Always find my characters in the same situation- can't use it and feel bad for selling it.



Isn't that how we got here in the first place?



Larrius Varo’s “little story” has always been one of my favorite bits of in-game dialogue- and it fits seamlessly with Ada’s own dry wit. Must be an Imperial thing.



And that illustrates exactly what I mean.



Just like those Water Breathing potions you find- at the BACK end of the submerged cavern you just swam through.

Wonderful as always, Helena.

Are we sure the spear Ada received as payment isn't the same one that Lifts-Her-Tail spent all night polishing?

I enjoyed her wry take on Vivec and some of its inhabitants, and the way she dealt with corruption in the Fighter's Guild.

Nothing like a nice little gang war to liven things up!

LOL, good catch

I certainly think she'd have been more cautious about accepting one from Crassius Curio.

not that anyone would ever be likely to hire me, of course.


If she looks like your avatar....I would personally beg to differ!

Yes, Ada definately gets the job done!

Before I post the next chapter, I'd just like to add a couple of screenshots of 'Young Ada' (actually my first Oblivion character, the one who originally gave me the idea to write an Elder Scrolls fic). Here she is aged roughly 16, in her homeland of Cyrodiil:

Imperial City
Playing soldiers

I also thought I'd mention that I've just posted the first chapter of The Neveragaine Strikes Back - the sequel to The Neveragaine - over at the Bethesda forums. I'd like to post it here as well, for the benefit of people who've already read the first story, but I'm not sure if I'm allowed more than one fanfic at a time. Obviously updates will be a lot slower on this one!

And with that out of the way...


Chapter 9: He Had It Coming

Nileno was all smiles when I went to see her at the Council House, her previous bad mood apparently forgotten. “Ada!” she exclaimed. “I hear you killed Thanelan Velas. Take these 1,000 drakes as a reward for solving this murder.”

“Well, I’m glad he’s dead,” I said, “but I don’t think I should accept the money. I had nothing to do with the attack on the Council Club.”

“Of course not,” she said, not missing a beat. “I meant to say, please take these drakes as a reward for your… exceptional service to House Hlaalu. And while we’re about it, I’m promoting you to the rank of Oathman.”

“Ooh.” Clearly I was going up in the world. “Do I need to do anything else?”

“Well, once you reach the next rank I won’t be able to promote you any further. You’ll have to persuade one of the Councillors to sponsor you.” A mercenary glint came into her eye. “In fact, for a small consideration, I might tell you which one to speak to.”

Sighing, I handed her fifty drakes from the money purse she’d just given me, and then almost dropped it on the floor when she said, “Crassius Curio is the one you should speak with.”

“…Crassius Curio?” My voice came out around an octave higher than usual. “Not the one living in the Hlaalu canton in Vivec?”

“Ah, you’ve heard of him?” she enquired. “Yes, he is the most open-minded of the Councillors, though somewhat… eccentric. He is the one most likely to listen to your requests, whatever they may be.”

Oh, gods. Could I really stand having to work for that guy? On the other hand… he was clearly wealthy and influential, and could probably pull a few strings on my behalf. Surely I could put up with being called ‘pumpkin’ and ‘sweetroll’ for a while if it meant a chance of getting back to Cyrodiil.

“But before that,” she continued, “there is one more item of business.”

“Oh?”

“The East Empire Company threatened to buy ebony from House Redoran unless we lower prices.” I waited for her to continue. “Either convince Canctunian Ponius in Ebonheart to buy ebony from us, or kill Darns Tedalen, the head of mining operations in the Sudanit Mine. If you do both, there might be a bonus in it for you.”

My jaw dropped. I guess I really shouldn’t have been shocked at anything Nileno said by this point, but even so, that last part completely floored me. I knew by now that the Hlaalu were pretty ruthless in defending their business interests, but I’d never imagined they’d go that far.

“Um, sorry, Nileno,” I said weakly. “Did you just say you wanted me to murder the head of mining operations?”

“Of course not!” she exclaimed, clearly horrified. I was just beginning to think I’d misjudged her when she continued, “That would be dreadfully bad for business.”

“But…” I hesitated, trying to get myself into the mindset of someone who thought like that. “Then how am I supposed to kill him? There’ll be guards, surely?”

Nileno shook her head in exasperation. “Oh, Ada. You must provoke him into attacking you first, of course – that way it will be perfectly legal to kill him.” She gave me an indulgent smile. “You really must learn how these things work, my dear.”

My mouth was still hanging open. “Right,” I said at last, recovering the power of speech. “I… think I’ll just speak to this Ponius guy, if it’s all the same to you. Who is he exactly, anyway?”

I nearly fainted when she said, “He is the local Factor of the East Empire Company.”

Great, I thought, as I left the building a short time later. What the heck was I supposed to do now? How was I supposed to convince the head of the East Empire Company that he should continue to buy ebony from Hlaalu? How would I ever even persuade him to see me? It wasn’t as if I was anyone important.

But however impossible that task might seem, the alternative was even worse. There was no way I was going to kill an innocent man just because Nileno asked me to, ‘legal’ or not. Camonna Tong members were one thing; a guy whose only crime was to belong to a different House was quite another.

Why couldn’t we just lower our own prices, I thought, with a sudden flash of anger. Wasn’t that how commerce was supposed to work anyway? People might criticise us Imperials for our mercantile outlook, but at least we understood that!

I couldn’t immediately think of any ideas. I even said a quick prayer to Zenithar, our god of commerce (yes, we have a god of commerce – we’re Imperials, for crying out loud), but it didn’t seem to help. It wasn’t until that evening that inspiration finally struck, over yet another glass of ale in the Eight Plates tavern.

In addition to the normal spells you can learn from tutors, each race has certain ‘inherent’ magical powers that we’re pretty much born with. They don’t need any skill or cost any magicka to cast, but the downside is that for some reason they only work once a day (please don’t ask me, I don’t make the rules). One of the powers we Imperials get is a powerful Charm spell known as the ‘Voice of the Emperor’, which can persuade the target to agree to almost anything – for a short time, at least.

If I could just get in to see Ponius and cast the spell on him… I knew it was risky, as he’d probably taken precautions against that kind of thing, but using Illusion magic on people wasn’t actually illegal. The worst he could do was throw me out, and at least I’d be able to tell Nileno that I’d tried.

I spent some time sketching out a rough plan of action in my journal, and on the next morning I travelled to Vivec to put it into practice. My first stop was at a clothier’s in the Foreign Quarter, run by a woman called Agrippina Herennia. Being a fellow Imperial, she was very understanding when I explained what I needed, and even helped me style my hair into something more interesting than its usual neat braids.

“Have you thought of using some Telvanni bug musk?” she asked, as I tried on some of her beautifully-tailored clothes.

“Telvanni bug musk?” I’d never even heard of it.

“It’s a perfume made from the scent glands of Grazelands beetles,” she explained. “The fragrance is attractive to all mortal races and sexes – it can make even a barbarian persuasive. Very expensive, but well worth it.”

So I went to buy a flask of Telvanni bug musk from one of the alchemists in the Lower Waistworks. It was stupidly expensive, at 100 septims a bottle, but if it was as powerful as Agrippina said then that was hardly surprising. I’d soon find out, anyway.

A ship docked near the Foreign Quarter took me to Ebonheart, the Imperial administrative centre of Vvardenfell. It was very much a Western-style settlement, built entirely out of stone, and resembling a large castle. The plaza by the docks was dominated by a huge marble statue of the Dragon God Akatosh, chief of the Nine Divines. Out of long habit, I brushed my hand against it for luck as I went past.

I stood in front of the East Empire Company headquarters, staring up at the imposing building, and I must admit that I almost lost my nerve. I came very close to just saying “sod it”, heading back to the docks, and going back to tell Nileno that I wasn’t up to the task. After all, what was the worst that could happen? She could either accept it or kick me out of the House, and frankly, at this stage I was starting to think that might be a good thing.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a Redguard man smile at me. “You okay there, friend?”

“Fine.” I forced myself to smile back.

“Here from Cyrodiil?”

I nodded. “Just for a little while.”

“Well, I wouldn’t hurry back.” He looked sombre. “I heard about the unrest in Cyrodiil City. Sounds like things are pretty bad there at the moment.”

My heart leapt into my mouth. I hadn’t heard anything about this. “What unrest?”

“Didn’t you know?” I shook my head. “Uriel Septim is sick, and wizards say the young Septims are just doppelgangers placed there when Jagar Tharn was Imperial Battlemage. They say the Guard charged a mob demanding destruction of the false heirs... lots of folks were killed.”

I felt a horrible sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Cyrodiil City – or Imperial City as we call it back there – was my home. My friends were there, and my family. Not that I could ever imagine my parents joining a mob to storm the Palace, but if they happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time…

Suddenly I knew that whatever it took, I had to get back to Cyrodiil. All the time I was running around doing stupid errands for Caius Cosades and Nileno Dorvayn, my friends back in the City were in danger. I’d no idea if I could help or not, but it was my city, and if there was trouble then I ought to be there.

As the Redguard watched in bewilderment, I took my flask of bug musk out of my pack and dabbed a liberal amount onto my wrists and collarbone. Then, taking a deep breath, I marched into the EEC office with my head held high.

“Good day,” I said to the clerk inside, smiling sweetly. His mouth dropped open and he hastily got to his feet, smoothing back his hair. “I’m a representative of House Hlaalu. Would it be possible for me to speak to Mr. Ponius, please?”

“I – of course, my lady. I’ll see what I can do.” Red-faced, he hurried from the room, while I quickly dabbed on a little more of the Telvanni bug musk. It was the first and probably the only time that I would ever provoke that kind of reaction from a man, and I have to admit that it was rather enjoyable.

A few moments later the clerk returned and ushered me through into Ponius’ office, where the Factor sat at a desk. For a moment he looked a little confused, but as I drew closer and the scent wafted over him, that same stunned expression crossed his face. “Ah, a fellow Imperial!” he said in delight, springing to his feet. “What can I do for you, madam?”

“Good morning, Factor,” I said, with my most charming smile. “I’m very pleased to meet you.” I shook hands with him, and as I did so, I murmured the words to the ‘Voice of the Emperor’ spell under my breath.

What came next… well, let’s just say that it was not my sharply-honed business acumen that persuaded Canctunian Ponius to renew the contract. I flirted shamelessly, I batted my eyelashes, I did everything I’d always dismissed as completely unforgivable in a modern, liberated woman. I don’t think I even did it particularly well, but that hardly mattered – with the combined effect of the spell and the Telvanni bug musk, I could probably have stood there reciting the alphabet and had the same effect.

After securing Ponius’s compliance (poor guy, he never stood a chance), I went down to the docks and enquired about travel to the mainland. As I’d expected, I was told that ships were being turned back due to the Blight, but I did find out that a ship was leaving soon for Tel Branora – the Telvanni settlement where Maurrie Aurmine’s friend lived. I decided now would be as good a time as any to go there (not least because I was keen to put off my next meeting with Crassius Curio for as long as possible).

It was a long journey to Tel Branora, a small and isolated island in the region known as Azura’s Coast, and we didn’t arrive until sunrise the next morning. When I stepped on to the docks, all I could see was a few wooden shacks. It was only after struggling up a hill that I got my first sight of Tel Branora itself – and it literally took my breath away.

The entire village – if you could call it that – seemed to be carved out of one absolutely enormous mushroom. A huge central tower stretched up towards the sky, and around it, houses and shops were built into the mushroom ‘caps’ and connected by winding spiral staircases. Shrouded in mist, glowing faintly in the early morning light, it looked like something from a child’s book of fairytales. Say what you like about the Telvanni, they had style.

I did feel a little nervous as I walked towards the town, remembering the stories I’d been told – but while none of the locals here seemed particularly friendly, none of them made any attempt to kidnap or enslave me. I finally plucked up courage to ask directions from at a small encampment nearby, where a Dunmer woman stood with a group of heavily-armed Bosmer guards.

The woman scowled at me as I approached. Before I even had a chance to speak, she called to me angrily: “Stay out of things that don’t concern you, outlander! This affair is between myself and Therana.”

“Um, I didn’t mean to interfere,” I said meekly, wondering what the ‘affair’ was and for that matter, who Therana was. “I just wondered if you could tell me where to find someone called Barnand Erelie?”

She looked at me with undisguised disgust. “Do I look like a tour guide? Find someone else to give you directions.”

Shrugging, I left her and crossed over a narrow walkway into the settlement itself. The first thing I saw was a trader’s banner fluttering outside one of the mushroom ‘houses’, so I went in to ask the shopkeeper inside about Barnand. The inside of the weird mushroom was even stranger than the outside; an earthy smell pervaded the rooms and the walls looked moist and fleshy, like the insides of an animal. I really didn’t think I’d want to live in a place like this.

Rather to my surprise, the trader seemed relatively friendly and was happy to share information about local services. “Llorayna Sethan runs Sethan’s Tradehouse,” she told me. “That’s probably where you’ll find your friend. Galen Berer is a smith and armorer, Fadase Selvayn is a trader, and Mistress Therana in the tower is our lady sorceress. Oh, and Trerayna Dalen – Mistress Therana’s Telvanni challenger – has a camp just outside the village.”

I was taken aback by her casual attitude. “Does this happen… often?”

“Fairly often, yes,” she said. “It’s the traditional Telvanni way of settling disputes.”

Okay, maybe all those wild stories about the Telvanni weren’t so far-fetched after all.

I found Barnand in the tradehouse, as predicted. I knew immediately that there wasn’t likely to be anything between us; he was a good-looking man, slim and fair-haired, but not really my type. He seemed friendly enough, though.

“Ah...so you’re the one who brought Maurrie and Nelos together!” he exclaimed, when I told him who I was. “Nothing has been seen or heard of them since then, but the bards are singing songs of their love. Please, take these as a token of my gratitude.”

He handed me three extremely high-quality Restore Health potions. Well, I might not be getting a boyfriend out of this, but that was a pretty good substitute.

I spent some time exploring the rest of Tel Branora, marvelling at its intricate construction. No one back home would ever believe me when I told them about this. It made me wish I had some kind of magical device that could capture an image of the tower, exactly as it was, to show to my friends.

As I wandered up a spiral walkway, looking for a way into the tower, I found my way blocked by a very tall Telvanni guard. He was so swathed in heavy armour that I couldn’t even tell what race he was; only his height and ungloved hands indicated that he was an Altmer.

I was just about to turn back when he strode up to me. “Outlander. Would you like to earn some gold?”

“Maybe,” I said cautiously. “Who are you?”

“I am Mollimo of Cloudrest, Mistress Therana’s guard captain.” He pointed into the distance where Trerayna Dalen had her camp. “I want you to take care of Trerayna Dalen for me. She’s a petty annoyance, but Mistress Therana won’t let me leave the tower to deal with her. Kill her, and I’ll pay you 1,000 gold.”

Gods, did I look like someone who’d kill random strangers for money? “I’m not an assassin for hire,” I said coldly. “And I don’t want to get mixed up in Telvanni disputes.”

He shrugged. “If you change your mind, the offer still stands.”

“Could I see Mistress Therana?”

“You’ll find her in her chamber in the Upper Tower,” he said. “Easiest way is to enter through north-facing entrance to the Tower. You’ll have to fly, of course.”

I looked blankly at him. “Fly?”

“Yes, fly. You’ll have to fly, either way you go.” He paused. “In any case, I wouldn’t recommend approaching her. Mistress Therana is old and somewhat… eccentric. Her behaviour can be unpredictable.”

I wasn’t really listening. I was still trying to work out if he was just having me on, or if he was actually serious when he spoke about flying. Sure, I knew plenty of Alteration spells (or knew of them, at least), but I’d never even realised flying was possible. Surely it couldn’t be that only the Telvanni knew how to do it?

Anyway, it didn’t look like I’d be meeting Therana – and to be honest, there wasn’t really a lot else to do in Tel Branora. I’d have loved to see the tower lit up at night, but I didn’t want to hang around all day just waiting for sundown. Rather than spend another day or so travelling back by ship, I tried casting a Divine Intervention scroll, and was somewhat surprised to find myself right back in Ebonheart outside an Imperial chapel. Apparently this kind of scroll teleported you to the nearest Imperial Cult shrine, the same way Almsivi Intervention scrolls took you to the nearest Temple.

As I boarded the silt strider for Balmora, it occurred to me that I hadn’t made any progress in my pilgrimage for quite a long while. I’d joined the Temple a few days after arriving in Vvardenfell, yet so far I’d only visited one of the seven shrines on the list. I really ought to be putting more effort into it, or they’d start thinking I lacked faith (heaven forbid).

I got out my book to check the sites of the other pilgrimage shrines. Three of them were in Vivec, which was fairly convenient, but my heart sank when I saw that two others were in the town of Gnisis and the Koal Cave – both up in the far north-west, near the coast. Even if I could come up with a reason to visit that part of the country, it would still take days to get there and back. The last shrine – described by the book as one of the most difficult to reach – was at a place called ‘Ghostgate’ near the crater of Red Mountain, the large volcano in the centre of the island.

I decided I’d try to get the Vivec pilgrimages done next time I visited the city, but in the meantime I had to tell Nileno about the ebony contract. Before that, though, I went to the Eight Plates and composed a letter to my parents – my first in several years.

When I left home at the age of eighteen, I’d left a letter for them, explaining what I’d done and that I could be reached through the Fighters’ Guild. On receiving a tear-stained reply, begging me to give up this ‘silly nonsense’ and come home, I’d written back explaining gently but firmly that it wasn’t going to happen. I hadn’t heard from them since, even though I’d written several more letters, so I eventually stopped bothering – but now it was different. I wasn’t too hopeful that this letter would even reach them, what with the travel bans and the unrest in Cyrodiil, but I had to try.

I was still a little distracted when I went back to the Balmora Council Hall after handing in the letter for delivery, but Nileno didn’t seem to notice. “So you convinced Canctunian Ponius,” she said, when I told her about the meeting. “Good work, Ada - please take these 1,000 drakes as a gift from House Hlaalu. And I believe this merits a promotion to Lawman.”

I knew I ought to be pleased about this, but somehow I couldn’t work up any enthusiasm. “Does this mean you don’t have any more duties for me?”

She nodded. “You must find a sponsor among the Hlaalu Councillors. Since you are a foreigner, you should speak with Crassius Curio – I doubt any of the others would agree to sponsor you.”

I really wasn’t looking forward to a second meeting with ‘Uncle Crassius’, but I supposed I might as well get it over with. So I went to Vivec, to Curio Manor in the Hlaalu canton, and spent some time explaining my situation to Curio. I’d been expecting him to ask some kind of mildly sleazy favour in return for his sponsorship, but what happened next was beyond anything I had imagined.

“You want me to be your sponsor in House Hlaalu?” he exclaimed. “I thought you’d never ask. But first, I want to see who I’m dealing with.” He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair, smiling. “So, Ada, show Uncle Crassius what you have to offer.”

I know this is going to sound stupid, but for a moment I honestly didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. “Excuse me?”

“Come on, dumpling, don’t be shy,” he wheedled. “Just do this one little favour for Uncle Crassius.”

