one of the mummified bodies by Azura’s statue. None of them spoke or moved; they just stood there, staring at me.

I got slowly to my feet and turned to the nearest of the hazy figures, a young red-haired girl in ragged clothing. She and the others were ghosts – or so I guessed – yet they didn’t look like the usual sort of ghosts I’d seen in tombs or the occasional cavern. They looked just like normal people, only… see-through.

“Welcome, Incarnate, Moon-and-Star Reborn, Hortator, Nerevarine, Mourner of the Tribe Unmourned, Redeemer of the False Gods,” she said, as I stood there gaping at her like some kind of halfwit. “I am Peakstar. I was not the one, but I wait and hope. Ask, and I shall answer, if wisdom guides me.”

Peakstar? That name sounded familiar somehow. “Who are you?” I croaked. “What are you doing here?”

“I am Peakstar,” she repeated. “I was called to the prophecies, but I was not the one.”

“‘Not the one’?”

She shook her head. “I survived the blight, but I fell in battle with an Ash Vampire. I could not master the arts of war; nor could I learn the ways of the Great Houses. They would not have accepted me as Hortator.”

Suddenly I remembered where I’d heard the name ‘Peakstar’ before: she was the Ashlander girl who’d claimed to be the Nerevarine, and had mysteriously disappeared several decades earlier. And as I thought about this, and what it had to mean, a truly dreadful realisation began to creep over me. “You mean… these are all failed Nerevarines?”

Peakstar nodded. “I am a failed Incarnate. So are all these who remain here with me in the Cavern of the Incarnate.”

Talos help me, it all made sense now. Of course I couldn’t be the first reincarnation of Nerevar – he’d died in the First Era, and I was only born twenty-three years ago. Even with the Dunmers’ long lives, there had to have been plenty of other ‘Incarnates’ since then. I wasn’t anything special at all, just the latest in a long line.

“So this means I could fail as well?” I asked, feeling a cold sense of dread seep through me.

Peakstar shook her head gravely. “You are the Nerevarine. You are the Incarnate. You are the one. You must not fail.”

“But how can I possibly – ”

“You bear the Moon-and-Star, the ring of Nerevar,” she interrupted. “None may deny: you are Nerevar Reborn, the prophesied Incarnate. The Temple will know you as an enemy, Ordinators will mark you for death, and the Tribunal Faithful of the Great Houses will hate and fear you. The doubters of the Tribes will test your strength and doubt your honour. You must prepare, and be ready.”

Oh, wonderful. This was sounding better and better all the time. Maybe it was time to give that ‘stowing away to Cyrodiil inside a cargo crate’ idea another chance.

I took a deep breath. “What about Dagoth Ur? What do you mean by ‘the Tribe Unmourned’?”

“Pity Dagoth Ur and the Sixth House,” she said solemnly. “All they do, all they are is foul and evil, but they began in brightness and honour, and the cause of their fall was their loyal service to you, Lord Nerevar.”

“But – ”

“You told Lord Dagoth to guard the profane tools beneath Red Mountain, and thus he was tempted. He did your bidding when he tried to keep these tools from the Tribunal, and so he hates you, who betrayed him, and the Tribunal, who mocked his honour, attacked him, and stole the profane tools for their own use.”

I didn’t see any point in trying to argue. “OK, fine,” I said wearily. “Yes, it was all my fault. Whatever. Is there anything at all you can do to help me?”

“Here, take these few poor things,” she said, and a pile of clothes appeared in her arms, seemingly from nowhere. “They are of no use to me.”

Gingerly I took the clothes from Peakstar’s arms. There was an embroidered belt, and a pair of disgustingly dirty and stained pants which nevertheless had a useful-looking Levitation enchantment. Perhaps, if I washed them about twelve times first, I could actually find a use for them. Though hopefully not too often – I could just imagine myself struggling into the damn things every time I wanted to visit a Telvanni tower.

I went round to each of the ancestor ghosts in turn, and one by one they recited their tales of woe while piling my arms high with goodies: a mace, an axe, a couple of books, an enchanted robe and cuirass. By the time I reached the last one, my arms were so full that I could barely walk.

“I’ll just leave some of this stuff here for the moment, guys,” I said, staggering into a corner and dumping everything except the robe, belt, pants and books. “I can come and pick it up later, OK?” None of them seemed to care.

Rather than return to the Urshilaku camp immediately, I decided to go back to Ald’ruhn via Sadrith Mora. This was all getting a bit overwhelming, and I needed some time to think before I decided what to do next. The ghosts watched impassively as I struggled to cast Divine Intervention, probably thinking “Oh gods, the latest one can’t even cast a bloody Intervention spell. Looks like we’re going to be here for another few decades.”

I still couldn’t get over the fact that I was the reincarnation of Nerevar. What did it even mean, exactly? Did it mean that I didn’t have a soul of my own, just an ancient Indoril warlord’s soul inside me somewhere? I didn’t like that idea at all. Or, worse, did it mean that at some point I’d suddenly turn into Nerevar?

I glanced down hastily, and was relieved to see that my body at least had kept its usual shape. It might not be perfect, but I was kind of attached to it.

In any case, before I started getting all philosophical, I had more practical concerns to worry about. Firstly and most importantly: I was starting to run out of cash. The money Caius had left me had been very useful, but I’d already spent most of it by this point. I hadn’t received any payment for my services to House Redoran and the Legions, and I’d actually lost money on my last Fighters’ Guild job.

I’d have to take more missions for the Guild, I thought. But if I was going to do that, I really needed to have a talk with Percius Mercius first.

From Wolverine Hall I took the Guild Guide to Ald’ruhn, where an ash storm was raging – was it just me, or were they getting more and more frequent lately? – and went to see Percius in the Fighters’ Guild. He greeted me with a smile. “Good to see you again… Defender, is it? I heard from Lorbumol in Vivec.”

“That’s right.”

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” he said, and then winked. “But I hear you’ve been busy with… other things.”

My heart almost stopped. “Other… things?”

His smile grew wider. “Folks say you and young Varvur Sarethi have been seeing quite a lot of each other lately.”

“Varvur?” I nearly burst out laughing, caught between relief and astonishment. “Me and Varvur Sarethi? Are you kidding?”

“It’s not true, then?”

“Of course not.” I shook my head in disbelief. “I mean, we’ve been on a few missions together, but… you can’t be serious. Don’t you think he’s a bit out of my league?”

He laughed. “You can’t have been in Ald’ruhn very long. From what I hear of Varvur, you wouldn’t be the first young outlander woman he’s been involved with.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said sourly. “So people are saying I’m his latest ‘bit of rough’, are they?” Could you even use that phrase to describe a woman? Well, at least it was better than having people think I was shacked up with bloody Caius Cosades.

“I don’t think that’s what they meant,” he said. “But anyway, what are you here for? Need more work?”

I drew a deep breath. “Before you give me any more work, I think you need to explain to me what’s going on in the Guild. I’m starting to get worried.”

Percius screwed up his face. He mulled it over for a moment, scratching his head. “Tell you what,” he said at last. “Go do some work for Hrundi in Sadrith Mora – he’s a good man, and you can trust him. When you’re a Guardian, come back and talk to me again, and I’ll tell you what I know. I’ve been impressed with your work so far.”

As I left the Guild, I found myself thinking over what Percius had said about Varvur Sarethi. I wasn’t deaf or blind, and I certainly had suspected that Varvur might have a teensy tiny little crush on me – but it had never occurred to me to imagine it could actually lead to anything. He was quite good-looking, now that I thought about it, though maybe a little young for m- hang on, what was I thinking? Even if he’d been the embodiment of my ideal man, there was no way I could start a love affair with the son of my Redoran sponsor.

It was probably for the best, I thought. Even in the unlikely event that the Sarethis approved of me dating their son, they’d probably want me to marry him and start popping out babies. I wasn’t ready to settle down yet – I was a career girl. I had absolutely no desire to swan around all day in a palatial mansion, dressed only in the finest silks and satins, eating three- or four-course dinners every night, with a houseful of servants on hand to attend to my every whi- well, maybe it wouldn’t be quite so bad to be a nobleman’s wife…

I tried to put the whole thing out of my mind, but annoyingly, I couldn’t stop thinking about it now that Percius had put the idea in my head. I remembered the pretty Bosmer girl I’d seen in Sarethi Manor, and wondered if she was Varvur’s girlfriend. Certainly the way they’d acted around each other suggested that there was something between them.

A good monster-killing expedition was just what I needed to distract me from my hopeless love life, and Hrundi, the burly Nord in charge of the Sadrith Mora Fighters’ Guild, had one ready and waiting. Apparently a woman named Larienna Macrina needed some help clearing necromancers out of a Dwemer ruin. When he showed me where it was on my map, I calculated that I’d just have time to fly out there before yesterday’s Levitation spell wore off.

I left the hall and flew south until I reached the Dwemer ruin of Nchurdamz, not too far from the Shrine of Azura. A tough-looking Imperial woman, dressed in a Legion uniform, had set up camp just outside the entrance. She waved at me as I flew down to meet her. “Ho there, good friend!”

“Hello,” I said. “Are you Larienna Macrina?”

She nodded. “You’re one of Hrundi’s band, aren’t you? I can spot you a mile off. I’ve been waiting for some time now for assistance, but I suppose you will have to do.”

‘You will have to do’? She had some bloody nerve, speaking to me like that. “Are you in the Legion, by any chance?” I asked sharply.

“No. I was once, but I left some time ago.” Ah.

“I’m on a quest to root out a great beast dwelling within these ruins,” she went on. “You and I will explore together.”

What? Hrundi had told me we were going after necromancers. “Hold on, a ‘great beast’? I thought – ”

“I have scoured the world over hunting a Daedroth named Hrelvesuu with whom I have had… issues… in the past. When last we battled, I struck her a blow so grievous that she fled via spell to her dark sanctuary. This is that place.” Larienna gritted her teeth. “She is weak, and likely recuperating from the damage I caused her. This place is well defended and I need someone to watch my back. You can have whatever ‘treasure’ you can find in there – I seek only vengeance. What say you?”

My heart sank as I saw the crazed gleam in her eye. I didn’t like getting involved in personal vendettas, for all sorts of reasons, but now that I was here I couldn’t exactly turn back. “All right,” I said, stifling a sigh.

“Then let’s go. Remember, let me know if you require aid – you watch my back and I’ll watch yours. Take point and root out the threats.”

“What sort of threats do you think we’ll face?”

“Dwemer centurions, mainly. Have you ever fought one before?” I shook my head. “Well, you’ll soon get used to it, haha. Oh… and Hrelvesuu, of course. Remember, the treasure is yours – but she is mine.”

The large room inside the entrance to Nchurdamz looked like it had once been some kind of dining hall. The first thing I saw was a sort of huge mechanical spider, scuttling across the floor on six spindly legs. It’s a good thing I’d seen Dwemer constructs before, otherwise I’d have been utterly terrified at being attacked by a giant metal spider. I froze, unsure how to tackle one of those things with a sword, until Larienna stepped forward and fried it with a powerful blast of shock magicka.

Almost immediately, a large metal ball in the corner of the room unfolded itself into a Centurion and came rolling towards us. “Attack the joints,” Larienna called from behind me. “Those are the weakest parts.”

As the Centurion lunged at me with a club-like arm, I dodged around it and chopped at the exposed shoulder joint with my sword. A couple of hefty blows cleaved its arm from its shoulder in a shower of sparks. Wasting no time, I slashed at its neck from behind, severing the head from its body and causing it to collapse in what looked strangely like death throes. I’d have been creeped out if I’d had time to think about it.

Larienna and I advanced through the Dwemer ruin, fighting off more of the strange mechanical guardians as we went. It felt strange to be taking orders again, but Larienna was a competent fighter despite her unhealthy obsession with Hrelv… er, the Daedroth. “I can smell the stench of the Daedroth,” she hissed, as we moved deeper into the complex. “It is here, and I will find it!”

Down a flight of steps, we came across a room with the obligatory open lava pool in the middle. (It made me wonder what on Nirn they used those things for, and how many Dwemer kids had lost their lives accidentally falling into them.) The entrance was guarded by an extra-large Centurion, which puffed steam as it walked and took a heavy beating from both of us before it went down. But the only thing we found in the room was a rusty key inside an old chest.

Down a passage off to the right, and up another stairway, was a round metal door which was locked and magically trapped. When I pressed my ear against the door, I could hear strange snuffling sounds from the room beyond it. Larienna clapped a hand on my shoulder, making me jump.

“The beast is near now – very near,” she whispered. “Be on your guard.”

I still couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a bad idea, but I shrugged it off as best I could, and took the key we’d found earlier from my pouch. Very carefully, I slid it into the lock and turned it as quietly as possible. It worked; the door slid open – and that was when Larienna completely lost her head.

The Daedroth Hrelvesuu was standing in a corner of the room, facing away from us. With a little care we might have taken her down without her even realising we were there – but that was far too subtle for Larienna, apparently. “Hrelvesuu, I have come for you!” she roared, shoving me aside just as I was starting to creep through the door. “Show yourself!”