Was he asking for a bribe? I’d been in House Hlaalu long enough to know that the answer was probably ‘yes’, no matter how pathetically greedy it seemed. I heaved an exasperated sigh, fumbling for my purse. “All right, how much?”

But Crassius waved it away. “Now come on, sweetie, I’m sure we understand each other. No need to be coy. After all, that armour looks so hot and uncomfortable…”

And it finally hit me. For a second I just goggled at him, unable to believe he was actually asking what I thought he was asking, but the lecherous grin on his face made it all too plain that he was. What the hell? Who the hell did he think he was?

The lovely ceramic vase on the nearby table never stood a chance. With a gasp of fury I snatched it up and hurled it at Crassius, hitting him square on the nose and shattering the vase into pieces. “How dare you!”

Crassius leapt to his feet with a cry of pain. “What are you doing? GUARDS! I’m being attacked!”

Two Ordinators came running at the sound of his voice. One of them seized me and pinned my arms behind my back, while the other surveyed the broken pottery and Crassius’ angry face. “What’s going on here, Ser Curio?”

“She threw that vase at me!” Crassius was quivering with indignation. Blood was trickling from a small cut on his forehead where a sharp piece of pottery had struck him.

The other Ordinator twisted me around to face him, ignoring my furious struggles. “Why did you do this, outlander?”

“He tried to make me strip off in front of him! Pervert!” I snarled over my shoulder at Crassius. “Isn’t harassing women a crime here? He’s the one you should be arresting!”

The Ordinator regarded me coldly from behind his golden facemask. “Are you saying he actually attacked you?”

“Well, not as such, but…” I looked at him in helpless rage. “He insulted me!”

“That’s not an excuse, outlander.” The Ordinator released my arms. “You must pay for the damage you caused. How much did this vase cost, Ser Curio?”

“Eight hundred septims.”

“Eight hundred!” I squeaked.

The second Ordinator folded his arms impassively. “And a fine of three hundred drakes for assault. Pay it, outlander, or go to jail.”

“Grrrrrnnngh.” I couldn’t believe this was happening. “All right. Just take me to the bank and I’ll get the money.”

Crassius glowered at me from beneath the handkerchief pressed to his temple. “I’ll see you are expelled from House Hlaalu for this, Oathman.”

“Good riddance!” I spat, still fuming. “And if you dare go around telling people I attacked you for no reason, I’ll make sure everyone knows exactly what you need to do to get ‘sponsored’ in your House. Have a nice day, ‘Uncle Crassius’.”

I swept out of the room, followed closely by the Ordinators. Some part of me realised that there was going to be hell to pay when Nileno found out about this, and that I’d just comprehensively screwed up my chances of getting off Vvardenfell any time soon, but right now I was too angry to care. I wanted revenge, and I knew how to get it.

After paying off the fines (with a very bad grace), and being released, I went straight back to the Mages’ Guild to take the Guild Guide – not to Balmora, but to Ald’ruhn. There, I went directly to the Skar crabshell and into the Redoran Council Hall, where I’d first met Neminda to intercept those orders.

As I’d hoped, Neminda was still there and she recognised me immediately. “Hello there… Ada, isn’t it? Can I help you?”

“Yes. I want to join House Redoran.”

She looked at me in astonishment. “But you are Hlaalu!”

“Not any more,” I said grimly. “They kicked me out.”

“What? Why?”

Ah, here came the hard part. “I, er, threw a vase at one of their Councillors.”

Neminda was staring at me open-mouthed. “Why would you do a thing like that?”

“Because he ordered me to undress in front of him, that’s why,” I snapped. “Wouldn’t you have done the same?”

Her expression cleared suddenly. “Wait a second. Would this be Crassius Curio you’re talking about?”

“Yes, actually,” I said in surprise. “How did you guess?”

By now her eyes were twinkling with amusement. “But Ada, didn’t you know? He does that to all the retainers who ask him for sponsorship.”

“What, all?” I asked in disbelief. “Even the men?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, with a wink. “Especially the men.”

Good gods. Well, at least he was an equal-opportunity lech.

Neminda composed her features into a severe expression, suddenly remembering who she was speaking to. “Anyway, why should I believe any of this? The Hlaalu might have sent you as a spy.”

“I’m not a spy,” I said promptly. “But I’ll tell you who is: Bivale Teneran, the clothier. Oh, and… you might want to change your codes. All of them.”

“Hmph.” She hesitated. “Well, we would not usually accept outcasts from other Houses, but…”

“Please,” I begged. “Give me a chance. I’m a good fighter. I’ve been in the Guild for years, and I’m thinking of joining the Legion when I go up to Gnisis for my pilgrimage – ”

Her frown softened slightly. “Oh, you’re Temple?”

“Yes! Look.” I pulled out my now slightly dog-eared copy of The Pilgrim’s Path. “I’ve already started the pilgrimages.”

“Well, that is something. House Redoran values piety.” She thought for a moment. “Perhaps I should give you a chance. But – ” she frowned at me sternly – “you’re on probation, do you understand? And you will have to start all over again as a Hireling, whatever rank you had reached in Hlaalu.”

“That’s absolutely fine,” I said gratefully. So the Redorans were religious types, were they? Well, I could handle that, as long as they didn’t preach at me all the time like that ghastly Alessia Ottus woman back in Imperial City. (I hated her, but she and her husband were ‘friends’ of my parents, so as a child I’d been forced to play with her equally horrible daughter. We’d never got on, even as five-year-olds.)

“Perhaps you would like to hear the rules of the House first?” Neminda suggested.

Actually, that did sound like a good idea. If I’d only done the same for Hlaalu, perhaps I could have avoided this whole mess.

I nodded, and she quickly reeled off the list from memory. “Steal from your kin, strike your kin unprovoked, or murder your kin, and you shall be cast out from us and called our enemy. Do not break your word of honour. Know your place, serve your superiors, and do your duty to your House. Respect the teachings of the Tribunal. Defend your House, your People, and your Honour.”

“One at a time!” I gasped, scrabbling for my journal. “What was the third one again? Okay, that all sounds pretty reasonable.”

“This book may help you.” She handed me a book called The True Noble’s Code, by one Serjo Athyn Sarethi.

I opened the book and read a random paragraph. “A Redoran must show piety to the Aedra and Daedra, our creators and ancestors. For without the divine, we would not have the chance to serve. And without divine law, we would not know right from wrong. And without giving thanks for these things, we would forget out place and our purpose.” I skimmed up the page. “A Redoran noble must know the virtue of gravity. It is not the Redoran way to laugh at serious matters, for it shows disrespect. It is not the Redoran way to spread rumours, for they fester and breed dissention.”

Boy. These guys were a barrel of laughs, weren’t they?

“Fine,” I said with a sigh. “I think I can manage that. Is there anything you’d like me to do right now?”

Neminda thought for a moment. “Well, Drulene Falen has asked for our help. She says her guar herds have been having trouble with hostile mudcrabs.”

“Okay, well, I’m sure I can – ” I paused. “Hang on, mudcrabs?”

“That’s right.” She looked slightly puzzled. “Don’t you have those in Cyrodiil?”

“Yes, but… never mind.” I heaved a small sigh. Clearly this was going to be the Fighter’s Guild ‘rat infestation’ assignment all over again.

“Anyway, Drulene’s guar herd is due west of here, just over the hills. There’s no easy way to get there, I’m afraid,” she added helpfully. “You’ll have to walk.”

I copied down her directions, my heart sinking as I realised it would take hours to walk out there. On the other hand… at least it would give me an excuse to stay out of Balmora for a day or two. I couldn’t help smiling at the thought of Nileno Dorvayn’s face when she found out what had happened, but for all that, I didn’t want to risk seeing her again until she’d had time to cool down a bit. I was brave, but not that brave.

Will comment on the new chapter when I have time to read it, but I wanted to answer this question first:

You can have as many stories going as you can keep track of here... and that way I can continue to hold my breath and pout in the BGSF Fan-Fiction subforum- while still reading about Ada.

Why oh why did I know what was coming when I heard about the bug musk?

And Ada's reaction to Curio's - ahem - proposition was classic!

Good girl, she went over to House Redoran! They may be dull, dull, dull, but she's perfectly capable of teaching them laughter.

Loved it!

I see trey already answered your question.

This has to be my fave line, but there were tons!!!!





Great Write! I am also reading your new story over on the BGSF !!!

Ada's reaction to the rumor of unrest back home added tremendous depth to her character and personality.



A question I often find myself asking during the game. Everyone you meet seems to think you will be more than happy to kill some random stranger for money.

Glad to have Ada in Redoran- especially as she found her way to us by bopping Crassius. And I always saw the Drulene quest as a sort of hazing- "if you can find this hut in the middle of nowhere, we will let you into our secret club."

Chapter 10: Moving House

I stayed the night at the Fighters’ Guild in Ald’ruhn, where I confirmed the legitimacy of my latest contract with Percius Mercius, and set off on my first mission for Redoran the next morning. Unfortunately Neminda’s directions were a little inadequate, and I took a wrong turning somewhere and ended up getting thoroughly lost. Then, after nearly an hour spent retracing my steps, I tried a different route and got lost again. By the time I spotted the smoke from Drulene Falen’s hut in the distance, the sun was beginning to set and I was tired, dirty and thoroughly fed up.

It was then that I heard a horrible, ear-splitting shriek like the cry of a banshee. I looked around hurriedly, trying to work out where it was coming from, but I couldn’t see anything unusual – until suddenly a shadow fell over me and I heard the beat of wings overhead.

I looked up in horror as just some kind of huge, winged creature came swooping down on me, aiming straight for my face. With a cry of fear I swung up my shield to protect myself, and the creature slammed into it with a force that almost knocked me backwards. A talon scraped across my cheek as I lashed out wildly with my sword, cleaving the horrible beast in two. It plummeted to the ground in a cloud of bloodstained feathers.

I stood panting over my defeated foe, conscious that I’d only just escaped with both eyes intact. What the hell was that thing, and why had it tried to kill me? In Cyrodiil, birds were cute, fluffy little things that trilled happy songs and flittered shyly away when humans approached. I should have known that the Morrowind variety would be larger, meaner, and about ten times more homicidal.

Having patched myself up, I continued following the rough trail through the hills and finally arrived at Drulene Falen’s farm, just as the last rays of sunlight were fading away. Drulene herself was standing among her guar, which were some of the strangest animals I’d ever seen – large, scaly creatures that looked a little like lizards, but walked on two legs. I’d no idea why mudcrabs would pose any problem to them; by the look of them, they could kill a human without too much trouble.

Drulene waved and called to me when she saw me. “Greetings, outlander! Are you from House Redoran? Did Neminda send you?”

“That’s right.”

She looked a little put out. “I’ve been waiting all day, you know.”

“I’m sorry,” I said wearily. “I got lost. Twice. And then I was attacked by some kind of huge… bird… thing.”

“A cliff racer, you mean?”

“Er… maybe. I’ve never seen one before.”

“Well, you’d best get used to them,” she advised. “You’ll see them often if you spend much time in the Ashlands.” Just what I wanted to hear!

“Anyway, Neminda mentioned you had some trouble with… mudcrabs?”

She nodded. “There’s a pair of them that’s been hunting my guar. Just the other day they killed one and dragged it off. They were very big mudcrabs,” she added a little defensively, seeing the expression on my face.

“They must have been,” I said. “Do you have any idea where they’re coming from?”

“From the coast to the southwest, I think.” She sighed. “If this keeps up, I might have to sell what I’ve still got and move back to Tear.” Good grief, these mudcrabs had to be pretty monstrous if they were causing that much trouble.

I set out to search for the culprits as the twilight crept in, and eventually found them in a nearby swamp, by the carcass of the stolen guar. In fairness to Drulene, those were some impressively large mudcrabs, but still not exactly what I’d call a tough opponent. If some people would just learn the basics of how to handle a weapon, it would save an awful lot of trouble.

I made my way back to Drulene’s farm in semi-darkness, stumbling over rocks and tree roots on the way. When she saw me, she waved excitedly. “Did you find the mudcrabs?”

“Yup, they’re dead.”

Her face flooded with relief. “Oh, thank the Tribunal! I might not have to move back to Tear after all. But you look tired, Ada,” she added in concern. This was something of an understatement. “Can I offer you some Hackle-Lo?”

I didn’t have the faintest idea what Hackle-Lo was, but it didn’t seem polite to refuse. I nodded, and she handed me a pouch full of pungent-smelling leaves. Leaves?

“Here you go, Ada,” she said cheerfully. “After a hard day there's nothing better than chewing some Hackle-Lo.”

I took it that Hackle-Lo was the local equivalent of tobacco. No doubt it had some kind of marvellous alchemical properties, but unfortunately I had the alchemical skills of the common mudcrab. “Er, thanks,” I said to Drulene, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Just what I wanted.”

There was no way I was walking back to Ald’ruhn in complete darkness – I’d lost my way one too many times already – and I didn’t want to waste my Intervention scrolls. Drulene’s one-room hut didn’t have a bed for me, but she kindly allowed me to sleep on the floor on an old blanket. Let’s just say that was not the most comfortable night I’ve ever spent, but it was better than sleeping outside and choking to death if an ash storm blew up.

On my way back to Ald’ruhn the next morning, I kept a wary eye out for cliff racers. The journey took only half a day this time, since I managed to avoid getting lost again, but once back at the Fighters’ Guild I spent at least another hour trying to get myself clean. I would never have imagined it was possible to get such huge quantities of ash caught up in my hair. Good thing I keep it tied back on missions, or I’d probably still be washing the stuff out.

Neminda greeted me cheerfully inside the Council hall. “You’ve been gone a while,” she observed, oblivious to the pissed-off expression on my face. “I was expecting you back yesterday evening.”

“Things… came up,” I said heavily. “Do I get paid now?”

She looked surprised. “Did Drulene not pay you?”

“Um, well, she gave me some… Hackle-Lo? But I thought…”

“Hackle-Lo is valuable,” she said severely. “You don’t expect anything more, surely?”

“Of course not,” I said, forcing myself to smile. Apparently my wages were to be paid in Hackle-Lo from now on. I supposed I would just have to get very good at bartering with the local alchemists.

I didn’t feel inclined to take another mission right away, but I couldn’t have done in any case, as the next day I found myself trapped in Ald’ruhn by one of those horrible Blight storms. Yet again I found myself wondering what the hell the Redorans had been smoking when they chose to found their capital in a place like this. Either things had got much worse since Ald’ruhn was first built, or they had really drawn the short straw in negotiations over territory. I could just imagine the discussions between them and the other Houses:

Hlaalu: “Okay chaps, let’s talk about land rights. We got here first, so we’re going to grab all the nice fertile lands in the Ascadian Isles. How about you?”

Telvanni: “Well, we’re big on mushrooms, so we’re going to build all our settlements out east on Azura’s Coast.”

Redoran: “We’re going to stick our capital city in the middle of a barren, ashy desert, with no nearby water supply or arable land, on the slopes of an active volcano which spews out poisonous ash clouds every few days or so. It has cool shells!”

Other Houses: “……”

In the end, I decided to face the music and go back to Balmora. I’d been putting off visiting Caius as long as possible, but after wiping out half the city’s Camonna Tong contingent, I couldn’t really go on pretending I needed more time to improve my skills. And I wasn’t looking forward to seeing Nileno again either, but it had to be done.

By this time I was meeting the Guild guide Masalinie on such a regular basis that we were starting to become friends. “I hear some Imperial guy has been asking around about you,” she said, when I teleported into in the Guild building. “Someone named Caius… Cosades? Oh, and Nileno Dorvayn at the Council hall is looking for you as well. She didn’t look too happy.”

Surprise, surprise. Well, it was probably best to go there first.

Nileno was writing at her desk as usual, but not for long. The moment she saw me, she leapt to her feet and pointed an accusing finger in my direction. “Traitor!”

I had already decided that with Nileno the best means of defence was probably offence, but this made me genuinely angry. “I am not a traitor,” I hissed. “You kicked me out, not the other way round!”

She dismissed this with an angry wave of her hand. “You have joined Redoran!”

“So?”

“So? So?” Nileno was almost quaking with rage. “If I were not unarmed, I would kill you on the spot!”

“Oh, really? Just like you killed all those Cammona Tong people at the Council Club?” I took a step towards her. “Oh wait, no: That was me. Think very carefully before you start threatening me, Nileno.”

Inwardly I was trembling, but my little show of bravado must have been convincing, because Nileno’s outraged expression subsided into a sulky pout. “Have you no loyalty? We paid you well!”

“I’ll pay it back,” I snarled. “All of it. With interest.”

“You cannot just – ” Her brows shot up as she suddenly realised what I was actually saying. “With interest?”

A short while later I left the Council manor, having signed an agreement to repay all the money House Hlaalu had paid me – a total of four thousand drakes – plus the five-hundred-drake ‘deposit’ I had just handed over. If my calculations were correct, that made for an interest rate of 12.5 per cent – pretty steep, but worth it to get Nileno Dorvayn off my back. Luckily I’d chosen to save up most of the money rather than going on a spending spree, but it would still take a while to pay all of it back, especially if a handful of Hackle-Lo was the going rate for House Redoran jobs.

As I walked to Caius Cosades’ house, I took stock of my current situation. On the minus side, I’d thrown away a promising career in a moment of self-righteous anger, not to mention pissing off one of the most powerful men in Vvardenfell and destroying my chances of getting back home. On the plus side, I had a new House: a House of honourable humourless bastards who thought nothing of sending me on a day-long expedition to deal with a couple of sodding mudcrabs. Without payment. Ah yes, life was good.

I greeted Caius in his skooma-filled house, and ended up telling him the entire story over a mug of tea. (He still wasn’t wearing a shirt.) I guess I should have known not to expect sympathy, but he didn’t have to laugh quite so heartily at the story of Crassius Curio and my request for ‘sponsorship’.

“Be careful, Ada,” he chortled, wiping the tears from his eyes. “You don’t want to get a reputation for throwing vases at Great House councillors. Might earn you some unwanted attention.”

I glared at him. “Did you actually have some orders, or did you invite me here just to make fun of me?”

“Sorry.” He shook his head, calming down a little. “So you’re a Redoran, now, eh? Well, not to interfere in your affairs, but I’d recommend you stay on your best behaviour from now on. From what I know of the Redorans, they won’t be so easily bought off.”

“I’ll do my best,” I said, with a sigh. “So what did you want me to do next?”

Caius motioned to a scroll of paper lying on the table beside him. “Well, I’ve thought it over,” he said, “and I want you to interview three informants in Vivec City concerning the Nerevarine and the Sixth House. A Khajiit Thieves Guild operative named Addhiranirr, an Argonian called Huleeya, and a Temple priestess named Mehra Milo.” He pushed the scroll across the table towards me. “Here are the details so you don’t forget. By the way, Mehra is a friend of mine, so be careful when you speak to her – I don’t want you getting her into trouble.”

I couldn’t be bothered to ask how he knew that these seemingly random people would have the information he wanted. No doubt he had his sources. “Right,” I said. “By the way… were you planning to tell me what all this is about at some point? All this business with extinct Houses and secret cults?”