Before I had the chance to ask her what the hell she thought she was doing, I heard her yell out the words to a spell. A massive bolt of shock magicka crackled through the air, hitting everything within a ten-foot radius – me included. The force of the blast literally knocked me to the ground.

Moaning with pain, I rolled away to the side – as far away from Larienna as possible – and lay there, curled up into a tight ball, as she and Hrelvesuu lobbed spells at each other. My hands, arms and legs felt numb, and I could barely even hear the sounds of battle over the ringing in my ears.

At long last the booms and crashes died down a bit, and I realised that someone had probably won the fight. I cautiously opened my eyes to see Larienna standing over me. “Oops,” she said. “Sorry.”

“You idiot!” I growled, struggling into a sitting position. “You could have killed me!”

“I’m very sorry. I got a little… carried away.” Sheesh, that was the understatement of the decade. “Would you like me to heal you?”

“No!” I didn’t want her casting any more spells anywhere near me, thank you very much. “I’ll do it myself.” I tried to cast a healing spell, but I could still hardly move my fingers. “Sod it, I’ll take a potion.”

The one good thing to come out of that mission to Nchurdamz was the treasure I found there in Hrelvesuu’s lair. The crates and barrels lining the walls contained several valuable gems, which would fetch quite a lot from an alchemist. Once we’d cleaned out the room, Larienna and I parted company – apparently she ‘felt uneasy’ about something or other and wanted to investigate the ruins further. I was quite happy to let her.

I teleported back to Sadrith Mora and handed in Larienna’s report to Hrundi, who paid me 500 septims and promoted me to Warder – just one rank below Guardian. He had some more missions for me in the towns of Vos and Tel Mora, up on the north-eastern coast, but I didn’t fancy making the six-day round trip again right now. After selling my gems to a Mages’ Guild alchemist I had nearly 1,000 septims in all, easily enough to tide me over for the next few weeks.

Following a hot bath and a good night’s sleep in Wolverine Hall, I woke up feeling a lot calmer and less overwhelmed. I was just about ready to face Sul-Matuul and Nibani Maesa again and tell them the… well, I hoped they would see it as good news. It would be a bit embarrassing if I walked in there proudly showing off my Moon-and-Star ring, only for them to go, “Crap, you don’t mean you’re SERIOUS?”

I Recalled to the Urshilaku camp, and was glad to find that the weather there was clear for once, though it was cold and overcast. As I walked through the camp, I spotted a familiar face – the guy who’d made me grub up trama root for him on my first visit to the camp. He smiled at me, but once again I could see a hint of mockery in his eyes.

“I hear rumours, favoured guest,” he said in a low voice, falling into step beside me. “I hear the Outlander earns honour and hospitality of the tribe. I hear the Outlander makes claim to be named ‘Nerevarine’.”

“And?”

He shook his head. “The people respect their ashkhan and wise woman. But these are strange tidings, and hard to believe.”

It’s not often you get such a perfect opportunity for revenge. I could hardly keep myself from grinning as I removed my left gauntlet and casually stretched out my hand, showing off the Moon-and-Star on my finger. “This mean anything to you?”

For a moment he just stared at it blankly, and then, slowly, the colour began to drain from his face. “The Moon-and-Star,” he said hoarsely. “Then… then the stories are true. But how can you…” I could see him trying to grapple with the ludicrous notion that an outlander, an Imperial outlander, could actually be the Nerevarine.

“You know what, Shabinbael?” I said, suddenly remembering his name. “I don’t know why, but I have this strange craving for trama root all of a sudden. Perhaps you could go and dig some up for me?”

His face was an absolute picture. “I – Of course, Clanfriend.”

Bwahaha. It was mean, I know, but I just couldn’t resist. Ah, sweet sweet revenge.

By contrast, Nibani Maesa’s reaction was surprisingly calm. All she did was examine the ring, and ask me to describe what I’d seen and heard in the Cavern of the Incarnate. “It is as I have seen in my dream,” she said, when I’d explained everything. “It is a true dream, sent from Azura to guide me.”

“So what do I do now?”

“You must go to Ashkhan Sul-Matuul to be named Urshilaku Nerevarine. I am confident that he will approve you, but I am sure he has things he wishes to say beforehand.”

Nibani turned to be right about that. Sul-Matuul might have been skeptical up to now, but all that vanished instantly the moment I showed him the ring. “You wear the Moon-and-Star of Nerevar. This is a true sign. This is a miracle, a blessing of Azura, and no man may deny it.”

“So you’d be willing to declare me the Nerevarine?”

He nodded. “You have passed the Third Trial, but the Fourth and Fifth Trials lie before you. I have spoken with Nibani Maesa, and I know these Trials. You wish to be called Urshilaku Nerevarine – but first, would you hear the counsel of Sul-Matuul?”

I needed all the help I could get, frankly. “Okay.”

“Good. First, I would give you warning. When you are called ‘Nerevarine’, the word must spread, and many must hear. Your enemies will hear, and come seeking your blood. And such friends as you may have among the Great Houses, those who heed the words of the Temple, they may forget their love for you. If you have business with the People of the Houses and Temple, you may wish to conduct that business first, before you are named Nerevarine.”

I winced, remembering that Peakstar had said the same thing. “What sort of business do you mean?”

“The Fourth Trial is to join the three Great Houses of Vvardenfell under one Hortator. You must be named Hortator in turn by Houses Redoran, Hlaalu, and Telvanni.”

‘Hortator’? I’d heard that word before. “Forgive my ignorance, Ashkhan… but what exactly is a Hortator?”

“A Hortator is a war leader. When a greater enemy threatens, the Great Houses put aside their quarrels and choose a Hortator, a single war leader to lead all the Houses. Only a Great House council can name a Hortator, and all councils must agree.”

My mouth fell open. “You want me to ask the Great House councils to make me their war leader?”

Sul-Matuul nodded. “Prove to them that Dagoth Ur threatens. When you are named Redoran Hortator, Hlaalu Hortator, and Telvanni Hortator, only then will you be the Hortator named in prophecy.”

“Anything else?” I gasped, fighting back a wave of hysteria. What would I be asked to do next: travel to the moons and back? Take on a Daedric Prince in single combat? Persuade an Imperial tax official to grant me a rebate?

“The Fifth Trial is to join the four tribes of the Ashlanders under the Nerevarine. They must put aside pride and tribal squabbles and together face the blighted hosts of Dagoth Ur. The Urshilaku shall name you Nerevarine, but the others may be more cautious.” He let this sink in. “Do you wish me to call you Nerevarine?”

I was about to say “no”, remembering what he’d said about finishing my business with the Houses first, when I remembered that I’d just told Shabinbael my secret out of pure spite. No doubt it’d be all over the camp by now – and while the Urshilaku probably didn’t get out much, it couldn’t be too long before the story reached the cities as well. Talos, what a f*cking idiot I was.

Well, might as well get it over with. “Yes, Ashkhan,” I said quietly. “I would like you to name me Nerevarine.”

“So be it,” he said, a solemn expression on his face. “Before my hearth and kin, and before the People of the Wastes, I name you Urshilaku Nerevarine, War Leader of the Urshilaku, and Protector of the People. In token of this I give you the Teeth, which shall be a sign to all Dunmer that you are the Nerevarine, and that the Urshilaku shall follow you in all things, even unto death, until the Enemy is defeated, or you are dead, or you give this back into my hand.”

He laid an enchanted necklace of made of teeth around my shoulders. “You shall be Nerevarine of all the tribes, and Hortator of all the Great Houses,” he continued. “You shall eat the sin of the unmourned house, and free the false gods. You must defeat the Sixth House, and Dagoth Ur. You must free the Tribunal from their curse. This shall be your duty as Urshilaku Nerevarine.”

Five minutes later I wandered out of the tent, feeling like I’d been hit over the head with the flat of Sul-Matuul’s battle axe. What was I going to do now? How was I even supposed to start the task of persuading every House and Ashlander tribe in Morrowind to declare me their war leader? And even supposing I somehow managed that, what was I going to do when they expected me to actually go and confront Dagoth Ur?

I tried to picture myself as a messiah figure, uniting the tribes of Morrowind under a single banner, boldly defying the might of the Dunmer authorities in defence of my beliefs. It wasn’t easy, I must say.

Shabinbael approached me as I walked to the edge of the camp, handfuls of grubby roots in each hand. “Here is the trama root you asked for, Nerevarine.”

“Um?” I said. “Oh, er, yes. Thanks.” I took the roots from him and wandered off to cast an Almsivi Intervention spell, still in a daze.

As I rode the silt strider from Gnisis to Ald’ruhn that night, I decided that there was only one thing to do: go to Athyn Sarethi and confess everything. Well, nearly everything. It was a risky move – for all I knew, he might go straight to the Temple to report me as a False Incarnate – but he did owe me a favour, and he was the closest thing I had to a mentor now that Caius was gone. And if anyone could help me get started on the near-impossible task of becoming Redoran Hortator, it was him.

The first thing I did when I got back to Ald’ruhn was teleport to Vivec and go to my bank, where I collected Azura’s Star from my deposit box. My reasoning was that if I showed it to Athyn, to prove that I was on friendly terms with Azura, he might be more willing to believe my Nerevarine tale. As I walked through Vivec, once again I had that uncomfortable feeling of being watched. Maybe I really was going mad, I thought – after all, if anyone ever had an excuse…

I deposited some of the money I’d earned and then returned to Ald’ruhn, where I walked up to Skar to visit Athyn. My heart was thumping violently, and by the time I reached the door of Sarethi Manor, I was starting to seriously doubt whether this was a good idea.

How did I know I was the Nerevarine? Because Azura had told me. But how could I be sure she was telling the truth? I wouldn’t normally pay much attention to the ravings of a giant tentacle monster, but I couldn’t help remembering what Dagoth Ulen had said about the Daedra Lords, and their habit of screwing around with mortals for their own amusement.

I took a deep breath and knocked on the door. A servant let me in and escorted me to Athyn, who was in his study. “Ah, you’ve returned!” he said, rising to greet me with a smile. “But you look very pale, Ada. Are you unwell?”

“No, I’m fine, I just… Athyn, what can you tell me about Azura?”

“The Lady of Twilight?” He frowned. “The Temple calls her one of the Good Daedra, and indeed, it is said she is the only one who shows compassion to her mortal followers. But I fear that like the other Princes, she is not to be trusted. Why are you asking me this?”

I hesitated, wondering where to begin. “You have cause to fear her?” Athyn said gently, his eyes fixed on my face. “You think you have displeased her somehow, perhaps?”

“No, not at all,” I said. “Quite the opposite, actually. Look, maybe I’d better start at the beginning.”

I told him all about my visit to Azura’s shrine, the task she’d asked me – okay, commanded me – to perform for her, and how she’d rewarded me with her Star. Although he didn’t say anything, I’m not sure he actually believed me until I took the Star out of my pack and showed it to him. He looked at it for a long time, turning it over in his hands and stroking the surface.

“I see,” he said at last. “Well, my friend, it would seem you have the Lady’s favour. I suggest you take care not to lose it.”

“But the thing is, there’s more. Lots more.” I could feel my heart fluttering wildly. “I – ”

Suddenly I began to feel very strange. My first thought was that I must be sickening for something, the second that the floor suddenly seemed a lot closer than usual. I think I must actually have blacked out for a few seconds, because the next thing I knew I was sitting in a chair with a worried-looking Athyn staring down at me.

“Ada, you are not well. You are exhausted. What have you been doing these past few days?” He laid a hand on my shoulder. “Go home, and go to bed. Whatever you have to tell me can wait until tomorrow.”

“No, no, it can’t. It’s important.” I tried to get up out of the chair, but my limbs seemed to have turned to jelly all of a sudden. Ye gods, I really was exhausted.

I reached for my pack, which had fallen to the ground, and groped around for a stamina potion. Athyn watched in concern as I lifted it to my lips with both hands and gulped down the contents. “What, then, is so important?”

I had no idea if Athyn had even heard of the Nerevarine prophecies, but there was only one way to find out. Wordlessly I held up my hand to him, my fourth finger slightly raised, letting the Moon-and-Star sparkle in the light.

Athyn’s brows shot up, and I heard him draw in breath sharply. He took my hand and lifted it up so that he could examine the ring more closely. I could only hope he’d realise it was an ancient relic, not just a fake knocked up by some dodgy enchanter.

“The moon and star,” he murmured. “The mark of Nerevar.”

“That’s right.” I closed my eyes and clasped my hands together on the desk, preparing for the worst. “Athyn… I think I may be the Nerevarine.”

I'm only a few chapters in (woefully behind), but I'm loving the story Helena.

Ah the Travel Stained Pants. One wonders just what types of stains are found in them. As well as understanding the practical applications for a God's Fire spell...

The fight with Hrelvesuu was just as agonizing as I remember it. One of the moments in Morrowind deserving of a Picard-Double-Facepalm.



And lastly, dropping the hammer on Athyn Sarethi. Even when I played a Telvanni, it was always awkward telling him "Yeah, I'm totally here to destroy your Temple. But it's okay, since I'm also the only guy that can save your collective posteriors."

I'm torn as to which is my fave between these two screenies - I guess "Leading the way to Andasreth" wins because I have never seen it before. Ada ROCKS!!



Leading the way to Andasreth

I feel so small...

Bwahaha. It was mean, I know, but I just couldn’t resist. Ah, sweet sweet revenge.

Bet you're that way in Real life, too, Helena!!!

Oh, but isn't that always how it works? It feels so good at first but always seems to come back to bite -sigh-

Great chapter, as usual

Chapter 27: The Go-Between

There was a long silence. I opened my eyes to see Athyn staring down at me, his expression impossible to read.

“Very well,” he said at last. “Tell me your story.”

So I told him, right from the beginning. About the strange visions of Dagoth Ur, the bizarre side effects of corprus disease, the Dissident Priests, the Third Trial, and the Cavern of the Incarnate. I told him about my visits to the Ashlanders, and showed him the prophecies of the Stranger and the Seven Visions and the Lost Prophecies, as well as the tokens the Urshilaku had given me. And I told him what Sul-Matuul had told me, about needing to become Hortator and Nerevarine of every House and tribe on Vvardenfell.

And Athyn just listened, quietly, as always. I kept expecting him to start yelling for the guards, but he barely spoke except to ask me to go on.

“I know it all sounds completely insane and unbelievable,” I finished, close to tears. “I spent weeks and weeks telling myself that none of this could possibly be true, but I can’t help it – it is true. And I had to tell you, because… well, if you don’t believe me, who will?”

There was an agonisingly long pause. I cringed, waiting for the inevitable outburst. And then Athyn said, “I believe you.”

“You... you do?” I could hardly breathe.

He nodded. “I believe, at least, that you have told me the truth. And that you are sincere in believing yourself to be the Nerevarine. But, Ada…” He sighed. “I must tell you that others will not be so easily convinced. You must know that the Temple regards all such claims as blasphemy.”

“I know,” I whispered.

“And as for the tasks you face, uniting the Houses… I cannot see how to achieve this. There may, perhaps, be a way for you to become Redoran Hortator… but the Hlaalu and Telvanni? They surely would never appoint a Redoran to that position.”

Another seemingly endless silence followed. “What shall I do?” I asked, in a small voice.

“Firstly, I think you should tell no one else about this. Concentrate on your duties to Redoran, and to the Legion and guilds, if you wish. The higher you rise in the House, and the greater your reputation, the easier it will be to convince the other Councillors.” I nodded. “The story must spread, of course, but it will certainly be best if you can first gain the support of the House.”

“What do I need to do to rise in the House?”

“To become a House Father, you must earn the support of at least two of the Councilmen. And you must also build a stronghold.”

I blinked. “A stronghold?”

“A stronghold.”

I stared at him in bewilderment, wondering whether we understood the same thing by the word ‘stronghold’. “You mean… an actual stronghold? With… walls, and guards, and… stuff?”

“Yes, my friend, that sort of stronghold.”

Maybe it was Athyn who’d gone mad, not me. What did he expect me to do, dig one out with my bare hands? “I’m not wealthy, Athyn,” I said. “You do know that, don’t you? Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to have my own stronghold, but…”

He nodded sympathetically. “I understand, muthsera, but it is necessary for your advancement in the House. I’m not sure how much it will cost, but you should speak with Galsa Gindu in the Council hall; she can contract to build strongholds. As for the Councillors, I would start by speaking with Mistress Brara Morvayn and Hlaren Ramoran.”

“Where can I find them?”

“Mistress Morvayn moved into temporary quarters in the Redoran Council Hall after blighted creatures attacked her manor and killed her husband. And Hlaren Ramoran’s manor is between my home and the entrance to Skar.” He smiled. “He has a temper, especially with foreigners, but he trusts my judgement. I believe I can convince him to support us.”

For the first time since being declared Nerevarine, I felt my heart lift a little. Us. We were a team, Athyn and I.

“Okay, I’ll do that,” I said. “And Athyn… thank you. Thank you so much for believing me, and for helping me. I just don’t have words to…” Oh gods, I was crying again.

“You rescued my son. I have not forgotten.” He laid a hand on my shoulder. “Now go home and rest. You have a difficult task ahead of you, Ada.”

I took his advice and returned to the Fighters’ Guild, too tired to do anything except fall into bed and sleep for the rest of the day. It hadn’t really occurred to me before now, but I really had been pushing myself incredibly hard over the last few days… weeks… well, months, to be quite honest. Perhaps I ought to let up for a while, but I didn’t see how I could with everything I had on my plate.

It was midday the next day when I finally woke up – nearly twenty-four hours later. If any ash zombies had come to attack me they’d had found me an easy target, but for some reason, they hadn’t. I remembered Caius talking about them being controlled by Sixth House cults, and then recalled the shrine I’d found in that Ashlander woman’s house while investigating Varvur’s ash statue. Perhaps I’d destroyed the local Sixth House base, and that was why the creatures had stopped attacking me here?

I felt dim and groggy after such a long sleep, but I couldn’t sit around – I had business to be getting on with. A bath and a meal left me feeling a little more awake, and I spent some time wondering what to do first: talk to the Councillors, or go to Galsa Gindu to discuss strongholds. Eventually I settled on the former, because I still couldn’t for the life of me see how I could afford to have a stronghold built (let alone pay for all the guards and servants a place like that would need). Short of robbing the Vivec treasuries, or having a long-lost wealthy relative die and leave me a fortune, I couldn’t see any solution.

I decided to visit Brara Morvayn first – after all, we women had to stick together. She was living in what you’d call ‘reduced circumstances’, namely a small and cramped apartment in the Redoran council hall. When I met her I was surprised by how young she looked, despite the deep grief etched into her face.

“My husband Remas was a Councillor of House Redoran,” she told me. “He died defending our manor from blighted monsters, and I now hold his seat on the Council. Did Athyn Sarethi send you here to get my support?”

I nodded. “Well, I will support you, even though you are an outlander, if you help clear the beasts from Morvayn Manor.”

“What happened to the manor?”

“My husband died defending it from misshapen beasts that came through the Ghostfence. He believed that the beasts were attracted by a statue we received a few weeks before the attacks began.”

That sounded horribly familiar. “How long ago did this happen?”

“Almost a year ago.”

“A year?” I said in shock. “And no one’s cleared the beasts out of the manor yet?”

“Everyone is terrified of being infected with corprus disease,” she explained. “But Athyn tells me you have recovered from the disease, and become immune to it. I’m not sure I believe this, but if you will enter my house and remove the ash statue, I will give you my support on the Council.”

She gave me a key to Morvayn Manor, and told me I should bring the ash statue to the priest Lloros Sarano so that he could destroy it. After that I set out for Morvayn manor, which was on the eastern side of town, near the Temple. I wondered why the Morvayns were the only Redoran family not to have a manor under Skar.

The inside of the house was dark and creepy. In the main entrance hall, a table was set for dinner, left exactly as it had been when the house was abandoned. It saddened me to think how beautiful the place must have been before it was invaded by corprus beasts.

I searched through the lower rooms of the house, noting the overturned furniture and household items scattered over the floor. The corprus stalkers didn’t pose much of a threat now that I was immune to the disease – they were strong, but slow and clumsy. Far more scary were the red candles they had placed everywhere and the Sixth House symbols scrawled all over the walls and floor. I even found the body of Remas Morvayn, gruesome but surprisingly well-preserved – he must have been infected with corprus before he died.

Finally I found the ash statue on top of a crate. I took it to Lloros Sarano at the Temple, who promised to destroy it, and went back to Brara Morvayn to tell her the good news. She promised me her support, and despite my protests, insisted on giving me an amulet as a reward. I was going to be able to open my own jewellery store at this rate.

Next up was Hlaren Ramoran. On entering his manor I noticed that it was rather larger and more luxurious than the Sarethis’, though not quite as grand as Bolvyn Venim’s. When I reached Ramoran’s private quarters, I found that he was busy and couldn’t see me immediately. Instead I had to deal with a female bodyguard, Nalvyna Sarinith, who seemed very protective of her Lord and glared at me suspiciously the whole time.

Only when I asked her what it was like working for Ramoran did she finally relax a little. “He is a kind and noble man,” she told me. “I swore an oath to serve him, but sometimes it is difficult... It is a great honour, one I struggle to live with every day.”

I was about to ask her what she meant by that, when Hlaren’s previous visitor came out of his study. Leaving my weapons with the suspicious Nalvyna, I went in to see the Councillor.

Hlaren Ramoran was the oldest of the Councillors I’d met so far. Although I couldn’t see any signs of the bad temper Athyn had mentioned, he did seem a little distracted by something or other. “So you want my support on the Council?” he said at last, when I explained what I was here for. “Very well, I shall grant support to an outlander, if she can prove herself. First, I need someone to collect the taxes from Gnisis.”

Collect the taxes? That seemed like an insanely simple task for a potential House Father – not that I was complaining, of course. “My regular tax collector has fallen ill,” he continued, “but the duties are quite simple. Speak with Hetman Abelmawia and get the taxes from him, then bring them back to me.”

Ah, I knew this old trick. The Hetman would give me the taxes, along with a letter for Ramoran. Then when I arrived back in Ald’ruhn, it would turn out there was a ‘shortfall’ in the amount he’d given me, and I’d have to make it up out of my own funds to prove my honesty.

Well, I wasn’t falling for that. “How much should the taxes be this month?” I asked innocently.

“There should be sixty drakes in all.”

I hesitated, still convinced that this had to be some kind of trick. It was just too easy. “So what’s the catch?”

“The catch?” he said, looking confused.

“That’s really all you want me to do, collect the taxes? No peasant rebellions or mad Telvanni wizards to deal with or anything?”

“No, sera, nothing like that.” He was starting to look a little impatient. “It is a simple enough task, is it not?”

I decided to leave before he got fed up and decided he wouldn’t support me after all. On the way to the silt strider port, I realised that I didn’t have to travel that way – I could get to Gnisis immediately by casting Recall to the Urshilaku camp followed by an Intervention spell. But the moment I arrived in the camp I was spotted by the trader Kurapli, who rushed up and flung her arms around me. “It is Ada! Nerevarine!”

Of course, there was no getting away after that. The Ashlanders insisted that I stay for dinner, and I really didn’t have the heart to refuse. I don’t know exactly what was in the stew they served me, and I’m not entirely sure I want to – all I can say is that it tasted rather better than it looked.

I must say that for once it was nice to be treated with awe and admiration, rather than hostility and suspicion. The tribesmen bombarded me with questions about my visits to Lost Kogoruhn and the Cavern of the Incarnate. They wanted to know how my Nerevarine quest was going, and whether I’d managed to convince any Great House councillors to declare me Hortator. I told them I was ‘working on it’.

The days were getting shorter and shorter as winter rolled in, and by the time I arrived Gnisis it had been dark for several hours. I only just had time to grab the taxes from Hetman Abelmawia before catching the silt strider, though I did count them carefully first – sixty drakes in all, as Lord Ramoran had said.

On the journey back, I kept myself amused reading the books that the ancestor ghosts had given me. One of them was called Sithis and was completely unintelligible; the other was part of a series called the 36 Lessons of Vivec – supposedly written by Vivec himself – and somehow managed to be even more unintelligible. As far as I could tell, it seemed to be describing a highly intimate encounter between Vivec and Molag Bal – the Daedra Lord known as the ‘King of Rape’. On second thoughts, it’s probably a good thing I didn’t understand any more of it.

I showed up punctually at Ramoran Manor the morning after arriving back in Ald’ruhn, and handed over the taxes. I still couldn’t understand why he would bother testing me this way – had he really thought I would risk my position in the House for just sixty drakes? If so, he had to have a pretty poor opinion of outlanders. Or perhaps just of me.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Lord Ramoran?” I asked politely.

“Yes, I have another favour to ask.” Aha! I knew it.

“In my youth, I was involved with a woman named Nalvilie Saren,” he continued. “I was quite… fond of her, and have often wondered what happened to her.” To my astonishment, I realised that he was blushing. “Would you be willing to seek her out for me?”

I stared at him, fighting a sudden urge to laugh. Was he serious? He was offering me his support on the Council… in return for tracking down his old girlfriend? I wasn’t sure whether to find that hilarious, or rather sweet.

“Of course, serjo,” I said meekly, trying desperately to keep a tremor of laughter out of my voice. “Where should I start looking?”

“I believe the Saren family lives in the Redoran Compound in Vivec,” he said. “That may be a good place to start. When you find her, tell that I do not care what happened in the past, and that I can support her. Invite her to meet with me here in Ald’ruhn.”

Ooh. There was some kind of story there, clearly.

Somehow I made it out of the door of Ramoran Manor before giving in to a fit of the giggles. The nearby guards and passers-by looked at me as if I were mad. Well, they’d have plenty more reasons to think so before the month was up.