He wagged a finger at me. “All will be revealed in good time. You need to learn patience if you want to be a Blade, Ada.”

“Er. Caius.” It was probably time I broke the news to him. “I take it you realise that I’m not going to be staying with the Blades?”

Caius raised his eyebrows slightly. He took a sip from his mug and laid it down on the table, settling back in his chair. “Oh? Planning to flee the Emperor’s service, are you?”

“No,” I said in exasperation. “I’ll find out whatever you and the Emperor want to know about these cults, but after that I’m going back to Cyrodiil, all right? So I wouldn’t start making any plans that involve me staying in Morrowind.”

“Is that so?” he said quietly. “Well, we’ll see.”

I could tell this battle wasn’t over yet, but there wasn’t much I could do for the moment except head for Vivec. At least it would give me the chance to get a few more of my Pilgrimage visits done.

Before leaving for Vivec I went to deal with the outlaw Orc Dura Gra-Bol for the Fighters’ Guild. It was easy enough to find her – she was living openly in a house on the east side of town – but unfortunately she refused to come quietly and attacked me, forcing me to kill her. When I returned to Eydis afterwards, she told me that she didn’t have any more duties for someone of my rank, and I’d have to try the other regional Guild offices. To be honest, I was a little relieved.

I arrived in Vivec early in the afternoon. According to Caius’ notes, the Argonian Huleeya could be found in the Foreign Quarter, so I decided to look for him first. After asking around I learned that he could often be found in the Black Shalk cornerclub in the Lower Waistworks.

When I entered the cornerclub, my heart immediately sank. A worried-looking Argonian, presumably Huleeya, was standing in a corner of the room, surrounded by three very unfriendly and thuggish-looking Dunmer. The only other person in the room, the bartender, was standing well back with an “I’m not getting involved in this” expression on his face. Clearly I had chosen a rather bad moment to drop in.

I approached the man who looked like their leader, and greeted him politely. He scowled at me. “Am I talking to you, fetcher? No. I am talking to the filthy lizard. So push off.”

“Me and the ‘filthy lizard’ have business,” I said, folding my arms.

The Dunmer snorted in disgust. “What, are you some kind of filthy lizard lover? You wanta give your little friend a big kiss?”

I hesitated for a moment, thinking things over. I was only lightly armed right now, and I didn’t really want to start a fight in the middle of a club in Vivec (particularly a three-on-one fight). Besides, if I did there was a chance that Huleeya would get hurt. Maybe it was time to spread some of Caius’ gold around.

“How about I give you a big bag of gold instead?” I suggested, keeping my voice calm and steady. “And then maybe you’ll leave me and my friend to talk in peace. Deal?”

The three men exchanged glances. Finally, the leader shrugged. “Fine. You wanta take the lizard out of here, I’m not stopping you.”

I handed over a hundred septims from my pouch, and motioned to Huleeya to follow me. We left the club in silence, the thugs’ gazes boring into our backs. When the door clicked shut behind us, Huleeya breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank you for persuading those troublesome fools to leave me alone,” he said. “I would have slain them, but it would tarnish my honour, and I did not want to trouble my friend Saralis Golmis by fighting in his club.”

Yeah, right, I thought, but I didn’t say it. “What happened?”

He shrugged. “They simply wanted to fight. They hate my race, and the sight of a free Argonian offends them. It saddens and angers me.”

I nodded gloomily. It always saddens me to see prejudice and racism directed at the so-called ‘beast-folk’, though I can kind of understand how they might seem scary if you haven’t grown up amongst them like I did. The Argonians are basically giant walking lizards, and the feline Khajiit have a somewhat disturbing habit of referring to non-Khajiit as ‘prey’. They don’t mean anything by it, though (well, usually).

Anyway, time to get down to business. “You’re Huleeya, right?”

“Yes. You said you had business to discuss with me?”

I lowered my voice, knowing that Ordinators tended to lurk round every corner in Vivec. “Caius Cosades sent me. He wants information about the Nerevarine cult.”

“Ah.” Huleeya nodded slowly. “Very well. Come with me to my friend Jobasha’s bookstore, where we can talk in peace.”

We walked to a bookstore on the other side of the waistworks. Once inside, Huleeya drew me into a secluded corner and we sat down.

“Yes, thank you very much. We should be free from distraction here.” He took a sheaf of folded notes from his pocket. “What is it you wish to know about the Nerevarine cult?”

I sighed, wondering where to begin. “Well, to start with, perhaps you could tell me a little more about how the cult got started?”

“You have heard of Lord Nerevar, of course.” I nodded. “Well, to understand the Nerevarine cult, you must understand the history of the Ashlanders. Nerevar means something very different to them from what he means to Dunmer of the Great Houses.”

“In what way?”

“In the First Era, the nomadic Ashlanders and the settled Dunmer clans were much alike,” he explained, “but after the First Council and the formation of the Great Houses, Ashlanders have been steadily forced into the poorest and most hostile lands. Now they look to the prophesied return of Nerevar for a restoration of their ancient rights and traditions. They say that when they joined Nerevar in the Battle of Red Mountain, he swore on his great Ring, One-Clan-Under-Moon-and-Star, to honour the ways of the Spirits and rights of the Land.”

“So they believe that one day he’ll be reborn, and…”

“…fulfil his promises to the Tribes, yes.”

Ah, yes, this all sounded very familiar. A mistreated and downtrodden people, harking back to an imagined Golden Age to escape the harsh realities of their lives, dreaming of the day when some ancient hero would return and magically make things right again. It was all rather sad, really.

“And the Houses, what do they believe?”

Huleeya sighed. “Well, the Houses follow the Temple, and the Temple treats the Nerevarine prophecies as heresy. And the punishment for heresy is imprisonment and execution.”

I sat bolt upright. “What? I thought Morrowind’s treaty with the Empire was supposed to guarantee religious freedom?”

“In theory, yes,” he said, smiling rather sourly. “But the Nerevarine cult is hostile to the Empire, so the Empire does not interfere when the Temple persecutes the cult. Ashlanders hate the Temple, and particularly the Ordinators, for their ruthless treatment of Nerevarine cultists.”

I sat back in my chair, trying to take this in. As if things weren’t bad enough already, it would seem that I’d got myself involved with a bunch of fanatical religious extremists. It almost made me have second thoughts about doing any more pilgrimages for them – though on the other hand, maybe it was all the more reason to get them done as soon as possible. I certainly didn’t want anyone suspecting me of heresy.

“Er.” I swallowed nervously. “Just what, exactly, would you have to do for the Temple to declare you a heretic?”

“Well, for example, some in the past have claimed to be the reincarnated Nerevar,” he said. “The most recent is an Ashlander girl named Peakstar, a figure of legend among the Wastes tribes for the last 30 years. The Temple says these ‘false Incarnates’ disprove the prophecies, but the cult cites their appearance as proof of Nerevar’s coming rebirth.”

“And what happened to Peakstar?”

He shrugged. “Nobody knows. She disappeared, and has not been seen in more than twenty years now. The Temple claims she is dead, but no body was ever found.”

“Well, thanks for your time, Huleeya,” I said as I got to my feet, taking the notes he’d prepared for Caius. “You’ve been very helpful.” He’d certainly told me plenty, including some things which I’d really have preferred not to know. I’d be even more nervous of the Ordinators now.

Addhiranirr, the Khajiit thief, was the next person on my list. I was told that she lived somewhere in the St. Olms canton, which was quite a long walk away, so I went to the Foreign Quarter gondolier to ask if he could take me to St. Olms.

“No,” he said.

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

“I can take you as far as the Arena,” he said, “and you can cross the bridge from there. Or take another gondola, if you like. But I don’t go as far as St. Olms.”

I looked at him in disbelief. “Couldn’t I just pay you a little bit extra to go to St. Olms?”

“No.”

Grinding my teeth, I handed over the fare for the Arena. Luckily the St. Olms canton was the next one over, so it was just a short walk over the bridge when I arrived. I made my way up to the Waistworks, where I was surprised to be greeted by a well-dressed Imperial holding some papers.

“Good afternoon, sister,” he said with a pleasant smile. “I’m looking for a friend of mine, a female Khajiit named Addhiranirr. Do you know where I can find her?”

Addhiranirr? What a bizarre coincidence. “Er, no,” I said truthfully. “I don’t know where to find her.”

“I see,” he said, nodding. “Well, perhaps some other good citizen can tell me where to find her.”

Well, that was weird, I thought as he walked away. Was he after her for the same reason I was? Surely not.

Once the Imperial was safely out of sight, I approached a Dark Elf resident and asked about Addhiranirr. “Hmm,” he said thoughtfully. “Maybe that name does sound a little familiar. For some reason, I just can’t seem to remember.”

Sighing, I handed him some more of Caius’ coins, and he grinned. “Okay, I know Addhiranirr. And if I know Addhiranirr, she’ll be staying out of sight as long as that Census and Excise agent is lurking about.” Ah, I thought. “Probably down in the underworks. Look for trapdoors down from the canalworks level.”

“The sewers?” I asked in horror.

“Yeah, that’s right. Not scared of a little dirt, are you, Cyrodiil?”

Oh, Talos, why me? I hated sewers more than almost anything else in existence. I’d had to go down into the Imperial City’s sewers a couple of times before, and it had taken me days to get the smell out.

I prepared myself thoroughly before braving the underworks, changing into my oldest, shabbiest clothes and buying some perfumed oils from the canton’s alchemist. After that I went down to the next level of the canton, the canalworks, and managed to locate a trapdoor into the sewer. One of the Divines must have been with me, as I found Addhiranirr almost straight away.

“Great,” she said, when I explained who I was and what I wanted. “So Caius says to you, ‘Speak with Addhiranirr,’ and you have done this thing. But Addhiranirr will not talk to you about the Nerevarine or the Sixth House cult, and because why?”

“Why?”

She scowled. “Because Addhiranirr is, at this moment, very distracted by a nice Census and Excise agent, who also wants to speak with her.”

“What about?” I asked, though I’d already guessed the answer.

“You do not know this?” she said scornfully. “They are the collectors of the Emperor’s taxes and tariffs. And the Emperor has outlawed trade in many things, like Dwemer artifacts and ebony, and a Census and Excise agent will enjoy being a pest about such things. If you want Addhiranirr to help you, make the bad agent go away – then she will tell you things.”

I went back to the Waistworks and changed my clothes again, wondering what I could say to the agent to make him go away. All I could think of was to say that she’d been seen leaving the canton, and hope he believed me.

When I found the tax agent again, still wandering around the waistworks, he smiled at me. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Well, I’ve been asking around about your Khajiit friend,” I said as innocently as possible, “and I heard she just took a gondola to the mainland. Seems you missed her, I’m afraid.”

“What a disappointment,” he sighed. “But thank you for your time. I was just heading back to the mainland myself, anyway, and maybe I’ll run into her there.”

I felt a little guilty as I watched him go. I’m not the kind who enjoys ratting people out to tax agents (and they do exist), but I don’t particularly approve of smuggling either, even if the law is unfair. But hey, if Caius chose to associate with Thieves’ Guild people, there wasn’t much I could do about it.

Addhiranirr smiled gleefully when I told her I’d dealt with the Census and Excise agent. “Really? This is a good trick. And Addhiranirr does not ask you how you do this trick, because Addhiranirr does not want to know. But now Addhiranirr is feeling quite good, and happy to talk to you about the cults.”

“Do you know about the Sixth House cult?”

She nodded. “This Addhiranirr knows about, because it is about smuggling. Some smart smugglers are suddenly too busy for their old clients, because they have a new employer, the Sixth House, who pays very well.”

“What are they smuggling?”

“Addhiranirr doesn’t know, because they are very secret. And this is odd, because these smugglers are always loud and bragging, and now they hush up like fat-bellied kitties full of sweet-meats.”

Hmm, interesting. “You don’t know any more than this? Nothing about people called ‘Sleepers’, for instance?” She shook her head. “What about the Nerevarine cult?”

Addhiranirr let out a mocking laugh. “Yes, Addhiranirr knows this Nerevarine cult is just silly superstition. So you tell Caius this: Nobody in her right mind pays any attention to this moon-yeowling, prophecies and ancient heroes reborn and other silliness. Fuzzy tales for little kitties.”

Well, it was good to find someone else who saw this Nerevarine nonsense for what it was. From what I’d heard so far, there didn’t seem to be anything in it except wishful thinking on the part of the Ashlanders – certainly nothing that could pose a real threat to the Empire. Why Caius took such an interest in it was beyond me.

I took a vigorous bath and smeared myself in perfume before setting off to find Caius’ final informant, Mehra Milo, in the Temple canton. In his notes, Caius had warned me not to ask anyone about Mehra, as he didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that she was speaking to an outlander. He’d described her as ‘the priestess with the copper hair and copper eyes’, so that was all I had to go on.

As I walked to the bridge which joined the two cantons, enjoying the cool evening air, I spotted something which froze me in my tracks. High in the air above the magnificent Temple building was a massive – and I do mean massive – piece of rock, vaguely oval in shape and easily the size of a small moon. It seemed to be floating in the air of its own accord, and looking carefully I could see doors carved into it and balconies attached to the surface. It was like nothing I’d ever seen before in my entire life.

“Excuse me,” I said to a nearby gondolier, pointing. “What is that?”

“That is the Ministry of Truth, outlander.”

“How does it…?” I made an upwards gesture with my hands.

“It is a celestial body suspended there by the mighty power of Vivec,” he said with an entirely straight face. “Legend says that should the populace cease to worship Vivec, it will fall and raze the city.”

Okay, it sounded ridiculous, but I couldn’t think of a better explanation. “And what are those doors in it?”

He smiled grimly. “The Ministry of Truth was hollowed out to provide a prison and re-education centre operated by the Temple Ordinators for the correction of heretics.”

‘Correction of heretics’? Okay, that was it: the Temple were officially a bunch of utter lunatics. ‘Re-education centre’? ‘Ministry of Truth’? Why didn’t they just call it the ‘Inquisition’, for crying out loud?

Suddenly I began to feel a little dizzy. I hadn’t eaten dinner, but I didn’t think that was the reason; it was more that I was having trouble absorbing all this new information in a single day. The relative normality of life in Morrowind so far had lulled me into a false sense of security; it was only at times like this that I was reminded of what an incredibly weird place it really was.

Perhaps I ought to go back to the Foreign Quarter to eat and rest, then speak to Mehra the next morning. Then I could complete my next three Pilgrimages, instruct my bank on how much to pay to House Hlaalu, and hopefully get back to Balmora in time for afternoon tea with Caius. I’d achieved plenty for one day, after all.

I don’t know if it was just due to nervousness, but that night I had another strange dream about the man in the loincloth and golden mask. This one was even more vivid and disturbing, as this time I could actually hear him speak: “There are many rooms in the house of the Master. Be easy, for from the hands of your enemies I have delivered you.”

He stood aside, revealing a body lying on a table lit by candles, and to my horror I realised that it was me. I appeared to be dead, but when I touched the body – cringing, and trying not to shudder – I saw it draw breath, open its eyes, and rise from the table. The next moment I was lying in bed awake, gasping for breath and swearing yet again not to eat rich food so late in the evening.

Loved it!


I just about fell over laughing at this! I used to take care of birds when I volunteered in wildlife rehab, and let me tell you, there is nothing cute or fluffy about them!


ROFLMAO!!

Okay, this sounds an awful lot like 1984. Too many people at Beth forced to read George Orwell in high school perhaps?

The first encounter with a cliff racer is always startling… And I have a feeling birds recall their dinosaur ancestry and figure they should have killed off those furry little so-and-so’s that were stealing eggs when they had the chance. Failing that, they will gladly take a chunk out of anyone dumb enough to get too close.



Haute already pointed out one of my other favorite moments- the imagined negotiations over territory on Vvardenfell.



Yes, Ada is definitely Redoran material… And I am not sure that is completely complimentary.

The second meeting with the (still shirtless) Caius was fun- for everyone except Ada.

And the Vivec gondoliers apparently belong to the Tamriel equivalent of the Teamster’s Union.

Wonderful, Helena, as your stories always are.

I dunno... I think she got off pretty lightly on that one, to be honest.

More screenshots:

Preparing to take on the Camonna Tong
Dressed to kill
Full battle armour (minus helmet)

I love all the Ada/Caius scenes - and the day he disappears is added to that! Great screenies! (Dressed to kill is my personal fave)

Chapter 11: The Pilgrim’s Progress

In the morning I looked through my copy of The Pilgrim’s Path to check I had everything needed for the Vivec pilgrimages. All the shrines were in the Temple canton, so I was hoping to get all three done at once after speaking to my last informant. Two of the offerings were easy enough to get hold of – 100 gold and a Rising Force potion – but the Shrine of Courtesy in the Puzzle Canal required a silver blade. Sighing, I went to the smith and purchased a silver shortsword, which I hoped would be acceptable.

After that I went back to the Temple canton to see Mehra Milo, smiling nervously at the Ordinators who greeted me along the way (“A fine day to you, Mr. Ordinator! Just minding my own business here, not doing anything heretical!”) The Library of Vivec was in the Hall of Wisdom, a section of the administrative offices on the canalside level of the canton. After wandering around its dark, twisty and confusing passages for a while (ever hear of windows, guys?), I eventually found the right place. I couldn’t ask anyone about Mehra directly, but I did see a Dunmer woman in a dark-blue robe who fit Caius’ description.

I cautiously approached her, wondering how to ascertain who she was without asking her outright. “Er… excuse me, sera? I was wondering if you could help me.”

“What is it you want, outlander?”

I took a deep breath. “I’m… looking for a book. For my friend Caius.”

Her eyes widened, and I knew immediately that I’d got the right person. “I see,” she said carefully. “And what sort of book would your friend be looking for?”

“Well, he’s very interested in Morrowind history and legends,” I said. “Ancient prophecies, secret cults, that sort of thing…”

A smile spread across her face. “Very well, come with me. I’m sure we can find something suitable.”

I couldn’t help feeling rather proud of myself as I followed Mehra to a secluded area in the back of the library. This was genuine spy stuff, just like in novels. Next thing you knew I’d be breaking into vaults to steal secret documents, and getting captured and tortured for – OK, hopefully not that last part.

Once we were out of hearing behind some bookcases, Mehra let down her guard and smiled. “So Caius sent you? I assume that you want information of some kind?”

I explained what I needed to know about the cults, and she nodded. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about a Sixth House cult, but I can tell you about the Nerevarine cult.”

“Okay,” I said, interested to hear about the cult from the perspective of someone connected with the Temple. “Can you tell me why the Temple persecutes the cult? It seems harmless enough to me.”

Mehra sighed. “Well, the Nerevarines say the Tribunal are false gods. To be honest, I’ve never understood why the Temple wastes so much energy on them – the faithful cannot be shaken by such attacks, and the Ashlanders are just ignorant savages. But with the erosion of faith among the Dunmer, the militant wing of the Temple is increasingly fierce in its attacks on heretics.”

“What do you mean about the erosion of faith?”

“Since the Empire, some Dunmer have turned away from the Temple,” she said. “Faith is the source of the divine power that sustains the Tribunal in their battle with Dagoth Ur. Many believe that is why Dagoth Ur grows stronger, and blight storms and monsters threaten the land.”

Maybe it was just natural cynicism, but that sounded like an excuse to me. “Hold on,” I said. “House Redoran are strong supporters of the Temple, right? So why are the blight storms worse in Redoran areas?”

“I cannot say.” Not a very satisfactory answer. “And then, of course, there are the Dissident Priests…”

“Dissident Priests?”

Mehra hesitated for a moment, then lowered her voice almost to a whisper. “The Dissident Priests dispute Temple doctrine on the Nerevarine prophecies. What’s more, they challenge the purity and divinity of the Tribunal. They suggest that their powers are sorcerous, not divine, and perhaps even akin to the powers of Dagoth Ur.”

“Seriously? Wow.” That sounded like some pretty controversial stuff, I had to admit.

“They also condemn the arbitrary power of the Ordinators,” Mehra continued, “and accuse the Temple hierarchy of self-interest and corruption.”

Aha, I thought. I wonder what really bothers the Temple hierarchy most? Religious doctrine, or threats to their own power and influence?

I gave Mehra a hard look. “Are you one of these ‘Dissident Priests’, Mehra? Is that why you’re passing information to Caius?”

Mehra didn’t answer the question directly. Instead, after a pause, she said, “Caius is a dear friend. Like me, he admires the best traditions of the Temple – charity for the poor, education for the ignorant, protection for the weak – but like me, he distrusts the Ordinators and he suspects the Temple is hiding something. He serves the Emperor, but he also loves Morrowind, and he sees the failing virtues of the Temple as a threat to Morrowind’s political stability.”

I sank my chin into my hands, thinking all this over. “You should get a copy of the book Progress of Truth for Caius,” Mehra said at last. “It describes the beliefs of the Dissident Priests. As for me, I am bound to come to the attention of the Ordinators sooner or later, and I fear I must go into hiding. When you return to Caius, tell him I am worried, and that if something goes wrong, I will leave a message under the code word ‘amaya’.”

My head was starting to ache as I left the Hall of Wisdom and emerged into the fresh air. Honestly, this was all getting a bit too involved for me, what with rebel priests and religious schisms and accusations of heresy. All I ever wanted to do was run around and hit things with swords.

Luckily, what happened next was enough to take my mind off this secret-agent business for quite a while. I’d promised myself I would do the Pilgrimages, and since it was still quite early in the morning, I didn’t see any reason to put it off. I walked to the Shrine of Daring, on top of the Temple canton, and donated the Potion of Rising Force I’d bought ages ago in the Foreign Quarter (I still hadn’t managed to work out what it was for). Then I recited the ‘Grace of Daring’ written on the shrine.

For a moment, nothing obvious happened except that I suddenly felt quite a bit lighter. At first I thought the shrine had cast another Feather spell on me, but when I started to walk away it occurred to me that I couldn’t actually feel the ground beneath my feet. I looked down in bemusement, to see that I was actually hovering an inch or two above the hard flagstones.

I blinked, convinced that I must be imagining things. It made no difference. Tentatively, I took couple of steps forward and ‘upward’ as if trying to climb an invisible staircase. It worked.

I was flying.

I drew a shaky breath, unable to believe this was happening. Surely it couldn’t be a dream? I leapt upwards, stretching my arms towards the sky, and found myself soaring towards the clouds as if I were lighter than air. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced anything quite equal to the pure joy I felt at that moment.

“Wheeeeee!” I shrieked, suddenly five years old again. I flapped my arms like a bird, and turned a couple of somersaults in the air. “I’m flying! I’m – ” I broke off, suddenly realising that someone might be able to hear me. But the only people in sight were a couple of Ordinators far away on the Ministry of Truth, who either hadn’t seen me or pretended not to.

So that was how they got up there, I thought. And that was what the guard at Tel Branora, the Telvanni tower, had meant about flying. Was this the spell that had been banned by the ‘Levitation Act’ in Cyrodiil? If so, I didn’t blame the mages for kicking up a fuss.

Suddenly it occurred to me that the spell could wear off again at any moment, and I hastily lowered myself until I felt my feet touch the ground. Even so, I could still move at twice my normal speed, and with almost no effort at all. I took a run up the steps of the massive Palace of Vivec, where the next of my three Pilgrimage shrines could be found.

The Shrine of Generosity was easy enough; I just donated 100 septims and it cast another blessing which I couldn’t identify. I paused for a moment to look at the sturdy-looking door of the Palace – was there really a living God inside there? Somehow I doubted I would ever be allowed in to see.

To each side of the steps were five grates leading into the Puzzle Canal, one set into each tier of the Palace. I removed the cuirass I was wearing – I wasn’t going to risk that getting rusty – and floated over the right-hand barrier, wondering which grate to enter. In the end I chose the middle one pretty much at random and waded through into the Puzzle Canal.

Inside I found myself standing in the canal itself, almost chest-deep in water. I swam around for a minute looking for a way out before realising that I could simply fly upwards and onto the bank. There was no shrine to Vivec to be seen, but in a nearby tunnel I found another loose grate leading into a different level of the Canal.

This room was a massive chamber with a stone ‘island’ in the middle of a deep pool. On top of the island I found a shrine with no Grace to read, only a cryptic message: Breathe the Waters of His Glory and the Way is Made Clear. Was it referring to a Water Breathing spell? But I didn’t know any.

I looked around for something that would give me an idea of what to do next. At the other end of the room I could see a passage through into a second chamber, but it appeared to be blocked by some kind of magical force field. Sighing, I removed my pack, waded back into the water, and ducked down under the surface, holding my breath for as long as I could without suffocating.

Nothing happened. I resurfaced and, suppressing every survival instinct known to humankind, attempted to breathe in water through my nostrils and mouth. All it did was leave me coughing and spluttering, desperate for air.

I tried again. This time I took in so much water that my lungs felt as if they were burning up, but still nothing happened. Surely the Temple didn’t expect pilgrims to drown themselves just to visit a shrine?

Gritting my teeth, I ducked under the surface again for one last attempt. Unfortunately I must somehow have drifted under one of the stone pillars that surrounded the island, because when I tried to resurface, I banged my head against something very hard. I actually blacked out for a few seconds before waking to find myself floating on the surface of the water, face upwards. Rather surprisingly, the Levitation spell was still active.

As I hauled myself out of the pool and chugged a healing potion, I noticed that the force-field blocking off the passage had disappeared. I walked through into the next chamber, which contained only a couple of broken pillars and a large staircase. At the top of the steps was yet another shrine, presumably the Shrine of Courtesy, and – good gods, was that a Dremora?

I took a closer look at it (him?): ebony-black skin, glowing eyes, horns and an impressive set of Daedric armour. Yep, this was either a Dremora or a guy in a very convincing costume. I hadn’t realised the servants of Mehrunes Dagon, Daedric Prince of Destruction, were known for their courtesy; most of the ones I’d met previously had shown more interest in hacking me to pieces than making polite conversation.

Very, very cautiously, I made my way up the steps to the shrine, expecting to be attacked by the fierce-looking Daedra at any moment. “Er, hello?”

“Are you here on the pilgrimage?” he asked. “Read the shrine.”

I read the inscription on the shrine. ‘Here Vivec gave a plain silver longsword to the Daedra Lord Mehrunes Dagon, rather than dishonour himself by fighting an unarmed foe.’

“Ah, yes. The sword.” I took out the silver shortsword I’d bought earlier that morning. “It’s actually a shortsword, not a longsword, but…”

The Dremora was shaking his head. “I can only accept longswords.”

“What? But I thought…” I flicked open my Pilgrim’s Path book at the appropriate page and read it again, more carefully this time. ‘The Dremora Krazzt is found in the centre of the Puzzle Canal, and will accept a plain silver longsword if spoken to with courtesy.’ Oh, drat it all.

“Wouldn’t a shortsword do instead?” I begged. “Please? Maybe if I ask really, really nicely?”

He looked at me through narrowed eyes, unmoved. “I can only accept plain silver longswords. I didn’t make the rules, mortal.”

Gods. I couldn’t believe I was standing here, at the shrine of a god I didn’t even really worship, arguing over the technicalities of a pilgrimage with a bloody Dremora. I was just about to ask the Daedra what the hell I was supposed to do now, when he leaned towards me and said in a low voice, “There is one in the chest over there.”

I walked to the nearby wooden chest, keeping one eye on the Dremora just in case, and opened the lid. Inside were two silver longswords, as promised. I took one of them out of the chest and carried it over to Krazzt, who nodded.

“As you see, I am unarmed. But you are brave and gallant.” Was that a slight eye-roll I saw there? “Will you give me your longsword so that I may stand a chance against your might?”

“Of course, friend Daedra,” I replied politely, fighting a sudden urge to laugh. After all, the whole thing was pretty ridiculous.

Krazzt inclined his head slightly as he took the sword. “Yes, I accept this sword. Thank you, mortal; you have the grace of courtesy. You should read the inscription on the shrine to complete your pilgrimage.”

“That’s all?” I asked, a little surprised. “We don’t actually have to fight?”

He shook his head with a sigh. “Just read the shrine and leave. I tire of your mortal presence.”

“Very courteous”, I mumbled, as I approached the shrine to recite the Grace of Courtesy. It cast another enchantment which I didn’t recognise and I was finally ready to leave, not a moment too soon. All I wanted was to get myself into a hot bath and some clean, dry clothes as soon as possible.

I blinked as I emerged into the hot midday sun outside the Palace. Was it really only lunchtime? After all the hassle of dealing with the Puzzle Canal I felt almost ready for bed already.

I ate my midday meal in Vivec, then went to look for a copy of Progress of Truth in the bookstore belonging to the Khajiit Jobasha. He had a copy, but at a very expensive 150 drakes – then again, it was technically a banned book. And I could always sell that silver shortsword to get some cash. After haggling a little to bring down the price, I reluctantly paid over the money, and then returned to Balmora through the Mages’ Guild guide.

“So,” said Masalinie Merian, when I teleported into the Balmora guild. “This Caius Cosades.”

I frowned. “What about him?”

“People are…” She coughed delicately. “People are saying that you’ve been seen visiting his house quite a few times recently.”

“And?”

“Well, there are rumours that you’re, um… seeing each other.”

“What?” I barked, so loudly that several other mages looked round to see what was going on. “Are you joking?”

“So you’re not, then?”

Sheogorath, I couldn’t believe this. “Of course not!” I gasped. “That skooma-sucking old coot? Are you crazy?”

“Well, I must say that he didn’t seem like your type,” she admitted. “But if you’re not, er… what do you do when you visit his house, then?”

“Well, we… we talk.” To my utter horror, I realised that I was blushing. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ajira and Estirdalin, two of the other mages, exchange knowing glances.

“What about?”

I couldn’t exactly tell her, could I? “Just… stuff.”

“Stuff,” she said, with a nod and a wink. “I see.” Aaaargh!

As if things couldn’t get bad enough, I thought, as I walked to Caius’ house. Not only was I forced to work for this guy on pain of execution, but now the local gossips had started rumours that we were ‘seeing each other’. All too much of each other, no doubt. What had I ever done to deserve this?

Shirtless Wonder greeted me at his door with that smug expression on his face. “Caius,” I snapped, as soon as I was over the threshold. “Did you know that people think we’re sleeping together?”

I saw his lips twitch slightly. “I had heard a few rumours to that effect, yes.”

“And you didn’t say anything?” I was going to kill him.

“Well, what should I have told them?” he asked mildly. “That I’m the Imperial Spymaster for Morrowind and you’re one of my agents?”

“Oh, it’s all right for you, isn’t it?” I huffed. “You come out of this pretty well, don’t you? People think you’re shagging a girl young enough to be your granddaughter. I’m the one everyone thinks is completely insane – ”

“Ada.” He held up a hand. “Did you speak to the informants in Vivec?”

I wrenched out the Progress of Truth book, Huleeya’s notes, and the journal notes I’d made during my conversations with Mehra and Addhiranirr, and flung them down on the table in front of him. “Here’s everything you need. And now I’m leaving, before people can start any more rumours about us!”

“Ada, wait!” he said sharply, as I made for the door.

I swung round, fixing him with a malevolent glare. “What?”

“Thank you for the notes,” he said. “I’m promoting you to Journeyman. You’re doing good work. And here are 200 drakes.” He lobbed me a money pouch, which I caught.

“Oh,” I said. “Well. Thanks.”

“Go out and treat yourself to a new pair of shoes.” He smiled. “And go do some more jobs for the guilds, just to keep your cover story current, then come back in a little while and I’ll have new orders for you.”

Very foolishly, I left the house while still holding the money pouch in my hand. It was just my luck that my old friend Sottilde from the Thieves’ Guild happened to be passing by at that moment.

“Hello, Ada,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Visiting Caius again?” She’d clearly heard the rumours. I tried to conceal the small bag in my hand, but she’d already spotted it, and her mouth dropped open. “He pays you to…?”

“NO! Merciful Gods, no!” This was getting out of hand. I looked around desperately, hoping no one else could hear us. “Look, I’m working for him, all right?”

“Ohhhh,” she said, her eyes widening in sudden understanding. “Is this about the skooma, then?”

Well, it wasn’t a great excuse, but it was better than nothing. I nodded reluctantly, trying my best to look like someone who’d had the truth dragged out of them against their will. “Just keep quiet about it, okay?”

“Well, that explains a lot,” she said, and walked on.

Okay, I thought, something had to be done. There was nothing for it but to leave Balmora until these insane rumours died down. I decided that now might be a good time to throw myself wholeheartedly into my duties for House Redoran.

Neminda greeted me with her usual cheerful smile when I entered the Council Hall in Ald’ruhn. “Hello, Ada. Are you looking for more duties?”

“I was, as a matter of fact.”

She thought for a moment. “Well, I do need someone to deliver a Cure Disease potion to a Redoran outpost.”

Ah, the tried-and-true courier mission. Delivering packages halfway across the country never gets old, I tell you. “Where shall I take it?”

“To Theldyn Virith in Ald Velothi.” I gave her my map so that she could mark the location of the village… right up on the north coast, miles from anywhere. “You can take the silt strider as far as Gnisis, but you’ll have to walk the rest of the way, I’m afraid.”

I suppressed a sigh, hoping I’d at least get some money at the end of this. Neminda either guessed what I was thinking or remembered the mudcrab mission, because she added, “You will not be paid for this, by the way.”

“Oh.”

“If you wish to advance in Redoran, you must be willing to perform tasks for the good of the House, not just for personal gain.”

“All right, I get the – ”

“The warm glow of satisfaction from a job well done should be payment enough.” Okay, now she was just taking the piss.

“Absolutely,” I said with a sigh, as she struggled to hide a smile. “Since I’m not getting paid, would it be alright for me to go on doing jobs for the Fighters’ Guild, and maybe the Legion? I do have to eat, you know.” (Actually I could get free bed and board at the Guilds, but you know what I mean.)

She shrugged. “As long as it doesn’t interfere with your duties to Redoran. The Fighters’ Guild are honourable enough, and I’ve no objection to the Legion – my father was a Legionnaire, actually.”

“Really?” I asked with interest. “Are your family from Cyrodiil, then?”

“No, Hammerfell.”

“Crowns or Forebears?”

“Forebears, of course. My father would hardly have joined the Legion otherwise.” She handed me the Cure Disease potion. “Off you go, then. Good luck.”

I left the Skar building as darkness was falling. As I walked back to the Fighters’ Guild I saw a female Dunmer striding purposefully towards me, and my heart sank as I saw the expression on her face – a distant, glassy stare that was all too familiar. “I am a Sleeper, one among thousands,” she droned, grasping me firmly by the shoulder. “Dagoth Ur calls you, Ada, and you cannot – ”

Oh no, not again! “GET OFF ME!” I shouted, so loudly that several passers-by turned to see what was going on.

A Redoran guard strode up. “Is this woman bothering you, outlander?”

“Just a little,” I said through clenched teeth, trying my best to detach myself from the Sleeper’s grasp. She was still mumbling on as if she hadn’t heard me.

With the help of a couple of passers-by, the guard managed to pull the woman away from me. I glared at her as she stood there, those horrible glassy eyes still fixed unblinkingly on mine. “How does Dagoth Ur know my name? What does he want from me?”

“He is the Lord, and Father of the Mountain,” she said calmly. “He sleeps, but when he wakes, we shall rise from our dreams, shall sweep our land clean of the n’wah. Why have you denied him? As Lord Dagoth has said. ‘All shall greet him as flesh, or as dust.’”

I felt a shudder run down my spine at that last sentence. “Get lost, you crazy b***h.”

Without another word she turned and walked away. I turned back to the guard. “What the hell is going on with these ‘Sleepers’? I’ve seen them in Balmora as well.”

He nodded sombrely. “Some are locals seemingly gone mad, others are strangers we can’t trace. Some of them have been attacking non-Dunmer with clubs. Those we capture alive have complete amnesia, with no idea where they are or what’s going on.”

“What did she mean about ‘sweep our land clean of the n’wah’?

“N’wah is a Dunmer word meaning ‘foreigner’ or ‘slave’,” he said, after a brief hesitation. Ah, so that was what it meant! “It seems these ‘Sleepers’ seek to drive all foreigners out of Morrowind. Be careful around them, outlander.”

“Damn right I will,” I muttered, still a little shaken. Three ‘Sleeper’ encounters within a couple of weeks, in two different cities? This was getting really disturbing. If I didn’t manage to get out of Morrowind soon, I was going to have to start watching my back.

I went to bed that night with a headache, and slept very badly. Yet again I had one of those creepy dreams – or perhaps ‘nightmares’ was a better word – this one even more vivid and frightening than the last. Golden Mask Guy was there again, speaking to me, though I couldn’t understand a word he was saying. His tone seemed pleasant enough, but I got the distinct feeling that he was trying to cast a spell on me.

In the morning I couldn’t remember how the dream ended. I sighed, remembering the dream I’d had on the prison ship while travelling to Morrowind. Why couldn’t I have Mysterious Female Voice back again? I still had no idea who she was, but at least she didn’t scare me the way Golden Mask Guy did.

I was disturbed enough by last night’s Sleeper encounter to go and report it to Caius before starting my Redoran mission – being very careful not to be seen entering his house, of course. He nodded grimly when I described what had happened. “Yes, I’ve heard about these ‘Sleepers’ – there’ve been several attacks recently, and a few foreigners have been killed by them already. Watch yourself, Ada.”

“Do you think they could be something to do with the Sixth House Cult?” I asked.

“Could well be,” he said, nodding. “I’ll try to find out more. Was there anything else?”

I opened my mouth to say “no”, then hesitated. “Well. This is going to sound strange, but… I’ve been having some rather bad dreams.”

Caius looked at me as if I were mad. “Would you like a comfort blanket?”

“No, seriously,” I said. “Really vivid dreams. More like… visions, in fact.”

“Visions?” he said with a sudden frown. “Tell me about it.”