As I was entering the Mages Guild to travel to Vivec, I was waylaid by Edwinna Elbert, who was carrying a book under her arm. “Ah, Ada!” she exclaimed. “I was hoping you would drop by. I have finished my study of Chimarvamidium.”

For a moment I wasn’t sure what she was talking about, and then I remembered that this was the book she’d asked me to, ahem, ‘borrow’ for her. “Was it any help?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Can you believe this isn’t about a Dwemer construct at all? This book was completely useless. In any case, I need you to return it before Sirilonwe suspects anything.”

“Oh, no. Edwinna, I can’t – ”

“Of course you can!” she interrupted. I looked around desperately for a way to escape, but she was already pressing the book into my hands. “Take it back to the Mages Guild in Vivec, and make sure you put it back exactly where you found it.”

Mentally swearing never under any circumstances to do another favour for Edwinna, I stuffed the book into my pack and went on to speak with the Guild Guide. Over in the Vivec guild, I was forced to ask Sirilonwe for another random spell to give me a shot at putting the book back. Luckily she didn’t seem to have noticed it was missing, and all I had to do was slip back into the closet and place it in the opened chest. Being thrown in jail for stealing would have been a pretty dismal end to my Nerevarine aspirations.

After that I set out for the Redoran canton, which luckily was right next to the Foreign Quarter. All I had to do was walk over a bridge and I was there. I discovered that the Saren manor was in the plaza on top of the canton, so I made my way there, hoping Nalvilie would be at home.

No such luck, unfortunately. When I spoke to Arns Saren, the lady of the manor, her face went suddenly rigid at the mention of Nalvilie’s name. “She is no longer my daughter.”

“I… I’m sorry? Do you mean she’s dead?”

She shook her head grimly. “She has disgraced our family. I will not say more.”

I was just wondering how to proceed from here when a wealthy-looking nobleman, presumably Arns’ husband, entered the room. “Ah, a visitor,” he said with a polite smile. “I am Toris Saren. How can I help you, outlander?”

His wife murmured something to him in Dunmeris. All I could catch was the word ‘Nalvilie’, but the smile instantly vanished from Saren’s face. “Nalvilie Saren is disgraced, as my wife has told you. Please do not remind us of this.”

“I understand, serjo,” I said – though I didn’t, of course – “but I do need to speak to her on a very important matter. If she isn’t here, could you at least give me some idea of where to find her?”

The two of them exchanged glances, and eventually Toris heaved a sigh. “If I tell you, will you leave here and promise to never mention the subject in my presence again?”

“Of course.”

“Very well. Nalvilie owns a consignment shop on the south-side canals of the St. Olms Canton. She is disgraced, and she disgraces any who speak with her.” He said this with an extremely pointed stare. “Now, please leave as you promised.”

Sheesh, I thought, as I left the manor. What the heck was going on with the Saren family? I wondered just what sort of hideous crime I would have to commit to make my own parents disown me like that. Even if they’d known about my arrest for murder, I couldn’t imagine them telling people that I was no longer their daughter.

I took a gondola to the St Olms canton, and eventually found Nalvilie in one of the canalside slum houses. Calling it a ‘slum’ was actually a bit unfair – the one-room house was small and simply furnished, but clean and tidy. Even so, it was a massive step down from the grandeur of Saren Manor.

Nalvilie herself was a middle-aged woman with a hard look about her. She might have been attractive when she was younger, but her recent life had clearly put paid to that. She was polite enough at first, but the moment I mentioned Hlaren Ramoran, her brows shot up in disbelief. “What? You say that Hlaren Ramoran wants to meet with me, even if it would disgrace him?”

“Er, yes, that’s – ”

“No, even now that I will not do. I never liked the way he kept hanging around like a lost scrib.” She scowled. “Tell him once more that my answer is still no.”

I tried to protest, but she just shook her head contemptuously. “I do not care what Hlaren Ramoran might have to say. I will not see him. That is final.”

As you can imagine, by this time I was dying to know what had happened between the two of them – but I couldn’t exactly ask, could I? All I could do was leave and return to Ald’ruhn in the knowledge that I’d failed. I hoped Ramoran would understand. After all, it really wasn’t my fault if Nalvilie refused point-blank to even consider seeing him.

At least Edwinna was pleased to hear that I’d returned Chimarvamidium. In return she gave me some amulets with Divine and Almsivi Intervention enchantments – which were pretty darn useful right now, I had to admit. Even so, I decided not to ask her for any more duties; I was in enough trouble already.

After lunch I went to see Lord Ramoran. He was busy again, so I had to wait outside with his bodyguard Nalvyna, who was keen to know what sort of tasks he’d asked me to do. “She has disgraced herself and her family,” she said, when I told her about Nalvilie. “I do not understand why my Lord would still wish to find her after the way she treated him. Sometimes I wish...” She hesitated. “But no, it would not be proper.”

I stared at her, suspicion gradually dawning on me. So it was like that, was it? Well, well. Admittedly I couldn’t imagine how anyone could find Hlaren Ramoran attractive, even by Dunmer standards, but I guess there’s no accounting for taste.

Just then I was called into Hlaren’s study, so I didn’t have any more time to talk with Nalvyna. “Have you been to Vivec?” he asked eagerly, as soon as I entered. “Do you have word from Nalvilie Saren?”

I looked into his wrinkled, hopeful face, and I just couldn’t bring myself to tell him the truth. “She’s… dead,” I told him, chickening out completely. “I’m so sorry, serjo.”

“She… is dead?”

I nodded, hoping he’d never find out the truth. If he did, I could just claim that was what her family had told me – it was plausible enough, given the way they’d reacted…

Hlaren lowered his eyes to his desk, staring at his hands. “I am saddened to hear this, but perhaps it is for the best,” he said at last, his voice thick. “Well, you did what you could. I will give you my support on the council.”

Poor guy, he looked so sad. I really should have just left well alone, but I couldn’t help myself.

“Lord Ramoran,” I said. “I know it’s really none of my business, but… have you ever thought of looking for a wife closer to home?”

The moment the words were out of my mouth, I instantly regretted them. Luckily Ramoran didn’t seem to take offence; perhaps he was just too downcast. “Of course,” he said, with a shrug and a sad smile. “But I fear it is too late now. What woman could care for an old fool like me?”

“You don’t look old to me,” I said, lying through my teeth. “And I think there is someone who cares for you. Nalvyna Sarinith, your bodyguard.”

“Nalvyna?” He looked genuinely astonished. “She is an excellent warrior, and has served me faithfully for several years. But…”

“I’ve talked to her, and she seems very fond of you. Not that she said anything,” I added hastily, “but… well, you know. We women can sense these things.”

Hlaren was silent for several seconds as he digested this. “She... I... Hmm. I don’t know what to say.” He shook his head. “Perhaps if I were younger... if it weren’t so improper...”

“Do these things really matter so much?” I asked, deciding that having come this far there was no point in backing down. “You were willing to meet with Nalvilie, serjo, even if it would have disgraced you…”

“True, I did not care so much for propriety when pursuing Nalvilie Saren.” He nodded slowly. “Very well, I will consider what you have said. I thank you, sera.”

I thanked him politely in return and left the room, quite astonished at how well that had gone. Apparently I’d just discovered a new talent: matchmaking.

With the support of two of the Councillors, all I needed now was a stronghold. And a pretty big ‘all’ it was. I knew perfectly well that I couldn’t afford it, and even if I could, I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to build one. All I could do was go to Galsa Gindu and hope she’d give me some idea of where to start.

Galsa’s house in the Council Hall was filled with architectural books and papers. She certainly seemed to know her stuff, and to my surprise, she didn’t simply burst out laughing when I told her that I needed a stronghold. “Certainly,” she said, “but I will need 5,000 drakes for labour and materials.”

I was even more surprised to hear her name such a low price. It was still more than I could afford, but not nearly as much as I had expected. Not that I knew much about the building trade, but I’d hardly have thought you could build a cottage for 5,000 septims.

“Only 5,000 drakes?” I asked. “Nothing else?”

“You must also bring me a construction contract from Duke Dren in Ebonheart. Here on Vvardenfell, the Duke must issue a construction contract before we lay the first founding stones for any building. This rule is often overlooked by the Hlaalu and Telvanni, but House Redoran is honourable, and I will not break these rules.”

Well, that didn’t sound too bad, though I had no idea whether Dren would be willing to issue a contract or not. Being Imperial, though, I had plenty of experience dealing with bureaucracy. I just hoped he wouldn’t ask for more money to ‘speed up the planning process’.

I asked where the stronghold would be built, and she told me there was a suitable site at a place called ‘Bal Isra’. When she showed me where it was on the map, my heart sank. It was miles away from Ald’ruhn, right out in the Ashlands – just about the least convenient place she could possibly have chosen. Why anyone would want a stronghold built there was beyond me.

Still, none of that would matter unless I could somehow raise 5,000 septims within the next few days. I considered the problem over dinner at the Rat in the Pot, and concluded that I had two options: take out a loan, or find a way to sell Sheogorath’s ring. There were a few other things I could sell, but none of them would fetch the money I needed.

I decided to visit my bank manager first thing the next morning. After washing down my meal with a glass or two of wine, I was just preparing to leave when a slightly-too-loud conversation at a nearby table caught my ear.

“Have you heard the latest?” a male voice was saying. “They say that another outlander is claiming to be the Nerevarine.”

My hand jerked so violently that I nearly knocked over my glass. There was a chorus of groans from his companions. “Not another one! Who is it this time?”

“I’m not sure. I only heard it from some drunken f’lah who’d been speaking to an even more drunken Ashlander. All I know is that they’re saying it’s a woman.”

“Big deal,” said someone else. “‘Lord Nerevar is coming back to save Morrowind.’ About time, I say. Where was he when the Empire walked in here and took over?” There were murmurs of agreement.

I didn’t dare to move, or even look at the other patrons. My face felt as hot as fire, and at every moment I was terrified that someone would look over and go “There she is!” Finally, after what seemed like an age, the conversation drifted on to other topics.

I leaned back in my seat, my heart thumping wildly. After months of treating the whole business like a kind of game, it was gradually starting to sink in that things were getting really serious now, and I couldn’t keep this a secret for ever. If I wanted to fulfil the trials, at some point I was going to have to come out and openly declare myself the Nerevarine – and a whole lot of people were going to be really angry with me. The Temple authorities in particular would be anything but pleased to have to deal with another ‘False Incarnate’.

Could I do it, I wondered? Was I really cut out to be the saviour of Morrowind?

Now I won’t get all self-righteous and pretend I didn’t want to be a hero – as far as I was concerned, if I could help people and win fame and fortune in the process, so much the better. But this particular kind of heroism – the saving-the-world, uniting-the-people-against-a-common-threat type – wasn’t in my style at all. Certainly I’d come to feel some sympathy for the people of Vvardenfell, even affection in some cases, but I still didn’t entirely see why I should be the one to sort out all their problems for them. After all, as people kept reminding me, it was their country.

Then there were the practical concerns. I might possibly be able to take on Dagoth Ur, with enough high-powered armour and weaponry, but that was nothing to the task of getting myself made Hortator in the first place. Sul-Matuul had said something about the Moon-and-Star ring granting Nerevar supernatural powers of persuasion. Well, if it was true, I’d definitely need them.

I didn’t feel any more persuasive, certainly. On the other hand… I’d told Athyn a completely unbelievable story, and he’d believed it. And I’d managed to talk the Sarens into helping me find their daughter, and persuaded a Redoran lord to consider marriage to his own bodyguard…

Well, I’d just have to take things as they came. If the worst came to the worst, I could always fall back on my inherited racial talent, the ‘Voice of the Emperor’. Perhaps there were some advantages to being an Imperial Nerevarine, after all…

Nothing too specific for me to say about this entry, other than it remaining an excellent and hilarious addition to Ada's Adventures in Adventureland! Wait, sorry, I meant Morrowind.

Dealing with one's sponsor and getting extra House support was great.

And redact my previous remark about lack of specificity. The observation about Councilor Morvayn's body's condition was excellent.

But the best line for this entry:



Now if only Varvur and Ada would resolve that UST, say, perhaps, through the use of a fellow matchmaker?

*The Captain casts a Fortify Speed spell, drinks a Fortify Speed potion, slips on his magic-resisting gear to reach magic immunity with his Breton nature, then runs away very, very quickly.

I won't post a new chapter just yet, but I wanted to share this: I've been playing a lot of The Sims 3 lately (what, you wondered why my other story keeps getting delayed? ) and of course I had to create an Ada character. So here is Sim Ada: [close-up] [long shot]. Here she is in formal dress and in her swimsuit. She's Athletic, Brave, Grumpy, Neat and Workaholic, and follows the Military career.

Looks like you, too, only more muscular!

My favorite line:




I love the "Sims Ada!!" It looks just like her!!!

Chapter 28: Coward Of The Canton

The next morning I went back to Vivec, yet again, and paid another visit to my bank manager. He just told me the same thing he’d said before: that I’d have to go to the mainland to find a buyer for my ring.