I described the dreams to Caius, and was actually surprised by how much it seemed to worry him. “Not going loopy on me, are you Ada?” he said abruptly. “A word of advice. In Morrowind, if you have disturbing dreams, the Temple says you’re crazy and want to lock you up. And if you have disturbing dreams and think they mean something, then they think you’re a prophet or a witch, and – ”

“…want to lock you up?”

“Exactly. So take my advice, and keep a lid on it.”

“They’re just dreams,” I muttered, a little defensively. “It’s not like I think they’re real or anything. I just wish I could find a way to make them stop.”

“Try a sleeping potion,” he suggested. “When did these dreams start, by the way?”

I paused. “Well… actually I had one on the ship over from the mainland, but it was different to the others. Just some woman talking about how I’d ‘been chosen’ for something or other.”

“‘Chosen’, eh?” he said, looking hard at me. “Interesting. Very interesting.”

I couldn’t be bothered to ask what he meant, since I knew by now that I wouldn’t get a satisfactory answer. I was just about to leave when I thought of something else. “Oh, Caius? One more thing. Have you heard anything more about the… unrest… in the Imperial City?”

He shook his head, looking grave. “Nothing much. There haven’t been any more riots, but things are still tense. I’ve heard mutterings about recalling the Legions if things get much worse.”

Recalling the Legions? Good Gods, things had to be really bad if they were considering something as drastic as that. Caius looked closely at me, seeing the concern in my face. “You got family back in the City?”

“Yeah,” I said, trying not to look as upset as I actually felt.

“So have I,” he said quietly.

Both of us were silent for a moment. “I am going back, you know,” I said at last, glaring at him.

Caius shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll decide you like Morrowind better.”

“What?” I let out a snort of laughter, almost forgetting about the Imperial City riots for a moment. “Yeah, right.”

“You never know,” he said with a wink. “Now get working on that cover story.” I threw him one last dirty look and stalked out of the house, shaking my head. Decide of my own free will to stay in Morrowind, land of ash storms and kamikaze birds and evil immortal beings living inside volcanoes? He had to be joking.

“Hello, Ada,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Visiting Caius again?” She’d clearly heard the rumours. I tried to conceal the small bag in my hand, but she’d already spotted it, and her mouth dropped open. “He pays you to…?”

I ROFLd then as I ROFL now!!!


And, as in the original, may I suggest to Ada, Confucious - style "It not wise for woman involved in rumours of dirty acts with old man to give dirty looks to same!"

There were (as usual) many wonderful “Ada” moments- the conversation with Mehra, and Ada’s inner thoughts, for example.

The conversation with Krazzt was wonderfully wry.

The part that caused outright snortling was the Mages’ misunderstanding of Ada and Caius’ “relationship.”



And then, the crowning brilliance of having Sottilde “catch” Ada stepping out of Caius’ door with a bag of gold.

You capture very effectively the creepiness of the Sleepers and the dreams.



You have such a wonderful facility for weaving humor in with the serious elements of the main quest- an admirable talent.

Foxy already quoted my fave line!!! I love every scene that involves (or even remotely relates to) Ada/Caius !!!

Chapter 12: You’re In The Army Now

I didn’t want to delay my Redoran mission any longer, as I could imagine that whoever needed the Cure Disease potion was feeling pretty miserable right now. I returned to Ald’ruhn and bought passage on that evening’s silt strider to Gnisis, hoping fervently that we wouldn’t run into any ash storms along the way.

Just around dawn we arrived in Gnisis, a large village in the West Gash. It was surrounded by mountains and built in the same style as Ald’ruhn, though I could see the stone towers of an Imperial fortress in the distance. The caravaner told me that many Gnisis citizens were ‘Velothi’, the descendants of Ashlanders who had abandoned their nomadic lifestyles and settled in the area.

Two more of the Temple pilgrimage sites could be found near to Gnisis: the Shrine of Justice in the Gnisis Temple itself, and the Shrine of Valour in the Koal Cave a short way south. I decided to visit the Temple now and the other shrine when I returned from Ald Velothi. The Shrine of Justice required a Cure Common Disease potion as a donation; luckily I always carried a spare one with me on my travels, just in case. After visiting the shrine and stopping by the tradehouse for some breakfast and supplies, I left for Ald Velothi on foot.

I wasn’t too pleased at the thought of yet more walking, but the journey went reasonably smoothly up until I was quite close to Ald Velothi. Then I rounded a corner and came upon an attractive Breton woman (why is it always Bretons?) standing by the side of a small pool and looking vaguely flustered and helpless. Glutton for punishment that I am, I stopped to ask if I could help.

“Why, thank you, m’lady,” she simpered. “You see, I dropped my ring and I just can’t seem to find it. I think it must have rolled down into this pool here.” She pointed down into the murky water.

I suppose I ought to have known something was wrong when she called me ‘m’lady’ rather than the usual ‘miss’ or ‘madam’, but right now I had other things on my mind. “Look, I don’t mean to be unkind,” I said with a sigh, “but I’m on a fairly urgent mission right now. Is there any reason why you can’t go in there and get it yourself?”

She blushed. “I can’t go in to get it because I am expected at the keep shortly. You see, I’m a... dancer...and I can’t very well smell like muckwater now can I?” I raised my eyebrows. “Please could you get it for me? I’d be forever in your debt.”

I was tempted to tell her to speak to me next time she had a real problem, but I was in a relatively good mood that day and kindness won out. “Well, okay,” I said, after a moment’s hesitation. “I can’t stay too long, but I’ll have a look for you.”

I removed my boots, rolled up my sleeves and the legs of my pants and waded into the muddy water. For a minute or so I wandered around the pool, until at last I felt something small and hard touch my foot. I bent down and scrabbled around in the silt, finally managing to retrieve the ring. “Ta-da!” I exclaimed, holding it up high. “Here’s your ring, Miss – ”

She interrupted me with a harsh laugh. “No good deed goes unpunished, outlander!”

Moments later I heard the unmistakeable thwack of an arrow against my helmet – which, luckily, I’d kept on. If I hadn’t, I’d probably have been killed then and there.

I leapt aside, raising my shield to block the arrows as another one whizzed past my head. The Breton rushed at me with her dagger drawn, but I was ready for her and caught her a heavy blow across the ribs. As she staggered back, screaming, I shoved her down into the water before turning to look for the archer. No one was there.

I rushed forward, zigzagging to try and avoid the arrows, and ran straight into an invisible figure standing in front of me in the path. Since I couldn’t see him/her at all, I could only slash around wildly with my sword in the hope of hitting something important. When my opponent finally fell dead, and the enchantment faded to reveal a Dunmer woman in light armour, the results were not pretty.

So much for helping people, I thought with a sigh. I couldn’t see why they’d even bothered with the whole ‘ring’ business if their only intent was to rob me and kill me. As I bent to examine the woman’s body, I noticed that she was wearing an amulet with a very powerful Chameleon enchantment, engraved with the words ‘Amulet of Shadows’. I don’t usually like to steal from my fallen foes, but this was simply too useful to pass up, so I took it and slipped it around my own neck before continuing on my way.

On reaching Ald Velothi, a tiny coastal village that was really no more than a hamlet, I delivered the Cure Disease potion to Theldyn Virith, the local Redoran sheriff. As I left the outpost, I heard a couple of locals discussing some rogue Ashlanders who’d set up camp nearby. “They took Madura Seran!” one of them exclaimed. “She was but a simple pilgrim. Someone needs to rescue her.”

Ah, now this sounded a bit more like it. When I asked if I could help, they directed me to the Ashlander camp on top of the hill. I walked to the camp, where a man and a woman in rather bizarre clothing were standing outside a large tent. “Excuse me,” I said to the woman, hoping she understood Tamrielic. “Would you be Ashlanders, by any chance?”

She gave me a distinctly unfriendly look. “Yes, I am Rawia Ashirbibi, wise-woman of my Ashlander tribe.”

“Would you happen to know anything about a kidnapped pilgrim?”

She pointed towards the tent. “You will have to talk to Abassel. He’s inside.”

I entered the yurt, where a frightened-looking Dunmer woman was sitting on a bedroll, guarded by a male Ashlander. “Are you Madura Seran?” I asked her.

She nodded, too afraid to speak. I turned to the man. “Why have you kidnapped her? What do you want?”

“So, this pilgrim has value?” he said with a grin. “I will give her to you for 500 drakes.”

I didn’t want to start a fight, but I don’t approve of paying ransoms to kidnappers – it only encourages them. “Give me some time to think about it,” I told him, and left the camp.

We Imperials like to say that we always prefer to handle things non-violently if possible (though I must admit that our massive continent-spanning army makes this slightly suspect). Regardless, one of our inborn ‘racial powers’ – in addition to the Charm spell I’d used for my final Hlaalu mission – is the ‘Star of the West’, a handy stamina-draining spell that can be used to knock someone out quickly and cleanly. After a few minutes’ thought I slipped on the Amulet of Shadows and cast the enchantment, then returned to the camp and re-entered the tent I’d just left. Inside, I quickly cast the Star of the West spell on Abassel and watched him slide to the ground before Madura’s astonished eyes.

“Shhh,” I whispered, as she shrank back in fear. “It’s only me. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I slipped back out through the tent flap and crept up behind the male Ashlander warrior, then raised my sword and struck him as hard as I could on the head with the flat of the blade. He fell to the ground unconscious with no more than a grunt. Unfortunately this alerted the wise-woman, whom I probably ought to have attacked first, as the ‘wise’ part turned out to be all too accurate. After staring at her companion’s body for a couple of seconds, she realised what was going on, and instantly flung a bolt of magicka in my direction.

I didn’t have time to dodge the blast, and a moment later I felt my knees buckle under the crushing weight of a Burden spell. It wouldn’t incapacitate me completely, but it would keep me rooted to the spot. I tried not to panic as I realised that the Chameleon spell would wear off within seconds, leaving me exposed and helpless. Since I wasn’t close enough to the woman to attack her with my sword, my only option was to quickly take down the bow I carried and fire off an arrow.

I’m not that great a shot at the best of times, and my hastily-fired arrow only managed to hit her in the arm. She let out a cry of agony and stumbled back a few steps, clutching her arm, until my second poorly-aimed shot whizzed past her ear. Finally realising that she didn’t have much chance against an invisible archer, she turned and fled.

Once the Ashlander woman was out of sight, I dashed into the tent and grabbed Madura by the arm. “Come on, let’s get of here. Follow me.”

We ran back to the village together, only stopping for breath when we were inside the Redoran outpost. “Thank you, outlander,” Madura wheezed, as I handed her my water canteen. “I’m very grateful to you.”

Theldyn Virith was quite impressed as well. “I believe the Imperial Legion was planning to send agents to rescue Madura,” he told me. “I will write a message for you to take to General Darius, the fort commander, telling him that it’s no longer necessary. Perhaps he may reward you.”

There was no inn in Ald Velothi, but one of the locals very kindly offered to put me up for the night after hearing how I rescued Madura. Unfortunately, whilst staying there I must somehow have contracted the disease that had been troubling people in the village – because next morning, as I was walking back to Gnisis, I started to feel seriously ill.

It began with a mild headache and sore throat, both of which grew steadily worse. An hour or so later, when I stopped to rest and eat, I found myself coughing and feeling unusually chilly. Another hour and the chills had turned to a raging heat, which had me gulping water from my canteen as if I’d just run a mile. I fumbled in my pack for a Cure Disease potion, and realised to my horror that I’d forgotten to buy another one after the Gnisis pilgrimage.

I struggled on for half a mile or so, but it was useless; soon I was feeling so fevered and weak that I simply couldn’t go any further. I sank to the ground, coughing heavily and violently cursing my own idiocy. I’m going to die here, I thought. Five years of battling monsters, bandits, necromancers and even Daedra, and I’m going to die of a common disease – just a few miles from the nearest town – because I was too stupid to keep myself properly supplied with potions.

I don’t remember much of what I thought after that. I’m not even sure how long I lay there, drifting in and out of consciousness and hawking up various unpleasant bodily fluids. Someone must have been watching over me, though, because no storms blew up, and I wasn’t robbed by bandits or attacked by wild animals.

In the early evening I woke to find myself lying in a pool of muddy water, drizzly rain pattering down on my face. I still felt like utter crap, but the fever had broken and I was just about able to stand and walk. After refilling my water canteen at a dirty stream, I tried to eat some food, but only managed to swallow a few mouthfuls before throwing up.

I was just wondering how the hell I was going to get back to Gnisis when I remembered what I’d been too ill to think of earlier in the day: my Almsivi Intervention scrolls. It says a lot about how rotten I was feeling that I didn’t even have the energy to be annoyed with myself.

When I re-materialised in the Gnisis temple courtyard, one of my heavy coughing fits attracted the attention of a passer-by, who looked at me in horror. “Please kill me,” I croaked.

She shook her head impatiently. “Don’t be foolish, outlander. You have a common disease, that’s all. Go and find a healer before you infect others.”

I staggered into the Temple, where the resident healer took one look at me and immediately backed away. “Oh, dear.” He cast a Cure Disease spell from a safe distance, and I instantly felt all the symptoms vanish like – well, magic.

“Thank you so much,” I said gratefully. “You have no idea what it was like trying to walk back from Ald Velothi in that state.”

He frowned. “You walked back from Ald Velothi? Why did you not go to Khuul?”

“Cool?” I mumbled, searching for a piece of rag to wipe my nose on.

“Here, I will show you on your map.” He placed a small dot to mark the location of Khuul, a short way up the coast from Ald Velothi. “There is a silt strider there that could have carried you to Gnisis.”

I don’t think I actually have words to express what I was feeling at that moment. In the event it’s probably a good thing I didn’t, as it would almost certainly have got me arrested.

By this point I was so utterly filthy that I didn’t even want to enter the tradehouse, in case I was mistaken for a tramp and thrown out. Instead, I went straight down to the river and simply stripped off my armour and waded in. The water wasn’t particularly clean, but at least it would wash away some of the grime – and the smell.

It wasn’t until I heard a voice calling to me that I saw the man standing a short way upstream. He was waist-deep in the water and shivering. “You okay?” I asked, wading towards him.

He shook his head angrily. “Hainab stole my pants!”

“What?”

“I said, he stole my pants!” The man scowled. “My name is Hentus Yansurnummu. I was just taking a bath and Hainab Lasamsi came along and stole my pants. I can’t come out of the water until I have them back!”

Young men, eh? I sighed. “Well, I guess I could talk to him, but first I need to go to the tradehouse and change, and have a bath. Or possibly three.”

“Could you not go to him first, outlander? I am freezing!”

“I am not going to wander around the village looking like this,” I told him, hands on hips.

Hentus glared at me, muttering something about ‘Imperials’ under his breath. I was rapidly losing patience with this guy. “Do you want those pants, or not? Because I’m having a really bad day, and frankly, you can stand here in the river all night for all I care.”

I waited for him to mumble an apology and then, after squeezing the water out of my clothes as best I could, left for the tradehouse. I really, really wanted to get myself properly clean, but out of kindness to Hentus I held off taking a bath for the moment. After changing into clean, dry clothes and tidying myself up a bit, I went to one of the open-air stalls just outside the inn and bought some cheap cotton pants that were roughly his size. I wasn’t about waste time searching the village for this Hainab person.

Was Hentus grateful? Was he hell. “Those aren’t my pants,” he said, when I offered them to him. “Hainab Lasamsi has my pants.”

“They are now,” I told him, trying to keep my patience. “I am donating them to you out of the kindness of my heart.”

“I want my own pants back.”

I don’t think anyone has ever come so close to being strangled with a pair of pants. “Go and get them yourself then!”

“I can’t. I am naked below the waist.”

“Okay,” I said slowly and clearly, as if addressing a very stupid child. “But if you put on these pants which I have brought you, you will no longer be naked below the waist, and you will then be able to go to Hainab and ask him to return your pants. Correct?”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” I roared.

Hentus lowered his eyes. “I am afraid of him.”

Oh, for Mara’s sake. I stomped out of the water and back into the village, where one of the traders told me where to find Hainab Lasamsi. I didn’t waste any time trying to sweeten him up; I just marched straight up to him and grabbed him by the shoulder.

“You stole my friend Hentus’ pants,” I said. “I have just been through the most hellish day of my entire life, and I am not a happy mudcrab. Give them back now or I will kill you.”

I didn’t mean it, of course, but Hainab seemed sufficiently unnerved by the crazy Imperial woman to hand over the pants straight away. I took them back to Hentus, who was, surprisingly, quite grateful. He even gave me some Hackle-Lo as a reward (I was beginning to wonder if this was what they used as the local currency before the Empire came along).

It was getting dark by now, and I was far too tired to think about trying to join the Legion that evening. Instead, following a bath, a hot meal and several glasses of ale, I went straight to bed. I hadn’t had any more dreams about mask-wearing, loincloth-sporting madmen the previous night, and I hoped that they were gone for good.

After breakfast the next day I found the local Legion commander, General Darius – he had his offices in the tradehouse, as it happened – and handed him the note from Theldyn Virith. He read it through and gave a pleased grunt. “Sounds like you got what we need here at the Legion, young lady. You ever thought of joining up?”

“I’ve thought about it,” I said hesitantly, “but I don’t have the time to be a full-time Legionnaire. I already work for the Fighters’ Guild and House Redoran, you see.”

Darius rubbed his chin. “Well, maybe we can find you some other work. You up for it? Or do you want to hear what we’re all about first?”

I was pretty sure I knew what the Legion was ‘all about’, having grown up in the heart of the Empire, but I nodded anyway. “Your duties are to the Empire and to your commanding officers - in that order,” he told me. “Carry yourself with dignity and uphold the law; you are the face of the Empire to the common man. Respect all members of the Imperial Legion. Do you swear to adhere to what I have stated?”

I took the oath, refraining for once from making any sarcastic comments. I knew that discipline in the Legion was a lot stricter than in any of the Guilds. Seconds later, Darius announced that I was now a Recruit in the Imperial Legion.

“You’ll have to stay in uniform, so take this,” he said, handing me a chain cuirass with Imperial insignia. “You better be wearing a Legion cuirass of some kind in the presence of a higher ranking member.”

My heart immediately sank, not because I minded being in uniform, but because I didn’t really like chainmail armour. It was a lot lighter and more mobile than iron or steel, but not nearly as good in terms of protection. Still, it wasn’t like I had much choice.

“Ready for orders, Recruit?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Well, first off, let’s see if you truly are loyal to our cause here in Morrowind. There’s a little issue of a land deed here in Gnisis I need you to take care of.”

“Sir?” This wasn’t exactly what I’d been expecting.

“Mansilamat Vabdas is a miner who died recently,” Darius continued. “He was survived by his wife, who now owns a parcel of land we could use for another dock. Talk to the Widow Vabdas and get the deed to her land. Don’t take ‘no’ for an answer – get me that land deed!”

Such tact and sensitivity, I thought. No wonder the Empire’s provinces welcomed the conquering Legions with open arms, singing hymns of praise and strewing rose petals beneath our feet.

After selling my own steel cuirass to the local smith – I didn’t have much use for it now, after all – I set out on my rather unpleasant errand, finding the Widow Vabdas’ hut a short distance from the village. As I had rather expected, she was anything but pleased to see me – but what I really hadn’t expected was the reason why.

The moment I mentioned the land deed, her ashy skin turned pale with rage. “My husband was murdered by a Legionnaire, and now you come asking for his land? You will never get his land. I will fight you, and all of Gnisis will fight you, until all you foreigners leave us in peace. Now get out of my house!”

“Hey, wait a minute!” Darius hadn’t mentioned anything about a murder. “You think a Legionnaire killed your husband?”

She nodded angrily. “My husband went to the eggmine and never came home. He – ”

“Eggmine?”

“Yes, the eggmine! The one on the hill on the east side of town!” She looked at me as if I were an idiot. “He knew the mine was closed by you foreigners and guarded by the Legions, but we had no fresh kwama eggs. If you want to help me, go the mines and find out the truth!”

I didn’t know what to say. I knew perfectly well that not all Legionnaires – or perhaps even most – always lived up to the code of conduct that Darius had recited to me, but I couldn’t believe they would kill an innocent miner just for trying to feed his family. Or perhaps I just didn’t want to believe it.

“Okay, I’ll help you,” I said softly, hoping to calm her down a little. “I… can’t believe a Legionnaire would murder your husband. There must be some other explanation.”

The widow just snorted and turned her back to me. I decided I’d better inform the General of her accusations against the Legion, as he didn’t seem to know anything about it. Of course, I had to face a much more unpleasant possibility – that he did know about it, and didn’t care.

“Well, Recruit?” barked Darius, when I entered his office in the tradehouse. “Did you speak to the Widow Vabdas?”

“Yes, sir!”

“And do you have the land deed?”

“No, sir!”

“What part of ‘Bring me the land deed’ did you not understand, soldier?”

I took a deep breath. “She thinks the Legion murdered her husband, sir.”

Darius seemed slightly rattled by this. “Murdered? She said that, did she?” He paused. “Well, you’d better go and investigate. Search the mine, and if you find evidence he was murdered, don’t come back until you can bring me proof.”

“Sir.” I was relieved that he seemed to be taking the matter seriously, rather than dismissing it out of hand. That said, I was still confused – not least by the very idea of an eggmine. How could you mine eggs?

The entrance to the mine was half-way up a cliffside, and only reachable by means of a narrow mountain pass. It was guarded by a single very bored-looking Dunmer Legionnaire, who stepped in front of the door as I drew closer. “Halt! The mine is closed, Recruit.”

“I’m here to investigate a murder,” I said. “General Darius’ orders.”

“A murder?” He looked skeptical, but finally relented. “Well, since you’re in the Legion, I’ll let you in. But be careful – the queen is blighted.”

Was that some kind of code? “Um… the queen is blighted?”

“The kwama queen, I mean.” He smiled at the look of bewilderment on my face. “Never been in an eggmine before, have you?”

“I haven’t,” I admitted. “I hate to sound ignorant, but… what the heck is an eggmine?”

“The kwama live inside the mines,” he explained. “The queen lays eggs, and the miners harvest the eggs and protect the colony from poachers and predators. You’d better be careful when you go in there – the kwama workers won’t harm you, but the foragers and warriors may attack you if they don’t recognise your scent.”

“How do I tell the difference?”

“You’ll know when they start trying to kill you,” he said with a grin. Oh, very helpful.

I took the key from the guard and cautiously entered the mine. It was well-lit by torches, but only a few miners and guards patrolled the upper level; I noticed that most of the guards were Orcs, like those in the village. As I made my way through the mine, I was attacked by several creatures resembling very large worms, which hurled themselves against my legs and squirted a nasty green substance at me. Luckily my armour protected me, and they were easy enough to kill.

At last I found a door leading to the lower level of the mine, which was closed due to the kwama queen’s sickness. The moment I entered, a hefty-looking Orc guard strode towards me with a distinctly threatening gait.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he growled. “I’m gonna count to ten. And if you’re still here when I’m done, you’re gonna be in big trouble.”

“Hold on a minute,” I said. “I was sent here by General Darius. He’s asked me to investigate a mur- ”

The guard didn’t wait for me to finish; the moment he heard the word ‘murder’ he lunged at me, brandishing an axe. I dodged his clumsy swing and grabbed my sword, preparing for a fight – but as it turned out, it wasn’t him I needed to worry about.

Suddenly I heard a loud growl from further down the cavern, and heavy footsteps pounding towards us. The Orc lowered his axe and swung round, cursing loudly. “Damn kwama warriors! Now look what you’ve – ”

His voice was cut off as two huge beasts bounded out of the passageway behind him, barrelling into him and sending him sprawling to the ground. I shrieked as one of them leapt at me, butting its head into my stomach with such force that I was almost knocked backwards myself. As I lashed at its tough hide with my blade, the horrible thing blasted me with shock magicka, and I felt its huge talons rip through the mail on my chest. The pain was so hideous that I nearly dropped my sword.

For the second time in the past two days, I honestly thought for a few moments that I was going to die. If the second kwama warrior hadn’t been too busy mauling the Orc to worry about me, I might not have made it. As it was, a well-placed blow from my sword managed to take off the first warrior’s head before it could do any more damage, and I was able to lop off the second one’s head from behind before it spotted me. With the mental focus that comes from pure terror, I cast the only healing spell I knew, and sagged with relief as I felt my wounds close up and the pain fade away.

I checked the Orc’s mangled body for a pulse, but he was already dead. Looks like I’ve probably found our murderer, I thought, remembering how he’d reacted when mentioned the word to him. But how was I going to find any proof now?

Down the passageway I could see a huge, bloated insect-like creature surrounded by egg sacs, presumably the kwama queen. It was buzzing angrily, so I decided to leave it well alone. I searched the guardsman’s body and the bedroll where he slept, but they were annoyingly devoid of helpful clues such as a note saying “Yes, I killed the miner. May the Divines have mercy on my soul.” My only chance now was to find Vabdas’ body and hope that it had some axe-marks on it.

I made my way through a second door into a dimly-lit passage, close to an underground stream. As I rounded a corner, I found myself standing by a deep pool and – to my horror – a ghost similar to the one I’d seen while robbing that enchanter’s tomb, hovering by the waterside. I hastily backed away, conscious that my steel blade couldn’t do anything to harm a ghost, but it didn’t seem to want to attack me.

“Do not fear me, Imperial,” it said in a quavering, echoey voice. “Listen, and I will tell you how I was murdered by Lugrub gro-Ogdum.”

“Okay,” I said nervously. “Whatever you say.”

“I came to the mines to get fresh kwama eggs for my family,” he whispered. “Lugrub gro-Ogdum was sleeping, and I snuck past him. When I came back he was awake, and he murdered me so that no one would know he failed his duty. He dropped the broken axe he used next to my body in the water behind me.”

I edged my way over to the pool and peered down into the water. It was still and clear, and I could see a body lying at the bottom – presumably Vabdas’. “Take the axe from the water behind me as proof of Lugrub’s crimes,” the ghost whispered in my ear. “Do not let them take my lands. Avenge my death and let my wife live in peace.”

I didn’t know if I could trust him, but I wasn’t in any mood to argue with a ghost. I removed my armour – noticing that the mail was ripped and my shirt soaked in blood – and dived into the pool, wishing I knew a Water Breathing spell. The head of Lugrub’s axe was lying on the bottom by Vabdas’ body. It took me a few tries to reach it, but I finally managed to grab hold of it and make my way back to the surface just as I felt my lungs were about to burst.

The ghost had vanished. I left the mine as quickly as possible and made my way back to the tradehouse, hoping the axe-head and Vabdas’ dead body would be evidence enough for Darius. “I saw a ghost” probably wasn’t going to cut it.

“What the hell happened to you, Recruit?” Darius snapped when he saw my dripping-wet clothes and hair. “Fall into the river?”

“No, sir,” I said. “I found out who murdered the widow’s husband, sir – it was an Orc named Lugrub gro-Odgum.”

“And do you have any proof?”

“Well, I spoke with the ghost of Vabdas – ”

“I don’t care if you saw the ghost of Tiber Septim!” he exclaimed. “I can’t tell the Legion officers in Cyrodiil that I condemned a soldier to death because you talked to a ghost!”

I decided to get straight to the point. “He’s already dead, sir. He attacked me as soon as I saw him.”

I explained what had happened, and showed Darius the axe-head. “Hmph. Yes, this is Lugrub’s axe,” he said. “And I can see how it’s been damaged from hitting bone here and here. You say he’s already dead?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Then justice has been served,” he said with a sigh. “Let’s hope this doesn’t do too much damage to the reputation of the Legion.”

“Ah, sir,” I said hesitantly. “About the land deed…?”

He shook his head. “I won’t try and get her land. Not after what happened.”

Relieved, I went to my room to change and eat and then went out to Widow Vabdas’ hut to tell her the news. When I returned, I found that the story had spread around the village and some of the other Legionnaires were making a fund for the widow. “Would you like to contribute?” one of them asked me.

I gladly handed over 50 septims, feeling for the first time that I truly belonged in the Legion after all. Maybe this would show the people of Gnisis that we weren’t all bad. Unfortunately, it was too late for the Widow Vabdas; no amount of money would ever bring her husband back to her.

There’s someone who’ll never be saluting the Dragon banner, I thought with a sigh. Since coming to Morrowind, I was gradually starting to comprehend what I’d never really understood growing up in Cyrodiil – why the people of the Empire’s provinces resented the Legions so much. After all, we were just there to keep the peace and uphold the law. Weren’t we?

Instead, I went straight down to the river and simply stripped off my armour and waded in....


“I am not going to wander around the village looking like this,” I told him, hands on hips.


Oh, Helena, Helena...



Many eons ago on the other forum I pointed this out.

So she STRIPS OFF and gets into the water...and then she talks to a MAN with her hands on her hips...???







If she's the slightest bit busty she would be shoving her puppies in his face, and if I was Hainab I would be pointing my sword towardsw heaven.

Well, she was wearing clothes underneath... and in any case, given how long he'd been standing there in the freezing water, I doubt that would be a problem.

Hm, cold bath indeed.

I've just started reading this, and must agree that the off-beat, snark-filled tone and practical determination of Ada is absolutely delightful.

Wonderful stuff.

Though, even in the equivalent of a Tamriel bathing suit, our pants-less friend might have some pleasant thoughts for himself over the next few nights...

Like a frightened turtle!

An interesting point- the Breton would actually have a better chance of planting her dagger in your back if she stayed close by. Maybe she didn’t trust her invisible friend’s aim….



It’s only violence when other people do it.



That is the Ada we all love so well.

And you nail that small omission by Neminda- the fact that there is strider service to Khuul.





Ah, diplomacy.



Ada’s reaction to discovering the source of kwama eggs was priceless.

And the ending was quite poignant.

Chapter 13: Death And Taxes

Darius rewarded me for my help by promoting me to Trooper, and gave me a fine steel tower shield from the Legion’s armoury. I’d really have preferred a new cuirass, but I certainly wasn’t complaining, especially since I could make a decent amount of gold by selling the old shield. He also gave me my next orders: go back to the eggmine and cure the infected queen of Blight disease so that the mine could be reopened.

I did have slightly more skill in Restoration than other forms of magic, so I thought of learning a Cure Blight spell myself, but I couldn’t find anyone to teach me one. Instead I bought some spell scrolls from the Redoran village steward, making a mental note to ask about spells next time I was back in Ald’ruhn (apart from anything else, I really didn’t want a repeat of yesterday’s ‘adventure’ next time I was out in the wilderness). I went back to the part of the mine where I’d seen the kwama queen, and cast the spell scroll from what I hoped was a safe distance. The angry buzzing subsided a little, so I assumed she’d been cured – no doubt it would be easy for the miners to tell.

Just as I was about to leave the mine, I spotted a narrow passage leading off to the left from the queen’s ‘chamber’. Wondering what was down there, I followed the passage and came across another small wooden door set into the rock. I opened the door a little way so that I could peer through, and gasped in amazement at what I saw.

The inside of this part of the cave looked exactly like Arkngthand, the Dwemer ruin near Fort Moonmoth: sheet-metal flooring, and the walls lined with pipes and those weird glass-tube lamps. On a rusty iron table near the entrance was a heavy-looking book titled Divine Metaphysics, and some plans for what looked like an airship. I carefully opened the book and leafed through the first few pages, but the writing was all in Dwemeris and I couldn’t understand a word of it. A book like this had to be incredibly valuable – if you could find the right buyer.

Further into the cave was a bubbling pool of lava set into the metal floor. As I drew closer the heat became almost unbearable, to the point where I had to take off my cuirass before I could go any further. I edged round the side of the pool, trying to get closer to the strange metal object lying beside it.

The thing was one of the strangest Dwemer devices I had ever seen: a sort of statue, vaguely human-shaped but made entirely out of golden metal. It had a trunk, legs, a ‘head’, and an arm with a huge spiked club welded to the end where its hand ought to be. Lying face-down on the ground with its arms splayed out, it looked for all the world as if it was dead. I felt shivers down my spine just looking at it.

At that moment it occurred to me that I probably wasn’t supposed to be there, and that someone could come in and find me at any minute. I hastily left the cavern, informed one of the miners that the queen was cured, and went back to Darius to tell him the good news.

“Good,” he said briskly. “Take these 100 drakes as a reward. Now just what the devil have you been doing to your uniform, Trooper?”

Startled, I looked down at my torn cuirass. I’d forgotten how it had got ripped when I was attacked in the mine. “Sorry, sir,” I said, embarrassed. “It was the kwama warriors in the eggmine.”

“Hmph. Well, you’re a good soldier; maybe you should have a better one.” He left the room for a couple of minutes and came back with – joy of joys – a Legion steel cuirass. I breathed in deeply as he handed it over to me; ever since I was a child I’d dreamed of wearing one of these. I held it with trembling hands, admiring the fine steelwork and beautiful decorative plating on the front, until the General told me to stop gawping and get back to work.

I was very hungry by now, so I decided to rest and eat before doing any more missions. By the time I left the tradehouse, the villagers had heard about the mine being re-opened, and I found I was a minor local celebrity. Even those who hadn’t heard the news seemed to be looking at me with newfound respect, now that I wore a Legion uniform. If I’d realised the benefits of joining the Legion back in Cyrodiil, I’d have joined long ago.

After dinner I went back to Darius to ask if he had any more orders for me. He told me that the Legion’s tax collector, Ragash gra-Shuzgub, had vanished during a visit to Arvs Drelen, the Velothi tower on the outskirts of town. “Who lives there?” I asked.

“Baladas Demnevanni, a rogue Telvanni wizard. Came here over twenty years ago and set himself up in Arvs Drelen.” He shook his head. “Be careful around old Baladas, Trooper. He’s been no trouble so far, but I don’t trust him.”

I’d got the impression that Gnisis was Redoran territory, so I wondered why they allowed a Telvanni wizard to live there. Perhaps the Council in Ald’ruhn simply couldn’t face the hassle of trying to have him turfed out.

I went straight over to the old Velothi tower, a round building constructed in a similar style to the Temple. It certainly looked out of place among the Redoran-style buildings of the village. Inside, the place appeared deserted, but a short way along the first corridor I found a door leading to an underground cell. The iron bars on the door and windows allowed the jailer a full view of the tiny room.

A glum-looking female Orc in a Legion uniform sat on a hammock inside the cell. When she saw me, she waved frantically as if she were afraid I wouldn’t notice her there. “Hey! Baladas Demnevanni locked me up in here. Can you get me out?”

I messed around with the lock on the cell door for a minute or two, but soon realised that it was far beyond my lock-picking skills (and even further beyond my Alteration skills). “Wait here for a moment,” I told her, “and I’ll look for a key.”

At the top of a ramp on the other side of the passage was a wooden door. I pressed my ear against it to listen for anyone – or anything – that might be inside, then knocked cautiously. No one answered.

I pushed open the door – it wasn’t locked, surprisingly enough – and found myself in what was clearly a bedroom. Lying on a small bedside table, next to a copy of The Wolf Queen, Book V, was a key which obviously belonged to some sort of door. Surely it couldn’t be that easy?

I took the key and returned to Ragash’s cell to try it in the lock, but I couldn’t make it fit. “Damn,” I announced. “This isn’t the right key. Do you know where Baladas is now?”

She jabbed a finger upwards towards the ceiling. “Up there someplace. I just came to collect taxes as I was told, and he lock me up in this room!”

Poor Ragash; it was clear that she wasn’t particularly bright, even by Orc standards. I could just imagine her stubbornly demanding the taxes from Baladas, not realising that there are times when it’s best just to let these things go. It wouldn’t surprise me if some smartarse in the Legion had deliberately chosen her for the task.

I made my way through the winding corridors of Arvs Drelen, ignoring the interesting noises coming from some of the doors I passed (just what the hell was this wizard keeping as pets?), and finally reached another locked door leading to an upper level. I tried the key again, and this time it actually fit – probably a good thing, as I could see that the door was enchanted with some kind of magical trap to deter intruders.

As the door swung open I heard a deep growl, and found myself facing one of the crocodile-headed Daedra known as a Daedroth. I leapt backwards with a gasp, grabbing my sword, but amazingly enough the thing didn’t seem interested in attacking me. It just paced around the room, growling and waving its arms around in a vaguely threatening manner.

Very, very carefully, I inched my way across the room – staying as far away from the horrible beast as possible – and up the next flight of stairs to the top level of Arvs Drelen. This was a large workroom of some kind, containing several cupboards, bookshelves and tables covered in clutter. There was no one in sight, but in one corner was a large, gold-plated metal sphere that seemed somehow familiar.

I took a few steps towards the strange object, then let out a small screech of fear as it suddenly rolled over – entirely of its own accord – and began to unfold itself. Within seconds it had taken on the shape of that weird metal ‘man’ I had seen in the eggmine, only this one was… alive. I stared at it, paralysed with horror, as it rolled back and forth across the ground with a faint whirring sound. What the bloody hell?

Clockwork, I told myself, trying to stay calm and ignore my frantically-thumping heart. Clockwork and… magic of some kind. Had to be. At least it didn’t seem to be trying to kill me, though it was a full minute before I dared move again for fear of ‘upsetting’ the strange mechanical creature.

Once I’d managed to convince myself that the thing was harmless, I relaxed a little and began to examine the room more closely. It was littered with the tools of the wizard’s trade – full and empty bottles, alembics, bizarre alchemical ingredients, and books. Lots and lots of books.

I took a closer look at one which was lying open on the shelf: The Dragon Break Re-Examined. “The late 3rd era was a period of remarkable religious ferment and creativity,” it began. “The upheavals of the reign of Uriel VII were only the outward signs of the historical forces that would eventually lead to the fall of the Septim Dynasty...”

Hang on, ‘late 3rd Era’? ‘Fall of the Septim Dynasty’? Unless I had been spectacularly misinformed, this was the Third Era, and Uriel Septim VII was still very much in power. As I read on, I suddenly realised what the author was doing: the book was written from the perspective of some imaginary future historian, looking back on the Third Era. How very… curious.

“Ahem,” said a gruff voice behind me.