“But it’s urgent,” I said in exasperation. “Don’t you know anyone on Vvardenfell who might buy it?”

His lips twitched. “Well, I’ve heard say there’s a talking mudcrab somewhere on Azura’s Coast who’s pretty free with his gold.”

“Haha,” I said. “No, seriously. I really need the money.”

“Very well,” he said at last. “I’ll make some enquiries. In the meantime, perhaps you’d like to take out a loan?”

It seemed that I didn’t have any other choice. I agreed to borrow 5,000 septims at the bank’s standard interest rate, with the first repayment of just over 500 drakes due in a week’s time. If I wanted to eat over the next month, as well as build a stronghold, I’d have to get cracking with those Fighter’s Guild missions – and find myself some caves to loot as well.

At least I’d cleared one hurdle, I thought. Now all I needed to do was persuade Duke Vedam Dren – a Hlaalu – that what Vvardenfell really needed right now was another Redoran stronghold.

My next point of call was Ebonheart. For once I travelled there by boat, not wanting to make use of Vivec’s shrine at a time like this. I couldn’t help thinking about how the Nerevarine was supposed to bring down the ‘false gods’ as part of the prophecy. Heaven knew how the Temple, let alone Almsivi themselves, would react to that bit.

Anyway, I didn’t have time to worry about that right now. I went to the Grand Council chambers in Ebonheart, where I’d met Llerar Mandas a couple of weeks ago, and found myself in a long line of petitioners waiting to see the Duke. Luckily he seemed to operate an ‘open-door’ policy.

Vedam Dren was a thoughtful-looking man with smooth, pleasant manners. I’d been a little nervous about meeting him, remembering that his brother Orvas was rumoured to be head of the Camonna Tong, but the Duke himself seemed friendly enough towards outlanders – if only because he owed his title, wealth, and position to the Empire. After introducing myself I explained about my need for a stronghold, and asked if he’d be willing to grant me a construction contract.

Dren looked hard at me before answering. “I am not sure if I should issue you a contract,” he said slowly. “But Vvardenfell faces many threats today. I will grant you a contract if you vow to do what you can for my people.”

“Of course,” I said, rather surprised by how easily he’d agreed. “Is there anything in particular you’d like me to – ”

“That is good enough for me,” he interrupted. “Take this contract. Use your stronghold for the defence of my people, and as an aid in your fight against our enemies.”

And with that he waved me away and ushered in the next petitioner, leaving me staring open-mouthed at the paper in my hand. That was it? Seriously? Back in Cyrodiil, it would probably have taken a month just to fill out the forms.

I carefully filed away the contract and walked back to the docks, where I took the boat back to Vivec. It wasn’t until half-way through the journey that I took it back out to actually read it, and when I did, I nearly fainted.

“His Grace, the Duke of Vvardenfell, hereby grants Ada Ventura the right to build a stronghold of no more than fifty persons –” Fifty persons?! “– and of no more than 400 feet in any direction.” Four hundred feet? “Ada Ventura may hire no more than 10 Men-At-Arms and retainers to defend the stronghold…” This wasn’t a stronghold, it was a bloody village!

Once again I got that feeling of being trapped in a bizarre dream. Not exactly an unpleasant dream – come on, who wouldn’t want a mini-village built in their honour? – but something that was just far too good to be real and lasting. At one time I’d had ambitions of rising high in the Fighters’ Guild, maybe even making Champion (and finally getting my revenge on that b*stard Modryn Oreyn), and perhaps finding someone to settle down with once I finally got tired of the wandering life. Never once had I imagined that something like this might happen to me.

Shaking my head, I stuffed the contract back into my pack and settled back for the rest of the journey. Just as I was stepping off the docks at the Foreign Quarter, I spotted a young man walking in the other direction, and as he drew closer I realised that it was Varvur. I had a sudden panicky urge to avoid him, until I realised that this was completely stupid – what did it matter what people thought? Besides, he’d already spotted me.

“Hello, Ada,” he said with one of those heart-melting smiles. “It’s good to see you. What are you doing in Vivec?”

“I just got back from Ebonheart, actually. I went to ask Duke Dren for a construction contract to build a stronghold.”

“A stronghold!” His eyes widened. “Then you are to be a House Father?”

“If everything goes well, yes.”

Varvur shook his head incredulously. “You have been here only a few months, and already risen so far in our House… yet I’ve lived in Ald’ruhn all my life, and only reached the rank of Oathman. It shames me.”

“Hey, it could be worse. I lived with a merchant family for eighteen years without learning the first thing about business.” That won a reluctant smile from him. “So what are you here for, anyway?”

“I have come to perform some duties for Faral Retheran at the Redoran treasury.” His expression darkened slightly. “It seems a Redoran in Vivec has shamed the House by refusing to fight a duel of honour. I must persuade him to change his mind.”

“Well, good luck with that.” From the look on his face I could see that he really wasn’t looking forward to this. “Would you like me to come along and help, er, persuade him? Might be easier with two of us.”

Varvur hesitated for a second, and then nodded. “Yes, perhaps you are right. It would be good to have a second person there for, er…”

“Moral support?”

“Yes.”

We went to the Redoran canton to speak with Faral Retheran, the House agent who handled Redoran business in Vivec. She told us that the reluctant duellist – a man named Rothis Nethan – was hiding out in the Flowers of Gold tavern. Apparently he hadn’t quite grasped the concept of ‘hiding’ properly, because it turned out the place was right below us in the Redoran waistworks.

“Okay, Varvur, we need a strategy,” I announced, as we walked to the tavern. “You know the ‘good guard, bad guard’ routine, right?”

He shook his head, looking puzzled. I sighed. “It’s what the Watch do when they’re interrogating suspects. Basically one of us is the ‘good guard’, so they act all friendly – well, relatively friendly – while the other one tries to bully and intimidate the guy into doing what we want.”

Varvur grimaced. “I will leave the bullying and intimidation to you, I think. Er, not that I meant…”

“I know what you meant. You need to toughen up a bit, Varvur,” I said, winking to let him know that I was teasing him. “If you can scare the life out of your opponent before the battle begins, you’ve already won.”

The Flowers of Gold was filled with Redoran retainers enjoying their lunch, but it was obvious which one was Rothis Nethan: he was the ridiculously over-dressed young man sitting in the corner, trying to look inconspicuous while sucking down ale like there was no tomorrow. As we approached his table, he looked up at us and his face fell. “You’re here about that duel, aren’t you?”

“Right you are,” I said, with a grim smile. “So why didn’t you turn up for it, you snivelling little coward?”

In a voice almost too low to hear, he mumbled, “I couldn’t.”

“And why not?”

This time I couldn’t even hear what he said in reply. “You bring shame on our House, sera,” Varvur said quietly.

Rothis said nothing, but he looked as if he were trying not to roll his eyes. “Don’t you care for your own honour?” Varvur pressed him. “Do you wish to be seen as weak and cowardly?”

“Well, I’d rather be alive and a coward than dead!” Nethan took a long swig from his glass of ale. “There’s no way I can beat Brethas Deras. He’s too good a fighter.”

“Don’t be so sure, sera. You may surprise yourself.”

“That’s easy for you to say!” He flung up his hands. “Look at me – I’m a scholar, not a warrior. Why should I risk my life in this silly duel?”

I could kind of sympathise, actually. Coming from a place where duelling was regarded as a bit of a joke, I still found it rather hard to take the whole business seriously. It made keeping up the ‘bad guard’ act a bit difficult.

“Well, maybe you should have thought of that before shooting your mouth off, shouldn’t you?” I countered. “Come on, Rothis, just man up a bit. Ten to one he’ll only smack you around a little and leave it at that.”

Rothis shook his head glumly. “No, it has to be a duel to the death. He’d kill me for sure.”

“Oh, for crying out loud.” I was already getting tired of this. “I’ll fight the damn duel for you. At least that way they’ll know some of us Redorans aren’t cowards.”

His eyes grew wide. “Would you? That’s – ”

Before he could get any further, Varvur’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the collar. “Worthless s’wit! No, she cannot fight a duel for you – and if you had a trace of honour, you would not ask her to!” His eyes practically glowed with anger.

“Guys, calm down,” I said, suddenly aware of a dozen pairs of eyes riveted on us. “This isn’t helping. Rothis, what would convince you to fight this duel?”

I was expecting him to say “nothing,” but instead, he hesitated. At last he said sulkily, “I’m not fighting any duels without some way of evening the odds.”

“And how could we do that?”

“You’ll have to help me out. If you bring me ten standard potions of healing, that should give me a better chance against Brethas Deras.”

Varvur and I exchanged glances. Following a brief discussion, and a hunt through our packs, we managed to come up with ten potions between us.

“You do realise you won’t actually have much time to drink them during the fight?” I said to Nethan. “Somehow I don’t think this Brethas is going to politely hold back to let you swig down a few potions.”

Rothis shrugged and nodded. He gulped down the remains of his drink, then breathed in deeply. “Okay. Come to the Arena this evening. I’ll be there this time.”

We watched him haul himself to his feet and walk rather unsteadily the door of the tavern. “I thought you were going to leave the bullying to me,” I murmured to Varvur.

“Forgive me,” he said stiffly. “I lost my temper.”

We agreed to meet up in the Arena later that day, and then went our separate ways. I went back to Ald’ruhn for a late lunch before taking the money and construction contract to Galsa Gindu. “Yes, this is adequate,” she said, after checking over the contract. “Construction will begin as soon as I give the orders. In a week or so, come speak with me again.”

A week? Again, not that I’m an expert, but I wouldn’t have thought they could even get the foundations laid in that time. Maybe Morrowind builders were just very efficient?

I spent the rest of the afternoon shopping for provisions, and returned to Vivec in the early evening to watch the duel. I hadn’t been to Vivec’s Arena before, and I was quite impressed by its size – though of course, it was nothing to the one in the Imperial City. There weren’t many people in the stalls, though; apparently no one much cared about the outcome of this duel.

Varvur was waiting for me near the entrance. “So what do you think?” I asked, as we took our seats. “Is he in with a chance?”

“I’m not sure. His opponent is a Hlaalu, I believe, but I haven’t heard of him before now.”

At that moment a voice announced the entrance of the duellists. Varvur and I leaned forward over the guardrail to see them more clearly, and my jaw dropped.

The Hlaalu, Brethas Deras, was dressed in full bonemold armour with an enchanted sword – nothing unusual about that. But Rothis’ armour was – well, it wasn’t. He wasn’t wearing anything except the clothes we’d seen him in earlier that day. Had he lost his mind?

As I watched in utter disbelief, he drew a ridiculously tiny dagger from his belt. It looked like something you’d use to cut paper.

“The hell?” I gasped, turning to Varvur. His face had gone slightly pale. “The hell?”

“Almsivi,” he whispered. “Why did he not tell us he had no sword or armour? We could have…” His voice trailed off.

“And they’re going to fight a duel to the death? Varvur, somebody has to stop them!”

“We cannot.” He looked utterly miserable. “Duellists may use whatever equipment they choose. There is no rule.”

“But – ” I broke off as the announcer gave the signal for the duel to begin, and the two opponents rushed at each other.

What followed was nothing less than a slaughter. Rothis actually put up a reasonable fight, for someone wielding what looked like a child’s toy against a heavily-armed opponent. But honestly, he might as well just have run straight onto Deras’ sword.

I watched, helpless, as the most insanely one-sided duel in the history of Morrowind (and possibly all Tamriel) unfolded in the ring beneath us. Shock and disbelief turned to rage as I realised that Brethas Deras had no intention of showing any mercy, just because his opponent lacked a few trivial things like a sword and armour. I was so angry that for a few moments I seriously considered jumping over the barrier to help Rothis – except that it was too far down and I wasn’t equipped for a duel in any case.

By the end of the duel I was seething with fury. I’d seen some pretty disgusting things since arriving in Morrowind, but I honestly don’t think anything else had sickened me quite as much as this. All the other killings, no matter how cruel and unjustified, had at least had some reason behind them. But this… this was just completely senseless.

“What in Stendaar’s name was that?” I spluttered at Varvur.

He bowed his head. “It is sad. But at least the honour of the House has been defended.”

“Honour? How was that in any way honourable? That wasn’t a duel, that was just – a farce. A complete farce.” I shook my head. “A guy just got killed over some stupid insult, in a fight he had absolutely no chance of winning, and you think it’s all right just because he showed up?”

“You don’t understand,” he protested. “Yours is a mercantile culture. If someone slandered you in Cyrodiil, you would… make them pay you, perhaps? But ours is a warrior culture. If someone insults you and you fail to challenge them, it makes you look weak, and people will despise you for it.”

“And if you turn up for life-or-death battle with no weapons or armour, what the hell does that make you?” I snarled. “Come to that, what does it make your opponent? There’s no bloody ‘honour’ in beating someone who can’t fight back!”

“Sore loser, Redoran?” said a taunting voice behind me. I spun round to see Brethas Deras, still in armour but without his helmet, surrounded by a group of his supporters. “At least Rothis Nethan showed up this time. You Redorans sure talk a lot about honour, but when it comes time to test it, you fail.”