I whirled round and found myself face-to-face with a genuine Telvanni mage for the first time. By appearances he was an ordinary, rather grumpy-looking middle-aged Dunmer, but at the same time there was something ageless about him that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Remembering what Caius had said about ‘thousand-year-old wizards’, it made me wonder just how old – and powerful – he really was.

“Ah. Excuse me,” I said, slightly embarrassed to have been caught examining his private stuff. “Baladas, er… Demnevanni?”

“Speaking,” he said coldly. “Hurry up.”

I decided not to bother with introductions. “I was sent here by General Darius, sera. You, er, seem to have taken one of our soldiers prisoner.”

Baladas frowned. “She came demanding tribute for the Empire of men. I was here before Gnisis, before the Empire of men; I will be here after Gnisis is gone and after this short-lived Empire has crumbled. The people of Gnisis live only because I tolerate them. Why should I pay tribute?”

Something told me that appealing to this guy’s sense of civic duty probably wasn’t going to work. “I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding,” I said soothingly. “Anyway, surely she’ll have learned her lesson by now?”

“What? So soon?” he said with a snort. “Even the short-lived Orcs need time to reflect on their transgressions.”

Oh dear, this wasn’t going too well. “Please, Ser Baladas,” I said, trying to sound respectful rather than desperate. “Let her go and no one will trouble you again.”

He scowled. “You trouble me now. Do you think I have nothing better to do than listen to such lies? Leave now, or you shall join the Orc in my prison.”

“Okay, okay,” I said, raising my hands. “But before I go, please could I just ask you something? Are you interested in the Dwemer, by any chance?”

As I had expected, he looked a little taken aback by the question. “Yes, I have studied the Dwemer for many centuries. What is your reason for asking me this?”

“I was just wondering if you’d heard of a book called Divine Metaphysics?”

The sour-faced wizard caught his breath, and I immediately saw that I’d struck gold. “You have a copy?” he asked almost hoarsely.

“I don’t, but I know where you can get one,” I said. “But you’ll have to let Ragash go first.”

Baladas hesitated only a second before handing me a key from the pocket of his robe. “Very well, here is the key. Now tell me where to find the book – and if I find you have lied, be sure that I will kill you.”

“Okay. You know the eggmine up on the hill?” He nodded. “Inside there, some of the workers have uncovered a Dwemer ruin. I saw a copy of the book and some kind of airship plans. You’d better get there quickly before someone comes and takes them away.”

He still looked suspicious, but finally nodded. “Very well. Now leave, and take the Orc with you.”

I hurried back downstairs before he could change his mind. A crazed wizard who lived alone with tame Daedroths and strange Dwemer machines was not someone you wanted to mess with.

Poor Ragash nearly cried when I came to free her from her cell. “Thank you so much,” she said when we were finally outside the building. “You help me escape from that crazy guy. I thought I’d never get out again.”

“You okay? He didn’t set his pet Daedroth on you or anything like that?”

She shook her head. “Go tell Darius that I’m okay.”

Darius was happy to hear that I’d got Ragash out safely, and rewarded me with a promotion to Agent and a Legion helmet and gauntlets. If I went on like this, pretty soon I’d have the whole set. “Are you ready for further orders?” he asked me.

Well, why not? “Yes, sir!” I said, throwing caution to the winds.

“Well, I suspect there is something going on with some of my troopers. Informants have told me of a conspiracy brewing involving the Talos Cult.”

“Talos Cult, sir?” I was confused. It’s more common to worship the Nine as a group, of course, but there are cults devoted to individual Gods and Goddesses all over the Empire. “Are they dangerous?”

He shook his head. “They are a group that reveres Tiber Septim. It’s not the group as a whole that concerns me, but rumours of a conspiracy within the membership. Talk to your fellow soldiers and see if you can find out more.”

I obediently set off for the barracks, though I couldn’t imagine what kind of conspiracy a bunch of Talos-worshippers could be involved in. The few I’d met before had been almost fanatically devoted to the Empire, as you’d expect from people who worship a former Emperor. Unless they’d gone crazy and decided we need to exterminate all Dunmer or Argonians or something… actually, yeah, I could kind of see Talos-worshippers doing that.

I didn’t have much experience with infiltrating religious cults, but I guessed it wasn’t a good idea to just barge in and start asking leading questions. Instead I joined the other Legionnaires as they ate their evening meal, sloshed around a good deal of ale, and ended up recounting my daring rescue of Ragash gra-Shuzgub from the fiendish wizard Baladas. (I’ll admit that my account may not have been 100% factually accurate.)

“…so I said to him, ‘Listen, you Telvanni b*stard. Let her go right now or I’ll shove this longsword up where the sun don’t shine!’” There was a general roar of laughter and approval, and one of the soldiers handed me another drink. I just hoped I could get out of Gnisis before this version of the story got back to Baladas.

“So,” I said casually to the guy sitting next to me, once the conversation had moved on. “You guys worship Talos, right? I heard something about a cult.”

The soldier, an Orc, looked a bit uncomfortable. “Look, I’m not really into it, OK?”

“No?” I said, acting disappointed. “You can’t tell me how to join, then?”

He sighed. “Talk to Oritius Maro. That’s all I’m saying.”

The next morning I tracked down Oritius Maro, one of the few other Imperials in the Gnisis branch of the Legion, and asked about the cult. Immediately his face lit up. “Yes, we are those who worship the true following of the Legions. Protecting the Glory of Tiber Septim, Talos, the Dragonborn.”

“I’ve always admired Tiber Septim,” I told him. “Truly the greatest Emperor of all time.” (Actually I’ve always preferred Alessia, but he didn’t need to know that.)

Maro looked pleased. “I heard about you and the wizard, sister. Perhaps you could be of some use to us. Do you have interest in becoming a member of the Talos Cult?”

I nodded, and he handed me a key. “This will unlock the door to the shrine downstairs. Look in the storeroom for the door. While you’re there, speak with Arius Rulician, and he’ll tell you more.”

Well, that was surprisingly easy. I went to the storeroom and found the door he was talking about – actually a trapdoor down into a small basement area. There was nothing much there apart from a shrine to Talos, guarded by a single Imperial soldier who was presumably Arius Rulician.

“Ah, so you’ve spoken to Oritius?” he said when I introduced myself. “We are always interested in meeting those who sympathise with our cause. Feel free to look around and hear of our plans.”

He left the room before I had a chance to ask what those ‘plans’ might be – I got the impression that he thought I already knew. Anyway, I didn’t know what he was doing or how long he’d be gone for, but the opportunity was too good to pass up.

The only things I could see on the shrine were a sword, a collection plate, and a small wooden strongbox with a heavy lock. A quick examination of the lock showed that it was actually a fairly simple one, and it took only seconds for me to spring it with one of my picks. The only thing inside was a brief note written by Oritius Maro:

There are rumours that Uriel will be visiting Vvardenfell in person. If so, we must act sooner than anticipated. We must watch his actions carefully and strike if the opportunity presents itself. We must also recruit more and swear them to the oath: That we shall die to put a strong man back on the throne of Tamriel.

Burn this note.

Oritius

I blinked a few times, overcome with a sudden sense of being stuck in a bad novel. If I’d read that correctly, Oritius was talking about assassinating Uriel VII and replacing him with a ‘stronger’ Emperor. Surely this kind of thing didn’t actually happen, in this day and age?

I read the letter through once more to be sure I hadn’t misread it, but there was no mistaking the phrase ‘put a strong man back on the throne of Tamriel’. They were planning to kill the Emperor. I felt my hands shake slightly as I realised what I’d got myself mixed up in. Okay, so they’d probably overestimated the chances of Uriel making a state visit to Darkest Vvardenfell, but still – this was treason.

Unfortunately, Arius chose that moment to come back and see me holding the note. If I’d thought more quickly I might have been able to save the situation – “Right on, brother, death to the Emperor!” – but I was just too shocked. He spotted the open box, saw the expression on my face, and immediately drew his sword.

The fight that followed was short and brutal. There wasn’t much space to move around, or even swing a sword properly, so all we could do was hack at each other while desperately trying to defend with our shields. Arius was fighting for his life – he knew what was likely to happen if anyone else found out about this – so there wasn’t much chance of him surrendering. It was pure luck that I managed to get in the first blow, and that it managed to penetrate the chainmail armour he was wearing.

To make matters worse, Oritius Maro was the first person to greet me as I hauled myself out of the trapdoor. He saw the blood on my sword and cuirass, and let out a roar of fury as he realised what had happened. Another brief and violent struggle followed, and again it was mostly my superior armour that saved the day – boy was I glad Darius had given me that steel cuirass.

By this time several other Legionnaires had come running to see what was going on. There were gasps of horror at the sight of Maro’s body, and I realised I had to get out of here now. “Murder! Treason! Conspiracy!” I shrieked, and then bolted for the door before anyone could react, leaving them staring after me in bemusement. I was already at the door of the tradehouse by the time I heard sounds of pursuit.

Back in Darius’ office, I showed him the now rather bloodstained note and did my best to give him a coherent account of what had happened. “A conspiracy against the Emperor?” he exclaimed in disbelief. “Thank the Divines you found this evidence. And that you managed to bring justice to the traitors.” He shook his head. “It saddens me that this could happen to men under my command.”

“Did you have any idea this was going on, sir?”

Again he shook his head. “We all swore to serve the Emperor, no matter what happens. Well, you’ve earned my gratitude, Agent. For this I believe you deserve promotion to the rank of Champion.”

I was astonished, hardly knowing whether to feel gratified or uncomfortable. Champion was quite a high rank, certainly not one you’d expect to reach after only two days in the Legion. I could only hope my fellow soldiers wouldn’t resent me for being promoted over their heads like that.

Darius gave me two fine Imperial steel pauldrons to complete the set, and after cleaning and polishing my armour, I finally stood resplendent in my full Legion uniform. I held out my shield in front of me to admire my reflection, and felt a stab of pride. Who would have thought that less than a month ago I’d been languishing in a prison cell? I couldn’t wait to see the look on Caius Cosades’ face when he heard about this.

Since Darius didn’t have any more tasks for a Legion Champion, I decided to leave Gnisis the following morning, and set out to visit the Shrine of Valour in the Koal Cave. It wasn’t far from the village, but it took me quite a long time to find the entrance, tucked away between some rocks by the waterside. The book told me that “only experienced and capable adventurers should attempt to re-enact the epic battle with the dreugh in the cave”, so I decided to give that a miss. If I ever felt an uncontrollable urge to fight a dreugh, I could always come back later on.

I took the next morning’s silt strider back to Ald’ruhn, arriving late in the evening. The streets were still filled with people, and once again I noticed the difference in their attitude now that I wore a Legion uniform. It was particularly obvious with the Redoran guards I passed – where once they’d just have ignored me, or looked at me with mild suspicion, they now nodded to me with grudging respect as I walked by. Why the heck did I wait so long to join the Legion?

Neminda raised her eyebrows when I entered the Council hall in my new get-up. “Well, don’t you look smart,” she said approvingly. “You must have been busy since I last saw you.”

“I’ll say,” I said. “Let’s see, I… fought off a bandit attack, rescued a pilgrim from some Ashlanders, solved a murder case, helped a guy who’d had his pants stolen – ”

“His pants?”

“Yes. It’s a long story,” I told her. “Anyway, where was I? Ah yes… freed a kidnapped tax collector, nearly died of a fever, and cured the Gnisis eggmine’s queen of blight disease. Oh, and foiled a plot to kill the Emperor.”

Neminda’s mouth was hanging open. “You’re not serious.”

“I am too,” I said.

“A plot. To kill. The Emperor?” she repeated, with obvious skepticism.

“That’s right. Why do you think I’m Champion of Fort Darius now?” I showed her the band on my arm indicating my rank.

Neminda stared at it for several seconds, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing, then finally pulled herself together. “Well, then, I guess it’s probably time to talk about your advancement in House Redoran.”

We went off to one of the practice rooms, where I demonstrated my combat skills to Neminda by sparring with her for a while. She was good, but I managed to hold my own pretty well. “Not bad,” she said at last. “You’re as good as me – maybe better. Perform a few more tasks for the House and you should rise through the ranks pretty quickly.”

She promoted me to Oathman of House Redoran, and reminded me that I’d need a sponsor once I reached the next rank. In the meantime, she gave me a book called The Red Book of 3E 426, containing the names and residences of all the Redoran councillors.

I opened the book and read the first name on the page: “Archmaster Lord Bolvyn Venim, by Grace of Almsivi, Chief Councilor of Redoran Council, Vvardenfell District, Lord Ald’ruhn of Bolvyn Manor, Manor District, Ald’ruhn, District of Vvardenfell, Province of Morrowind.” Bloody hell, that was a lot of titles. I hoped I wouldn’t have to run through them all every time I spoke to him.

It was still fairly early in the evening, so I decided to try out one of the local taverns. I’d already drunk several times at a place called the Ald Skar Inn, which was nice enough, but thought I’d try somewhere different for a change. After returning to the Fighters’ Guild to change out of my uniform, I set out to look for a tavern, and finally ended up in a place called The Rat In The Pot.

The moment I entered the tavern, I could tell that it wasn’t exactly the most upmarket place in the city. In fact, judging by the surprisingly high number of non-Dunmer in the place, I suspected it was probably the local Thieves’ Guild hangout. Still, the owner – a Breton named Lirielle Stoine – was friendly enough, and eager to pass on the latest Ald’ruhn gossip.

“Did you hear Bolvyn Venim killed another outlander in a duel?” she asked me. “Terrible, isn’t it?”

Hang on, I’d just seen that name in the Red Book. “Bolvyn Venim? The Redoran Archmaster?”

“That’s right,” said Narile Sadoro, one of the other patrons. “The man was an officer in the House Guard, but Venim insulted his ancestors at a meal, so of course he had to demand satisfaction.”

“He… did?”

Lirielle nodded sadly. “And of course he had no chance against Venim. So it was murder, really.”

“You’re an outlander, yes?” Narile asked me. “Then take warning – be very careful in your dealings with Venim. Or better yet, stay away from him.”

Oh, wonderful. I leave one House because their leader is a lecherous pervert, only to find that the head of my new House is a rabid xenophobe. Well, if he thought that little trick was going to work on me, he was going to be disappointed. I didn’t even know who my ancestors were, so he could insult them all he liked as far as I was concerned.

“Talking of Venim,” Lirielle said confidentially, “I heard that he’s been having an aff-”

She broke off suddenly, and I followed her gaze to the young Dunmer man who had just entered the tavern. By the look of him he was a few years younger than me, probably no more than twenty. He was simply dressed, and wore his hair in that weird spiked row that seemed to be the fashion among Dunmer youth, but I could spot a rich kid posing as a commoner at fifty paces. Probably a son of one of the Redoran nobles under Skar – that would explain why Lirielle had shut up so quickly.

But what really struck me about the man was how deeply, deeply unhappy he looked. I don’t think he even noticed me sitting there; he just went straight up to Lirielle and said something in a low voice. She handed him a tankard, and he gulped down the entire thing within seconds, then ordered another and sat down with his back to everyone else in the room.

I sipped my own drink and stared at the miserable figure hunched over the table, wondering what was up with the poor guy. A short while later, a couple of Redoran guards came in and took a seat at a nearby table. I struck up another conversation with Lirielle, and one of the guards came over to order a drink, so neither of us really noticed when the Dunmer man left the room for a few minutes. On his return he sat down, took a few sips of his drink, and then suddenly slumped forward across the table.

“My goodness,” said Lirielle. “He hasn’t had that much to drink.” Her face paled slightly. “I hope he hasn’t – ”

I hurried to the young man’s side and checked his pulse, which was strong, then tried to wake him by gently shaking his shoulder. He murmured something, but didn’t wake up. “I think he’s just asleep,” I announced. “Probably had a few drinks before coming in here – ”

One of the guards practically shoved me aside. “Do not concern yourself with this, outlander. We will take him home.” Well, sheesh, I thought. I was just trying to help.

The rest of us watched as the guards lifted the man from his seat and half-dragged, half-carried him out of the tavern. Once they were gone, Lirielle nudged me. “That’s young Varvur, Lord Sarethi’s son,” she told me. “People are saying he murdered Bralen Carvaren, but I don’t believe it. They were the best of friends.”

Goodness. No wonder he’d looked a bit upset.

Narile nodded. “They used to come in here often to drink and meet women, as young men do. We pretended not to know who they were, of course, but it was an open secret.” She shook her head. “But Varvur Sarethi is a nice boy. It’s all very sad.”

I wondered if the young man I’d just seen really was a murderer. He didn’t look like one, but… well, according to the law, I was a murderer. Combine a short temper with a weapon and an excess of alcohol, and it’s all too easy to make a life-destroying mistake.

WOOOOOOOOOOOT !!!!! It's Varvur !!!!!!!!!!!!

Even more screenshots:

Bad hair day
Resplendent in full Legion armour
And this one's just for fun...

One of my characters shares Ada’s feelings. His father on the other hand…



Another one of the never-explained mysteries of Morrowind. Maybe Maiq has an answer.



See, Ada did learn something in school!



Hee.



Don’t you hate it when that happens? Or when you have this sudden desire to go poke a dragon in the snout with a sharp stick?

And I echo our own mALX- Varvur makes his first, if less-than-impressive, appearance.

Loved the pictures- esp. the bad hair one.

My favorite is "Just for fun" - she looks like she is thinking about Varvur !!!! WOO HOO !!!!

Chapter 14: Never Say Nerevar

When I finally emerged from the Fighters’ Guild the next morning, I was surprised to find that it was almost noon. Up till now it hadn’t really hit me how utterly exhausted I was after the last few days’ events. I decided to spend the day resting and relaxing in Ald’ruhn, jewel of the Ashlands.

I wandered around the city for most of the afternoon. I didn’t hate Ald’ruhn quite as much as I had when I’d first arrived – at least in good weather – but everything about it reminded me of the things I missed from home. Grass, trees, flowers… anything green.

In fact, there were dozens of little things I was starting to miss about Cyrodiil by this time – food being a major one. Morrowind food wasn’t bad exactly, but it was a bit too exotic for my tastes. I found myself longing for good old Cyrodiil fare – not just expensive luxuries such as venison, but ordinary, everyday stuff like apples and potatoes. Kwama eggs and ash yams just weren’t the same.

By late evening I was feeling so depressed that I realised I needed something to distract myself. I went to Neminda to ask if she had any more Redoran duties for me. “Indeed I do,” she said, sighing. “The Andrano ancestral tomb has been robbed.”

Andrano ancestral tomb? My mouth suddenly felt very dry. “That’s… terrible,” I croaked, visions of Llevule Andrano’s skull floating before my eyes. “Who would do a thing like that?”

“As a matter of fact, we know who did it.”

I gulped. “We… do?”

“Yes. A Hlaalu guard named Alvis Teri stole a Founder’s Helm from the tomb.”

Huh? I hadn’t seen anything like when I took the skull for Sharn. Either this Alvis Teri had come along before me, or she was talking about a different Andrano tomb. Relief washed over me.

“Would you be willing to recover this Founder’s Helm from the godless Hlaalu?” Neminda continued.