There was no way I was going to let this pass. “Are you joking?” I snapped. “Come back when you’ve fought a real duel and then we can discuss ‘honour’. Who’s your next opponent, a five-year-old girl armed with a lollipop stick?”

Deras’ expression had turned distinctly ugly. “Watch your tongue, outlander, or it may just be you.”

“Try me,” I growled. We glowered at each other, and then I felt Varvur’s hand on my arm.

“Ada, be careful,” he said in a low voice. “What you just said was all but a challenge.”

“Don’t worry, Varvur. Somehow I have this strange feeling he’s not likely to take me up on it.” I turned my back on Brethas and his friends. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Apologise first.”

Heaving a sigh, I turned back to Brethas. “Sorry,” I said flatly. I could see him struggling with his pride, but he clearly had the sense to realise I would not be quite such a pushover as Rothis Nethan. After a second or two he jerked his head to the rest of his posse, motioning to them to leave.

“N’wah,” I heard one of them mutter as they walked off. As insults go it was pretty feeble, but it might have been just enough to tip me over the edge – if Varvur hadn’t taken hold of my arms, quietly but firmly, and literally held me back.

His hands grasped my wrists tightly. I stared down at them and slowly unclenched my fists, seeing livid red marks where my nails had dug into my palms.

“Shall we go for dinner?” he asked softly.

I drew a few long breaths, trying to calm myself down. “Okay. Let’s do that.”

We returned to the ‘Flowers of Gold’ and settled down to a dinner of nix-hound meat and ash yams, washed down with plenty of shein. With a good meal and a few drinks inside me, I felt the anger slowly bleed out, and shame creep in to replace it. Gods, I’d come close to challenging Brethas to a duel as pointless as the one he’d just fought. And it wouldn’t even have been justified – sure, the guy hadn’t exactly covered himself in glory, but it wasn’t his fault that Rothis had turned up virtually unarmed.

“I am sorry you had to see that,” Varvur said, guessing my thoughts. “I don’t agree with everything you said, but in one way you are right. Neither of our Houses has won great honour by that duel.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for. Though I think maybe I have.” I sighed. “Thanks for holding me back, Varvur. I keep doing that, don’t I?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said with a shrug. “I was angry too, earlier in the day.”

“Yes, what happened there? It doesn’t seem like you to lose your temper like that.”

“It was his selfishness, his lack of honour, that made me angry. I can understand being afraid, but I would never dream of asking someone else to fight a duel for me. Especially – ”

He broke off. “Especially a woman?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“No… that was not what I was going to say. I – ” For a moment it looked like he was steeling himself to say something more, but eventually he shook his head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

I said nothing. I had a feeling I could guess what he’d been going to say, and I really wasn’t sure whether or not it was a good idea to take the conversation in that direction. From the look of it, neither was Varvur.

We chewed in silence. I tried to think about other things, but instead I found myself suddenly wondering what he’d be like in bed. Probably quite gentle, I thought – not like most of the lovers I’d had in the past. Mind you, none of those relationships had lasted more than a few months…

“What are you thinking about?” Varvur asked.

‘What you’d be like in bed’ probably wasn’t the best answer. “Er… nothing much,” I said vaguely. “Just… old boyfriends.”

“Oh.” He paused. “Have you had many… boyfriends?”

“A few,” I said, shrugging. “Mainly Nords, actually. Guess I tend to go for the rugged barbarian type.”

“I see.” He looked thoughtful.

We both went quiet again. “Talking of boyfriends,” I said at last, “what is up with you and the Wood Elf girl?”

“Wood Elf girl?

“The one I saw in your manor the other day.”

“Oh… Aeronwen.” He grimaced. “She is not my ‘girlfriend’, if that’s what you mean.”

“No?”

He shook his head. “For a short time, earlier this year, we were… I’m sorry, I don’t know the right word. Courting?”

“Dating.”

“Dating, then. But we… well, she didn’t seem so interested in me as I was in her. In fact, I began to suspect that she was in love with someone else.” Varvur sighed heavily. “I tried to speak to her about it, but she kept avoiding me… or so it seemed to me.” His face grew rigid. “Well, I have pride. I was not going to pursue a woman who didn’t care for me.”

Ouch. Suddenly I wished I hadn’t asked. “I’m sorry, Varvur,” I said. “I assumed you two were… well. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have asked… um, if you see what I mean.”

“It was many months ago,” he said, shrugging. “Things are still a little awkward between us, but I don’t mind so much any more.” He paused. “In any case, I think perhaps it was for the best. My parents like Aeronwen, but I don’t think they would have approved of… us.”

“They probably want you to marry some rich Hlaalu noble,” I said, trying to lighten the mood a little. “You know, unite the two Houses. That sort of thing.”

The expression of horror on Varvur’s face was almost comical. “Marry a Hlaalu? I would rather die!”

“Really? I thought those sorts of political marriages happened all the time.”

But he was shaking his head. “I do not think my parents would want me to marry a Hlaalu.”

The conversation drifted onto other subjects, and we finished our meals. “What will you do now?” Varvur asked me, as we left the tavern.

“Go to bed, I think. Oh, um, you mean tomorrow?” Yep, I was a bit tipsy. “I have to go back to Sadrith Mora. More work for the Fighters’ Guild.”

“So you’re leaving again?” he asked, looking rather wistful. “Well, I’m glad to have seen you while you were here.”

“Come with me,” I said on impulse.

He shook his head with genuine regret. “I can’t. I have more tasks to do for Faral Retheran.”

“Guess it’s goodbye for now, then.”

We hugged rather awkwardly. My skin prickled against the fabric of my shirt where his hands touched my back, and I felt a pleasant trickling sensation in the pit of my stomach. Damn it, why now? This was not a good time!

When we’d said our goodbyes I went back to Wolverine Hall, where I took the details of my next two Guild missions from Hrundi before going to bed. I didn’t sleep much that night, though. Although I’d had quite a nice evening in the end, I felt frustrated and irritable. At least Dagoth Ur wasn’t showing up in my dreams these days – maybe killing a few dozen of his supporters had finally driven home the message.

I was up before dawn the next morning to catch the first ship to Tel Mora, which was on a small island off the north-eastern coast. It was only about half as far by sea as Dagon Fel, and we arrived reasonably early on the morning after that. Tel Mora seemed like a typical Telvanni mushroom-village, though there was something about the place that was just a little off – I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

Anyway, the jobs were simple enough: a trader in the village had a corprus stalker trapped in her shop, while an outlaw named Rels Tenim had gone to ground somewhere nearby. I soon found the tradehouse, which was run by a Wood Elf named Berwen, and discovered that she’d imprisoned the corprus stalker behind some crates in her attic. A little too well, in fact, as they were too heavy to move even with my super-strength gauntlets. I couldn’t get near the creature, and had to wait for it to spot me and wander over before I could hit it.

Afterwards, I asked around the village about Rels Tenim and was told to ask in Vos, another town just over the water. It was close enough to be easily seen from Tel Mora – in fact, I could probably have water-walked it, but I couldn’t be bothered. Instead I took a boat.

I was just stepping on board when I realised what had been bugging me about Tel Mora. Ever since I stepped off the docks, I hadn’t seen a single man around the place – only women. Even the few children I’d seen had all been female.

When I asked the shipmaster about this, she smiled. “Mistress Dratha is our Telvanni mage-lord, and she doesn’t like men. She won’t allow them to live here.”

You didn’t have to be a genius to spot the obvious problem with this. “How does she plan to, er, keep the population stable?”

“People come and go,” she said, shrugging. “Besides, we Dunmer have long lives.”

I wondered what had happened to Mistress Dratha to make her hate men so much. Presumably something terrible, though honestly, I wouldn’t have been that surprised to find out that it was just a whim. Divayth Fyr was actually starting to look like one of the saner Telvanni by this time.

The town of Vos was controlled by another Telvanni councillor, Master Aryon. The people here were unusually friendly, and also the only Telvanni I’d met who seemed to feel any real affection for their wizard-lord. “You must go and see Master Aryon’s wizard’s tower,” they all told me. “It’s very strange. Master Aryon isn’t afraid to try new things.”

When I walked up the hill to Tel Vos and saw what they meant, I found it hard not to laugh. The tower was a weird hybrid of the traditional mushroom-tower and a Western-style castle, and the overall effect was… bizarre, to say the least. It looked like the castle was being slowly devoured by a giant tentacled monster.

People in the town had told me to ask the nearby Ashlanders about Rels Tenim, but before I left, I decided to place a Recall point here. I didn’t really need to visit the Urshilaku again for the moment, but I had a feeling I’d need to come back here before long.

After a relatively peaceful walk through the Grazelands – read ‘only a few mad diseased animals trying to kill me’ – I came upon the Ahemmusa camp a few miles to the north. This was the point where I realised something that should have been obvious: the Ashlander tribes don’t really communicate with each other. I’d got used to the Urshilaku treating me like a long-lost friend, but here all I got was dirty looks and suspicious glances at my Templar uniform. No one knew, or cared, that I was the Nerevarine.

I eventually learned that Rels Tenim was hiding out in Shallit, a cave on an island north-northwest of the camp. It wasn’t until I reached the northern coast, and paused to check my map, that I realised there were at least three islands that fitted that description. I briefly considered going back to ask for clarification, but decided to just head for the most obvious choice and hope for the best.

Two hours, several saltwater-dunkings and much swearing later, I finally arrived at the entrance to Shallit. I was cold, dripping wet, shivering, and really didn’t feel up to tackling a bunch of outlaws right now. I wish Varvur were here, I thought. At least I’d have someone to complain to.

I actually considered trying to use a minor fire spell to dry myself out, but rejected this on the grounds that I wasn’t completely suicidal. Instead I used the spell to start a small fire, and waited for the dripping to stop before entering the cave.

It didn’t take me long to realise that there was no one there. Literally no one. At first I thought the outlaws had abandoned the place and moved on, but then I came across a barrel with a lit candle and a note from ‘Rels’ to someone called ‘Giden’. It had clearly been written within the last few days.

I crept on, expecting an ambush at any minute, but none came. Further into the cave I came to a grand-looking staircase leading up to an elaborately carved door. I could hear strange but familiar sounds from behind it, and quickly realised that this led to a Dunmer tomb. By now my Something’s Very Wrong Here sense was tingling like mad.

I cast my Chameleon enchantment and crept through the door. There were a few armed skeleton warriors wandering around, but I ignored them. Two doors led out of the first room: one to the left and one to the right. I chose the left door at random and slipped through it without being noticed.

There wasn’t all that much in the room beyond, either. Just a bunch of urns, and round that corner, an ordinary-looking human… woman… OHHOLYCRAPITSAVAMPIRE.

There was absolutely no doubt that the woman in front of me was a vampire. The veined, pasty face and glowing white eyes said it all, really. Swallowing hard, I slipped off my pack and hunted around in it for a suitable scroll.

Finally I found what I needed: a heavy-duty fireball spell of the type I’d used on the ghost in Llevule Andrano’s tomb. I steadied my trembling hands with an effort and, standing as far away as possible from the vampire, cast the spell straight at her. Unfortunately it didn’t kill her outright, and at that moment the Chameleon spell wore off.

The first thing you’ll learn about fighting vampires is that they’re insanely fast and strong. I barely had a chance to draw my sword before she lunged at me with a cry of fury. Before I had a chance to use the sword, she had picked me up bodily and thrown me against the wall with a force that jarred every bone in my body. As I slumped to the ground I saw her looming over me, fangs bared.

Gathering all my strength, I kicked her hard in the stomach. It staggered her for just a moment, and in that moment, I leaned forward and thrust my sword through her chest as close as possible to her heart. She lashed out wildly, and for a moment we grappled together as I frantically twisted the blade in her body. I was starting to think I’d lost when her gaze went suddenly blank and she stumbled backwards, clutching at her chest.

As the vampire’s body crumbled into dust, something small and shiny fell to the ground and rolled towards my hand. Examining it, I saw that it was a ring with some pretty incredible enchantments: a strong resistance to most non-enchanted weapons and a chance to reflect spell damage. Talos, it was a good thing that hadn’t happened when I cast the scroll at her. ‘Killed by her own fireball spell’ would make a pretty embarrassing epitaph.

I slipped the ring onto my own finger and wondered what to do next. I was bruised and sore, and really didn’t feel like fighting again without resting first – besides, I wasn’t even sure the outlaws were still here. Had I walked into a trap, or had they ended up as ‘food’ for the vampire?

Regardless, there was nowhere to rest except this cave, and right now this room seemed like the safest place in it. If anyone came into the room next door with the skeletons, I’d be alerted by the sounds of battle. So I stripped off my damp clothes, drank a potion or two, and settled down to sleep in a haunted tomb beside the remains of a dead vampire.

Divayth Fyr isn't insane. It's just that his quest for absolute knowledge and understanding has resulted in him Understanding (yes, capitalized for emphasis) so much more than everybody else.

I don't know if it's a thing unique to me, but I always thought that Fyr was Tamriel's equivalent of Albert Einstein. When it comes to looking at the world, he realizes how things really work, down to a magi-quantum level.

I actually agree - he's not so much insane as highly eccentric, in the classic 'absent-minded professor' mould. But remember that the story is told from Ada's perspective, not mine.

GAAAAAH! Calling Divayth insane ... uh ... uh ... feel funny ... (mALX turned green, grew to enormous proportions, ripped off her shirt, then promptly combusted spontaneously)

Oh, granted. Unfortunately, even as a student at college I earned the title "Future Absent Minded Professor," so as a result I tend to sympathize with the eccentric geniuses and list them as my heroes.

Before I post this, I'd just like to apologise for the continued lack of updates on 'The Neveragaine Strikes Back'. I am still working on it, but I've had a lot of other distractions recently (not least looking for a new job - which, today, I finally found).

Chapter 29: Weird Sisters

I woke up to find myself lying half-naked on a cold stone floor with a skull leering down at me. In the few seconds it took me to realise that it was just a decoration, I’d already lunged for my sword and dealt the grinning face a whack that nearly split it in two.

Once I’d recovered from the shock, I put on my clothes – luckily they’d dried in the heat of the braziers – and struggled back into my armour. The remains of the vampire, whose name seemed to be ‘Marara’ according to the markings on her ring, still lay in a small heap on the ground. I scooped up some of the dust into a leather pouch, hoping that it might win me some points with Hrundi. If not, at least I could always sell it to an alchemist.

At least now I didn’t have to worry about Porphyric Haemophilia, I thought. The only other time I’d fought vampires, I’d been so paranoid about catching the ‘vampire disease’ that I’d drunk a Cure Disease potion, and cast a spell, and gone to pray at the nearest chapel for good measure. Being the prophesised Incarnate was turning out to have its benefits.

From the sound of it, the skeleton warriors were still wandering around in the room next door. I could have fought them, but I didn’t want to attract the attention of any bandits that might be lurking nearby, so I used my Chameleon amulet a second time to get out of the tomb. As it turned out, I needn’t have bothered – the cave was still completely deserted. I thought back to the skulls and bones I’d seen in the vampire’s lair, and wondered if one of them belonged to Rels Tenim.

I was just considering whether to leave when I remembered the note I’d seen earlier, and decided to take another quick look at it. I’d only glanced at it before, but this time I examined it carefully for clues.

Giden,

Here’s a blade for the new man. Send him ahead and we’ll set up his arrangements. Dinner is waiting, but not for you. Muvrulea is sick again so you’ve drawn sentry duty. Don’t worry, you’ll be getting a portion of his share. Stay alert, bounty hunters are seeking us, but I feel fairly secure up here.

Rels

‘Up here’? I walked slowly through the cave, looking for anything that might indicate a hidden stairway or something similar. Right near the entrance, I spotted something I hadn’t noticed before: a ledge up above, half-hidden by stalactites and overhanging rocks.

There was no way up except by levitation. Sighing, I retreated a little way into the cave and swapped my normal pants for the enchanted ones that Peakstar’s ghost had given me. Countless washes had failed to get rid of the stains or the smell, but at least the enchantment worked properly.

My hunch was right. A little way back from the ledge, I came across a small wooden door which presumably led to the bandits’ lair.

I hesitated outside the door, wondering how to proceed from here. I wasn’t sure how long I’d spent in here, but I guessed that by now it was probably night-time and at least some of the bandits would be asleep. Outlaws or not, the thought of having to slit a bunch of people’s throats while they slept was not an appealing one. But I didn’t have to, I realised – I’d only been told to kill Rels himself, not his companions.

There was enough charge left on my amulet to cast the Chameleon enchantment a few more times, so I did so and snuck through the door. There were only two people inside the first room – a sentry, whom I presumed was ‘Giden’, and a sleeping woman. In the next room were another woman and a man, both asleep. The man could have been Rels, but I decided to hold off killing him for the moment.

It’s a good thing I did, because in the last room I found another man who was very obviously the leader of the gang. He was a lot more heavily armed than any of the others, for a start, and his room was furnished to look like a private study. He was writing at a low table, and didn’t see or hear me creeping up behind him.

I knocked him out with my Star of the West power, not wanting anyone to hear his death cries, then drew my blade across his throat as he fell unconscious. Any guilt I might have felt quickly vanished when I read what he’d been writing:

We’ve struck a bargain with evil. While I am uncomfortable and feel some unease with our current arrangement, I believe these warrens will serve us well for some time. Those who hope to destroy me must be of stout spirit and cunning mind, for if they simply forge ahead in these caves, they may meet a fate far worse than death.

When we first discovered these caves and began our explorations, we were sure we had found refuge from our enemies. Little did we know, as we pushed into the interior galleries what we would find. In the final chamber, we came upon the ruined portal to a vast tomb. At first we were eager to chance upon some riches to fill our coffers, but instead we found ourselves within the nest of deadly creatures. By our wits and skill of arms, we were able to retreat from the dark lair. For a time we sealed the entry, but the threat continued to gnaw at us. It was Giden who conceived the plan with which we presented to those beings of darkness. In return for our right to dwell within these caves, we provide ‘sustenance’ for these creatures. To assist us in this venture, we have created a lure, a path for the bounty hunters and meddlesome folk to follow. The unwary will find themselves in the clutches of a black fate.

Muvrulea is very unhappy with the current conditions and I am finding myself concurring. This cannot come to a good end, but we must stay the course until a new safehold can be found.

So he’d been luring people into a trap to feed his vampire friend? How charming. Well, at least I could congratulate myself on having a ‘stout spirit’ and ‘cunning mind’.

No one outside the room seemed to have heard anything, but I slipped on the Divine Intervention amulet that Edwinna had given me in case I needed to make a hasty exit. Then I began to search the room for useful loot. A chest next to Rales contained a large amount of gold and several valuable gems, about 1,000 septims’ worth in all. There were also a good deal of Rising Force potions around the place, which would be useful the next time I went back to Vivec’s shrine.

When I’d finished looting the place, I Divine-Interventioned back to Sadrith Mora and spent the rest of the night at the Guild. The next morning I went to Hrundi to collect my payment, and showed him the ring and vampire dust. “Marara,” he murmured. “Yes, I’ve heard of her – she’s been slaughtering any humans who’ve gone into that tomb, and a few vampires as well. Folks say she was tired of her ‘unlife’, and wanted to be killed by one of her own kind.”

“Well, she’s out of luck,” I said. “At least I’ve brought her peace, I suppose. Or something. Anyway, I was wondering: might this be enough for promotion to Guardian rank?”

“Hmm.” He scratched his chin. “Well, killing off a vampire single-handed is certainly impressive. Come along to the practice rooms and I’ll test your skills.”

We fought a short practice duel – which I lost, though I still felt I hadn’t done too badly. I’d come a long way since my release from prison, and while I wasn’t quite a match for a hefty Nord like Hrundi, I was pretty close.

“Well, your skills are certainly up to scratch,” he admitted. “But I’m not sure you’ve done enough missions for the Guild to justify a promotion. I don’t have anything else for you right now, but you could try Lorbumol in Vivec. Just be a bit careful with some of the tasks he’ll give you.”

I didn’t need to be told that. Honestly, this was turning out to be much more of a hassle than I’d expected.

After selling off the gems I’d found and taking most of my money to the local bank, I was about to return to Ald’ruhn when I suddenly remembered that I had a Legion mission to complete. Radd Hard-Heart of Fort Moonmoth had asked me to rescue a missionary, Jocien Ancois, from the Erabenimsun Ashlander camp. I decided now was as good a time as any, since the camp was reasonably close to Sadrith Mora.

To get there I had to cross the chain of islands leading to the mainland, using my Water Walking spell. I could see the spires of Tel Fyr and Tel Aruhn, another Telvanni settlement, in the distance as I passed by. On reaching the shore I quickly found myself in the grey, ashy Molag Amur region, where a rough trail ran west between mountains and jagged rocks. I hadn’t gone too far before I heard footsteps somewhere behind me, and a distinctly human-sounding cough.

“Who’s there?” I barked, whirling around. There was no one in sight. “Come out and show yourself!”

A frightened Argonian face peeked out from behind a rock. Stepping around the rock to get a closer look at him, I saw that he was barefoot and wore only ragged pants. “What are you doing here?”

He backed away. “Who...who are you? You go now! Leave me alone. I must get home now.”

“‘Get home’? Get home to where?”

He hesitated, looking me over warily. “No, not home,” he said at last. “To the Argonian Mission in Ebonheart before they find me, that’s where I must go. The Tel Aruhn hunters be out looking for me, no doubt about it. If they find Reeh-Jah, that’s it for me!”

“So you’re a slave, are you?”

Reeh-Jah nodded. “Don’t tell no one you seen me. Please?”

I looked at him suspiciously. I was wary of people claiming to be escaped slaves after that business with Tul, but I had to admit, this guy did look like the genuine article. And unlike Tul, he was clearly reluctant rather than eager to ask for help.

“You’ll never make it alone,” I said eventually. “Want to come with me? You can tag along if you want, but I’ve got to take care of some other business before I can help you.”

“You want to help me?” He shook his head. “That a rare thing in these parts, I tell you what. Maybe you get us there, maybe not, but I rather be on my way than have them find me here.”

I set off for the Erabenimsun camp, along with Reeh-Jah. The campsite was gloomy and forbidding – a bare clearing, surrounded by sheer cliffs on all sides – and the tribespeople here made the Urshilaku and Ahemmusa look positively welcoming. Several times I tried to approach one of them, only for them to warn me off by pointedly reaching for their weapons. I wondered if Reeh-Jah’s presence had something to do with it.

Finally I came across a woman who at least seemed willing to speak to me. “Bless and be blessed,” I said, using a common Urshilaku greeting. “I’ve come here to look for a Breton called Jocien Ancois. Might you have seen him?”

“He is like the nix-hound chasing a bone,” she said with a snort. “We told him the Mabrigash wanted to hear him speak from his books. He went to them, and never returned.”

“Sorry to have to ask, but who is the Mabrigash?”

She sighed. “The wise-woman who left us, and our rules. She steals a man’s vital essence to make herself a powerful sorcerer.” Reeh-Jah looked a bit worried by this. “Her camp is to the west, along the lava. But she has others with her, and I would stay away.”

I decided to ignore her warning and start looking for the Mabrigash. At least as a woman, I didn’t need to worry about having my ‘vital essence’ stolen – whatever that meant.

Reeh-Jah and I set out west, looking for the lava stream, but it turned out to be harder to find than I’d expected. We followed one path for about a quarter of an hour before I realised I we were probably going in the wrong direction. By the time we got back to where we’d started, I was on the point of giving up – when I suddenly spotted something lying on the ground a short way away. It was a piece of paper.

The paper seemed to be a page from a book, but was so worn and faded that I couldn’t read it; all I could tell was that it came from a copy of A Brief History of the Empire. Glancing around, I spotted what looked like another page a short way down the path. Unless one of the Ashlanders had a secret passion for Imperial history, I guessed that this would lead us to Jocien.

I guessed right: after following the paper trail for a few minutes, we came in sight of the lava stream. I’d never seen one before, and I must admit it was quite an amazing sight – a literal river of fire. But by the Nine, it was hot. I couldn’t go nearer than a few feet without feeling like I’d stepped into a bread oven.

The trail eventually led us to a very small camp, with a single yurt. A couple of women were sitting by the fire outside. “Excuse me,” I said to one of them. “Are either of you the Mabrigash, by any chance?”

She fixed me with a defiant glare. “Yes, I am a mabrigash. We are the Ashlander witch-warriors, women who defy the man’s rules of behaviour for women, mastering the man’s weapons of war and the sorcerer’s powerful magics. Craven men whine that we steal their vital essences to feed our dark purposes, but men are fools and cowards. Only women can understand the secrets of the ghost snake and its hidden mysteries that make men tremble like maidens.”

Wow. Okay. “Well, good for you,” I said. “Sisters doing it for themselves, eh? Er, would you happen to have seen a man named Jocien Ancois?”

“Speak to Zennammu in the yurt.”

I went into the yurt, where a stern-looking woman was standing guard over a Breton man in a grubby robe – presumably Jocien. “I understand you’re holding this man prisoner,” I said to the mabrigash, after greeting her politely. “Is there any way I could persuade you to let him go?”

She looked amused. “You want to take Jocien from us? But how can we work our magic without a man?”

“Surely a bunch of strong, independent women like you don’t need a man to help you do magic?” I asked, hoping flattery might do the trick.

Zennammu wasn’t buying it, though. “You understand nothing, outlander. It is the essence of a man we need for our magics, not the man himself. We cannot let him go.”

“May I show you something, Zennammu?” I detached the leather pouch from my belt and opened it up to show her the vampire dust inside. “This is dust from a vampire I killed last night. I think that shows I can use ‘men’s weapons of war’ at least as well as you three.” I laid my hand on the hilt of my sword for emphasis. “I don’t want to fight you, but believe me, I will if I have to. It’s up to you.”

Zennammu digested this in silence. “I will let Jocien go if you can bring us a better man,” she said at last. “The brave hunter Assaba-Bentus of the Erabenimsun is young, strong, and handsome. If you bring him here, we will let Jocien go.”

I hesitated. I didn’t really want to trick some other poor guy into taking Jocien’s place – but if this Assaba-Bentus was everything Zennammu said, he could probably handle these women at least as well as I could. It was worth a try, at least.

Reeh-Jah and I left the camp and headed back along the trail. I really hoped I wouldn’t have to fight the women, to be honest. They might be a bunch of crazy witches who captured men and did unspeakable things to them involving vital essences, but I couldn’t help admiring them for standing up to that ‘woman’s place’ crap. Plus… there were three of them and one of me.

Back at the Erabenimsun camp, I found Assaba-Bentus with a party of warriors returning from a hunt. He did indeed seem to be young, strong and handsome, though a bit unkempt for my tastes. After sweetening him up with a hefty ‘gift’ of gold coins, I explained the situation, and asked if he’d be willing to help me.

He looked at me as if I were mad. “What? You want me to go live with the witch-women? Do you think I am a fool like Jocien Ancois? No, I will not go.”

“Afraid they’ll steal your precious vital essences?” I said with a wink.

“I am not afraid!” He looked indignant. “I am a hunter of the Erabenimsun, and I have proven my bravery many times. Besides, Mimanu already tried her charms on me. I let her think they were working and escaped the next morning.”

“So why not do the same thing again?” I asked. “Are you really going to pass up a chance like this?”

He still looked doubtful. “Oh well, never mind,” I said, shrugging. “I guess I’ll just have to fight them myself, if you’re not up to it.”

I made as if to leave, but he grabbed my arm. “No! I will show you that I am not afraid of any witch-woman. I will follow you to the mabrigash camp.”

Gods. Men are so predictable, aren’t they?

Assaba-Bentus followed me back to the mabrigash camp, where Zennammu was waiting outside the yurt. She could barely contain her glee when she saw him. “Ah yes,” she said, her eyes dancing. “Assaba-Bentus is indeed a better man. Thank you for bringing him here.”

She ducked back into the yurt, and a moment later Jocien Ancois emerged through the tent-flap. “Are you okay?” I asked him. “They didn’t steal too much… vital essence?”

“No, I am fine,” he said with a weak smile. “But thank you for dealing with my captors.”

I glanced over at Assaba-Bentus, who was sitting by the fire with the other women. He gave me a little wave. “Do not worry about me,” he half-whispered. “No witch-woman can hold a real warrior for long.”

I just hoped he was right about that. “Well, Jocien, what now?” I asked. Do you want me to take you back to Sadrith Mora?”

He shook his head. “I will find my own way back to the Erabenimsun. I must continue to teach them of the Empire and its ways.”

“Good gods, you’re not serious?”

But he was already heading off in the direction of the camp. “He’s crazy, right?” Reeh-Jah whispered, as we watched him go.

“Probably,” I said with a shrug. Some people never learn, I guess. Oh well, it wasn’t my problem any longer. He’d just better not expect me to rescue him a second time.

After sharing some food with Reeh-Jah, I offered to accompany him to Sadrith Mora, but he shook his head violently. “Please, not the Telvanni! They’ll grab me again for sure.”

“Look, just use this,” I said, offering him my Divine Intervention amulet. “It’ll take you straight to Wolverine Hall, the Imperial fortress. No one will ‘grab’ you there.”

But he wasn’t having any of it. The only way to avoid the Telvanni settlements was to go south through Molag Amur, down to the coast – but that would take days, I thought, my heart sinking. I considered leaving Reeh-Jah to his fate, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. There was no way he’d survive out here on his own.

“All right,” I said at last. “We’ll head south. But if we get lost, I’m teleporting out of there, so you’ll have to make your own way back to Ebonheart.”

A few hours later I was beginning to realise just what sort of task I’d taken on. Taking a slave 500 yards down the road to a safe house was one thing; escorting him over miles of barren, hostile territory was quite another. Reeh-Jah was pretty feeble and tired very easily, so our pace slowed to about half what it would have been if I’d been walking alone. He was also completely unarmed, so I had to constantly defend him against cliff racers and other blighted wildlife, not to mention sharing my limited rations of food and water with him.

To make things worse, I didn’t even have a clear idea of where I was going. Towards nightfall we stumbled across a signpost pointing towards the Temple settlement of Molag Mar, and decided to head for there. I guessed that it would take at least a couple more days to get there at our current pace.

The heat had been near-unbearable as we walked by the lava river, but when night fell out in the ashy desert, the temperature fell sharply. I was okay in my thick plate armour, but poor Reeh-Jah had to huddle up to me for warmth – and before you get any sort of ideas, let me say right now that it was about as much fun as a night with Dagoth Gares. I can only be grateful that no one came by to see the sight – an armoured human woman and a half-naked Argonian, both looking like they’d bathed in ash, curled up together in the shade of a large trama root. The bards would probably be writing comic songs about it for the next three decades.

By the time we finally reached Molag Mar, I was almost beginning to wish I’d just left him to fend for himself. I know it sounds terrible, but all I wanted at this point was to dump him off at the Mission so that I’d never have to see him again. But it didn’t end there, of course: I had to buy him some clothes, so that no one would realise he was an escaped slave, and then buy passage for both of us on board a ship to Ebonheart.

I’m not sure which of us was more relieved when we finally rolled up at the Argonian Mission. The head diplomat, Im-Kilaya, thanked me profusely for helping Reeh-Jah. “You have done a good thing here, Sera Ventura. You have helped one of our people with no promise of reward, and at great peril to yourself. Have you seen the Twin Lamps?”

By this time I had a hazy idea of how I was supposed to answer. “They… light the way to freedom?”

“The lamps burn brightly for you, I can see that.” He smiled. “Take this as a show of our gratitude.”

He presented me with an enchanted belt called a ‘Blood Belt’. I’d really have preferred it if he’d just paid me, but I was more concerned that I seemed to have joined an underground anti-slavery organisation without even meaning to. Story of my life, isn’t it?

It was still fairly early in the morning and I hadn’t bathed since leaving Molag Mar. I went to Fort Hawkmoth to clean myself up, and informed Frald the White that I’d rescued Jocien Ancois (though knowing him, he’d probably managed to get himself captured again by now). He promised to pass the news on to Radd Hard-Heart, though he didn’t have any more duties for me at the moment.

Afterwards I went to the bank in Vivec to discuss my next loan repayment. “Good news,” the bank manager said, as soon as I entered his office. “I’ve found a buyer for your ring… at least, I think I have.”

“You have? Who is it?”

He hesitated, looking a bit uncertain. “You’ll find him in the Ghorak Manor in Caldera,” he said at last. “Answers to the name ‘Creeper’. He’s offered to buy it for thirty thousand septims.”

“This isn’t anything… illegal, is it?” I asked suspiciously.

“Oh no. Not that I know of, at least.” He paused. “But, er, a bit of advice: I suggest you keep this as quiet as possible. I think you’ll understand why when you meet him.”

I wasn’t sure whether to believe him. Clearly there was something dodgy about this ‘Creeper’ guy – well, with a name like that, how could there not be? – but on the other hand, if he was the only person willing to buy my ring, I had to give it a try. I couldn’t believe the construction costs would be my only expense if I had to run a stronghold.

On my way to the Mages’ Guild, I once again got that nagging feeling that I was being followed. I paused for a while near one of the stalls, trying to catch a glimpse of my stalker out of the corner of my eye. He was a fairly nondescript type, not the kind you’d notice if you passed him in the street, but I could swear he was the same person I’d seen before in both Vivec and Ald’ruhn. This had gone on long enough, I thought.

I turned around and walked straight over to him – noticing how, just for a moment, he seemed to be trying to back away into the shadows. “Excuse me,” I said. “Is there some kind of a problem?”

“No, sera,” he said, with a look of wide-eyed surprise.

I lowered my voice slightly. “Then why are you following me?”

“You must be mistaken, sera. I’m not following you.”

“Then make sure you don’t start.” I gave him a threatening look, then turned and walked away. Either I managed to scare him off, or he was a lot more careful from then on, because I never saw him again after that.

I took the Guild Guide to the pleasant little Imperial town of Caldera, and made my way to Ghorak Manor. Immediately I got the feeling something was very wrong: the windows were boarded up and the place had the general look of a crumbling, abandoned building. I could almost have believed the bank manager had set me up, but why on Nirn would he do something like that?

The inside of the house was even more disturbing. The wall hangings were crooked, broken bottles and overturned furniture littered the floor, and there was a large heap of ash in one corner. The inhabitants – all Orcs – were only half-dressed and looked like pretty rough customers. If I hadn’t been well-armed, I might just have turned around and hurried back out.

Instead I plucked up my courage and walked over to one of the men. “Ada Ventura. I’m looking for someone named Creeper?”

A wide grin spread over the Orc’s face. “E’s upstairs.”

Getting nervous with every minute, I made my way up to the next floor. Up here were a couple more Orcs and – a pet scamp? This was getting weirder and weirder. “Creeper?” I said hesitantly, looking at the first Orc.

“Hello Caldera! I’m here all week!”

I nearly jumped out of my skin. That squeaky voice had come not from the Orc, but from the scamp. It had to be some kind of trick, surely?

“Excuse me,” I said faintly to the Orc. “Did that scamp just speak?”

He chuckled. “Weren’t expecting that, were you Cyrodiil? Yeah, that’s Creeper. You wanna buy something from him?”

I turned to look at the scamp, still half convinced that the Orcs were playing a trick on me. “Sorry,” I said weakly. “I didn’t realise scamps could… talk.”

“No worries.” It was definitely the scamp speaking – I could see his lips moving. “C’mon...help a scamp out,” he continued. “You gotta need something. I’ve got booze....”

I took a few very cautious steps towards him. “Actually I was hoping you would buy something from me.”

“So let’s see it.”

Carefully, still expecting to be jumped from behind at any minute, I took the ring from my pouch and held it out to Creeper so he could examine it. “Thirty thousand, take it or leave it,” he said instantly.

I took it. Mad I might be, but I wasn’t quite at the stage where I would stand there haggling with a scamp.

He didn’t give me the thirty thousand drakes in cash, of course. Instead he gave me a bank draft, which appeared genuine enough. I teleported out of the house as soon as I’d finished examining it, not wanting to stay there a moment longer than I had to, and a short while later I re-entered the Bank of Vvardenfell in Vivec.

“I see you found Creeper,” said the manager, seeing the expression on my face.

I flung the paper down on his desk. “Let’s just never speak of this again, shall we?”

When I’d finished sorting out payment for my loan, and stored my newfound wealth in the bank, I decided to return to Ald’ruhn. It had been about a week since I’d given Galsa Gindu the construction contract, and I wanted to check how my stronghold was progressing. After stopping for a meal at the Rat in the Pot, I went to speak to her at the Council Hall.

“Ah, Ada. I’m glad to see you.” She smiled at me. “I want you to make sure your stronghold is being built on schedule. It is being built among the rows of stones, the Bal Isra, on the east side of the road from Ald’ruhn to Maar Gan. Go there and speak with the foreman, Bugdul gro-Kharbush.”

It took me the rest of the afternoon to walk out to Bal Isra. Actually finding the stronghold was more difficult than I had expected, as it was being built at the top of a hill, so far up that it couldn’t even be seen from the road below. Why would anyone want to build a stronghold here, miles from anywhere? Who was going to attack a place like this?

I was even more surprised when I actually saw the place. The construction site was fairly bare, with a few large tents dotted around the place, yet the main building appeared to be almost finished. It was basically just a big shell, of course – most of the building work would take place underground – but the door and windows had already been put in, and it looked carved and polished. Did they just have a big stock of the things somewhere?

One of the Orc builders, who appeared to be overseeing the work, eventually noticed me standing there. “You here about the stronghold?” he asked. “Tell Galsa Gindu things are fine here. The work will be done soon.”

“Are you Bugdul gro-Kharbush?”

He nodded. “I’m the building foreman for Indarys Manor.”

I was about to ask him about the house, when something occurred to me. “Hold on, ‘Indarys Manor’? Why not Ventura Manor?”

“Er…” Bugdul suddenly looked rather panicked. I could see him casting around for an excuse, but Orcs aren’t exactly quick with words at the best of times. “I don’t know. That’s just what the bosses told me.”

Okay, I thought. There’s something a bit weird going on here.

Back in Ald’ruhn, I tried to talk to Galsa about what I’d seen and heard, but she waved me away. “I’m very busy, Ada. Besides, I was just about to finish work for the day. Come back in another week, and the next stage of construction should be finished.”

There wasn’t much I could do except thank her and leave, but I was determined to take these things up with her the next time we met. Once again, I was starting to get the feeling there was something I wasn’t being told.

Congrats on your new job!!!

New job woo hoo.

I've always wondered about those "travel stained pants" from Peakstar (the Incontinent. )

Thanks! Only problem is having to get up early again all of a sudden.