“Sure,” I said hastily. “Er… how do I know a Founder’s Helm when I see one?”

“It looks like a normal closed bonemold helm,” she told me. “He is boasting of the theft at the Eight Plates inn and wears the helm openly. Confront him and demand it back – but do not shame House Redoran by murdering him.”

I hadn’t been thinking of killing the guy, for crying out loud. Why did people keep assuming that I’d be ready to commit murder at the drop of a hat? Did I really look like a ‘stab first, ask questions later?’ kind of person?

The next day I arrived back in Balmora via the Mages Guild and my new friend Masalinie Merian. “Ada!” she exclaimed. “How very nice to see you again.” For a brief moment I was quite touched, until she went on, “You don’t seem to have visited your ‘friend’ Caius in a while. Trouble in paradise?”

I gave her a look which ought to have frozen her to the spot, but only made her snort with suppressed laughter. I marched out of the building in haughty silence, trying to salvage at least some of my dignity. Clearly this rumour wasn’t going to die down easily, no matter how long I spent away from Balmora, but what could I do? I could hardly tell people the truth – and even if I did, they weren’t exactly going to believe me.

“No, I’m totally not sleeping with Caius. You see, I’m actually a top agent for the Imperial secret service and he’s the Grand Spymaster.”

“Yeah, right. Hahaha.”

Alvis Teri was easy enough to find at the Eight Plates. He was wearing a full set of Hlaalu guard armour, and as Neminda said, he was wearing the Founder’s Helm openly. I thought it made him look like a bit of a pillock, to be honest.

As I approached, he looked at me with narrowed eyes from beneath his visor. “If Alvena Lleram's father sent you, tell him it’s not mine. I never touched her.”

“I’m not here on behalf of the Legion,” I said, keeping my voice low as I sat down beside him. “Or Alvena’s father, for that matter. I’m a member of House Redoran.”

“Oh, great,” he said, scowling. “Just what I need. Another stupid Redoran.”

I ignored the insult. “I think you have something that belongs to us.”

“This helm, you mean?” I could only see his eyes, but I could tell he was grinning. “I stole it fair and square.”

“I really don’t think it works like that.” I leaned towards him slightly. “Come on, Alvis, let’s be sensible about this. I’m sure neither of us wants things to turn nasty.”

“Twist my arm, will you?”

I grabbed his right arm and gave it a sharp twist. Alvis let out a yelp. “You s’wit!”

Ah, now that word I recognised. My old Fighter’s Guild boss Modryn Oreyn used to use it whenever he was in a bad mood (which was most of the time). “Just a small warning,” I told him, with a mirthless smile. “Come on now, just hand it over. Or would you like me to have a word with my friend Larrius Varro at Fort Moonmoth?”

I could see him hesitating, trying to work out whether or not I was bluffing. Finally, with great reluctance, he pulled off the helm and handed it to me. “Fine,” he muttered. “Take the stupid helm. Just like the Redorans to send a girl to do a man’s job.”

I couldn’t help it, I fell about laughing. “Don’t worry, Alvis,” I chortled, as he continued to glare at me. “You stay away from our tombs in future, and I won’t tell anyone you got beaten up by a giiiiiirl. Okay?”

He seemed more interested in grinding his teeth than saying anything else, so I left the inn to consider my next move. Unfortunately, while it was the last thing I wanted to do right now, I felt I really should go and see Caius. He’d probably have another mission for me by now – and to tell the truth, I was rather looking forward to crowing over my Legion exploits.

However, it seemed that Caius had already heard the news. The first thing he said once I was safely inside was, “Well, my friend. I hear you managed to foil a plot against the Emperor’s life.”

“That’s right,” I said. “I hope his Majesty is grateful.”

“I’m sure he will be.”

“Tell him I don’t want a big reward or anything,” I said. “Just a small castle perhaps, maybe a title of some kind… oh, I take it he won’t object to me going back to Cyrodiil now?”

Once again, Caius avoided the question. “We need an Ashlander informant,” he said briskly. “To tell us about the Ashlanders and the Nerevarine cult.”

“Ah. Hang on a minute.” I fumbled for my journal. “This Ashlander guy in I met in Pelagiad mentioned a tribe up in the north. Something like Ur… Urkil…”

“Urshilaku?”

“Oh,” I said, slightly deflated. “You already know?”

He nodded. “I’ve heard of them, but first I want you to find out more about Ashlander customs. I’ve heard of a fellow in Ald’ruhn named Hassour Zainsubani, an Ashlander who left the Wastes to become a wealthy trader.”

I wrote down the name in my journal, struggling to work out how to spell it (‘Zaynsubahni’? ‘Zeensubanni’?) Well, at least I wouldn’t have to trek out into the sticks to find the guy.

“They say the Ashlanders like to give and receive presents,” Caius continued. “Take these 100 drakes, find out what Zainsubani likes, and get him a gift. Then see what he has to tell you about Ashlanders and the cult.”

“Okay. Er, Caius,” I said. “I take it all this is actually going to lead somewhere, eventually? Sometime soon maybe?”

“All will be revealed in time,” he said, with his usual infuriating smile. I just sighed.

I could have gone straight back to Ald’ruhn after leaving Caius, but first I wanted to get my Temple pilgrimage finished once and for all. The only site left was Ghostgate, near the crater of Red Mountain. I was told that the best way to reach it was to head up the Foyada Mamaea (‘foyada’ being the Ashlander word for ‘fire-river’, or lava channel). Much to my relief, when I reached the foyada east of Balmora, I found that it had dried out long ago (do you have any idea how bloody hot and heavy a full Imperial uniform is?)

Unfortunately I soon found myself facing a far worse threat than lava: cliff racers. As I made my way up the ashy chasm, listening to the whistle of the wind, they began to circle silently. I didn’t even realise they were there until I heard that dreadful shriek and looked up to see two of the damn things, only a few feet above my head and bearing down fast.

I ran. There was nowhere to take cover in the narrow, deserted mountain pass: no caves, no trees… Eventually I realised that I couldn’t outrun them, and that if I kept going I would only run into even more of the things. I ducked behind a tall rock, raised my shield above my head, and resorted to my tried-and-tested ‘wave sword around wildly and hope it connects’ technique.

I finally emerged alive, but badly scratched and bleeding. From now on I realised I would have to be a lot more careful about watching out for cliff racers. They had a bird’s-eye view (literally) and I had nowhere to hide.

From then on I crept forward a lot more slowly and cautiously, constantly looking around me and listening for the cliff racers’ shrieks. When I spotted one in the distance, I would wait until it noticed me and then fire off an arrow as it swept in to attack. I didn’t hit every time, but I did manage to keep most of them from getting close enough to do any real damage.

About half-way up the foyada, I spotted what looked like a building looming out of the fog in the distance. My heart leapt with relief, only to plunge again as I suddenly realised what kind of structure it was. The twisted, misshapen architecture of carved obsidian could only signify one thing: a Daedric shrine. No one had mentioned anything about this!

I swore under my breath and paused to think what to do next. Daedra were immune to normal weapons, and while I did still have my enchanted shortsword from Sharn gra-Muzgob, I’d no idea if it would be enough to hold them off. I’d just have to stay as far away from the shrine as possible and hope none of them spotted me.

I inched my way along the opposite side of the pass, pressed up against the cliff face, now keeping a desperate watch for Daedra as well as cliff racers. I could probably handle the odd scamp or clannfear, but if I ran across an Atronach I was finished. First thing to on my to-do list once I got back to Ald’ruhn: find a better sword.

At long, long last I was far enough away from the shrine to consider myself safe. I sank to the ground to rest, sighing with relief – and that was when the Blight storm hit.

Once again, I couldn’t shake the feeling that one of the Gods must have been watching over me that day. (Probably wetting themselves laughing, but still.) If I hadn’t happened to be carrying the Founder’s Helm, I’d probably have choked to death in that storm. As it was, the helm offered good protection against the wind and ash but made it far harder to see where I was going – and, more importantly, to see the cliff racers and other wild creatures bent on attacking me.

I struggled on through the raging storm as it began to get dark, exhausted, but not daring to stop and rest in case I was attacked. I couldn’t even see more than a few feet in front of my face – all I could do was pray that I was going the right way. By the time I finally arrived at Ghostgate – now well into the night – I was drenched in sweat, caked with dirt, aching all over and very close to tears.

Even so, my first sight of the ‘Ghostfence’ – the massive cage-like structure that surrounded Red Mountain, in order to keep blighted monsters from getting out – was almost enough to make me forget my aches and pains. It was a truly incredible sight: a massive, shimmering wall, fifty feet high and stretching as far as the eye could see. I wondered how long it had been there, and what kind of enchantment was used to maintain it.

I wasn’t in any state to continue my pilgrimage that night, so I stumbled into the northernmost tower where the Redorans had a hostel and collapsed into bed. The next morning, as I ate breakfast, the publican – who seemed to act as a kind of tour guide for pilgrims – told me a little about Ghostgate and the Ghostfence.

“Since the Armistice, most Dunmer clans bind their ancestors’ bones into the Ghostfence,” she told me. “The fence is sustained by the power of the Tribunal, but their spirits help to strengthen it.”

“You mean… it’s made of ghosts? Actual ghosts?” Now that was just creepy. Up until then I’d assumed the name was metaphorical.

I asked her whether it was true that Dagoth Ur lived inside the Ghostfence, and she nodded. “He dwells in fiery caverns beneath Red Mountain, served by his kin – called ‘ash vampires’ – and legions of deformed monsters. For centuries Ordinators and Buoyant Armigers led by the Tribunal would pass through the gate on raids, but these were suspended because of heavy losses to the Temple forces.”

“Buoyant Armigers?” I tried not to giggle as I imagined a bunch of soldiers, inflated like balloons, bobbing up and down on the surface of a lake.

“They are a small military order of the Temple, dedicated to serving Lord Vivec.” She lowered her voice, smiling a little. “In more ways than one, so I am told.”

Was she serious? Good grief. Every day I seemed to be learning something new and fascinating about the gods of the Dunmer. At the very least, I had to admit that they sounded a lot more interesting than ours.

The Shrine of Pride was just inside the Ghostfence, where heavy blight storms raged all day long. To get through the Ghostgate I had to pass two heavy iron gates which were controlled by levers. I don’t know why Dagoth Ur’s monsters couldn’t operate them; either they just weren’t intelligent enough, or the levers were protected by some kind of enchantment.

I was nervous about running into some of these monsters while walking to the shrine, but as it turned out, the only threat I faced was cliff racers. After dealing with them I donated a soulgem to the shrine, and was delighted when it cast a fairly powerful Shield spell on me – though admittedly this would have been a lot more helpful on the way to Ghostgate.

There was no way in hell I was going to travel back down the foyada to Balmora, so I went to the Ghostgate temple and asked if anyone could teach me an Almsivi Intervention spell. It was quite expensive, but ultimately I hoped it would save me money on scrolls. Once I was reasonably sure I knew the spell, I had a go at casting it, and after a few failed attempts I finally ended up in the Ald’ruhn Temple courtyard.

Inside the temple I spoke to a priest, Tuls Valen, to explain that I’d finished the pilgrimages. I had no way of proving this, but Valen didn’t seem to care – it seemed that if I’d had the nerve I could have just waited a few weeks, then told a Temple priest that I was done, and they’d be none the wiser. Sigh.

After taking the Founder’s Helm back to Neminda, my next task was to find Hassour Zainsubani and convince him to tell me all about Ashlanders. Before that, though, I needed a new sword – one that could handle Daedra. I went to the enchanter’s store under Skar, and bartered my old sword and a few other items for a longsword with a Frost damage enchantment. After that I went to the Ald Skar Inn, which was where I’d been told Hassour could be found.

Zainsubani wasn’t in the inn when I first arrived, but the innkeeper assured me that he was staying there. “He has his own room here,” she told me. “He was born an Ashlander, and knows their speech and custom, and has grown rich by trading with them for the things prized by Westerners. Is that what you wanted to know?”

“I was wandering what sort of thing he might like as a gift?”

“A gift?” She thought for a moment. “Well, he seems very fond of books.”

Books, eh? I left the inn and walked over to the Ald’ruhn bookseller, where I faced the daunting task of choosing a gift for someone I’d never even met. ABCs for Barbarians was probably not the best choice, ditto A Less Rude Song and Homilies of Blessed Almalexia, but what would suit an Ashlander who’d left his tribe to become a wealthy trader?

In despair, I finally went to the bookseller himself – an Imperial named Codus Callonus – and asked whether he knew Hassour. “The Ashlander trader?” He nodded. “A bibliophile. Likes poetry. I have a few such volumes here, I believe – Words of the Wind, Ashland Hymns, The Five Far Stars.”

After some dithering I picked The Five Far Stars and returned to the Ald Skar inn. Zainsubani was back too, and was drinking in the backroom below the bar. I approached him nervously, clutching the book in my hands.

“I am Hassour Zainsubani, Ada,” he said, when I introduced myself. “May you bless and be blessed. I do not wish to be rude, but if you have business, speak it, for I am at leisure, and would prefer to be alone with my thoughts.”

“Ah.” This wasn’t the best start. “Actually, I was hoping you might have time to speak to me. I’ve… brought you a gift.”

I held out the book, and Hassour’s face lit up. “This is a gift for me? A copy of The Five Far Stars. Noble words of noble warriors.” He hesitated. “Please take no offence, but I already own a copy of this book.”

“Oh.” I cringed. It’s always the way, isn’t it? You spend ages trying to pick the perfect gift for someone, only to discover they already have it.

“No, no!” he exclaimed, seeing my embarrassment. “You could not know this, and it in no way diminishes the pleasure of your gift. Now, what would you wish me to tell you?”

I explained that I wanted to know more about Ashlanders, and about the Nerevarine cult. Hassour threw up his hands. “There is too much to tell! But I will write you some notes. And if you are visiting a camp, there are things you should know about courtesy and challenges among the Ashlanders, and their views on foreigners.”

“Tell me what they think of foreigners,” I said, wanting to know the worst.

“Most Ashlanders wish all foreigners and their false gods could be driven from Morrowind,” he said bluntly. “Or at the very least, they wish the ‘foreign devils’ would leave them in peace. They think it shameful to attack unarmed persons, but they will kill without hesitation an armed person who offends them or their clan laws.” He paused. “I do not wish to alarm you, but Imperials and the Empire are particularly disliked. If you plan to visit a camp, it may be best to remove your Legion cuirass.”

Oh, great. “Okay, what about courtesy and challenges?”

“Ashlanders may challenge a stranger who enters a yurt without invitation,” he said. “Customs differ with different tribes, but leave when requested, and you may be forgiven. Be particularly careful about ashkhans – tribal chiefs – and wise women, the tribal seers and counsellors. Be courteous, and leave if requested – if offended, they may attack.”

This was just getting better and better, I thought. Especially since knowing me, I was bound to do something to offend someone (such as ‘being Imperial’, by the sound of it) without even meaning to. “What about the Nerevarine cult?” I asked, changing the subject. “Do all Ashlanders follow it, or is it just the Urshilaku?”

Hassour nodded. “The cult is of small consequence in Ashlander worship, and only among the Urshilaku do its followers have any influence. It is a very small cult, with only a few wise women with the gift of prophecy, and a few holy warrior-heroes who guard and protect the seers. Sul-Matuul, Ashkhan of the Urshilaku, is the Warrior-Protector of the cult, and their wise woman Nibani Maesa is the Oracle-Seer of the cult.”

So the Nerevarine cultists were a minority even among the Ashlanders? The more I learned about this cult, the less I understood why Caius seemed to care about it so much. I waited patiently for Hassour to finish writing his notes, then thanked him and went to the Fighter’s Guild to have dinner.

To my extreme annoyance, that night I had yet another of those disturbing dreams. Golden Mask Guy was back, and this time I could actually hear and understand what he was saying. “Lord Nerevar Indoril, Hai Resdaynia!” he cried. “Long forgotten, forged anew! Three belied you, three betrayed you! One you betrayed was three times true! Lord Voryn Dagoth, Dagoth Ur, steadfast liegeman, faithful friend, bids you come and climb Red Mountain! Beneath Red Mountain, once again, break your bonds, shed cursed skin, and purge the n’wah from Morrowind!”

I’d had just about enough of this. “Listen, pal,” I snarled. “I’m not Lord Nerevar Indoril. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m an Imperial and a GIRL. And I’m quite happy with my skin, thank you very much, even if I do spend a fortune on potions to cure sunburn!” I was getting really angry now. “So will you kindly piss off and stop haunting my dreams?”

I woke up straight after that, so I didn’t get to see how Dagoth Ur – if that was who he was – reacted. Frankly, I wasn’t at all happy about him forcing his way into my dreams like this, let alone addressing me as a ‘friend’. If this was an attempt to recruit me to his nasty little ethnic-cleansing campaign, it wasn’t working. Didn’t he realise I was one of the ‘n’wah’ he wanted to kick out of Morrowind?

I spent the morning training in the Redoran practice rooms, trying to work off my frustration with Caius, bad dreams and the world in general. Before setting off for Balmora in the afternoon, I went to get duties from Neminda. “Drulene Falen needs help with her guar herds again,” she said, before I even had time to speak.

I stared. “What, again? Are the mudcrabs regrouping?”

Neminda shook her head. “Sounds like trouble with bandits – probably outcast Ashlanders. Would you be willing to help?”

Sheesh. This woman really couldn’t catch a break, could she? Resisting the urge to say “only if I get more Hackle-Lo”, I promised to go the next day, but first I had to report back to Caius.

“Thanks for your report.” Caius said to me, when I showed him Hassour’s notes. “But keep the notes – you’ll need them. I’m promoting you, and sending you to the Urshilaku camp to speak with Sul-Matuul and Nibani Maesa.” He paused. “But before you go, I think it may be time to tell you what’s going on.”

I folded my arms. “Yes, I think it may be.”

Caius let out a long breath and brushed his hand against his forehead. For the first time since I’d met him, he looked unsure of himself. Finally he said, “The Emperor and his advisors think you have the appearance of meeting the conditions of the Nerevarine prophecies.”

“What?”

“That’s why you were pulled out of prison on his Majesty’s authority and sent to me. So you could satisfy the conditions of the Nerevarine prophecies and become the Nerevarine.”

“What?!”

“Here,” he said, handing me a piece of paper. “This is a decoded copy of the package you gave me when you arrived. It should explain everything.”

For a moment I just looked at him, convinced that he was joking, but there wasn’t even the ghost of a smile on his face. At last I set the letter down in front of me and began to read.

Spymaster Caius Cosades

Knight-Errant of the Imperial Order of Blades

Director of Imperial Intelligence in Vvardenfell District, Eastern Provinces

I have the honour to acquaint you with his Majesty’s wishes concerning Ada Ventura, an individual of no rank or consequence.

Ada Ventura has been released from prison by his Majesty’s authority and sent to you with this missive. She is to be entered as a Novice in the Imperial Order of the Blades, and is to serve under your absolute authority as you shall see fit, except insofar as his Majesty’s particular wishes are concerned.

His Majesty’s particular wishes are as follows.

A local superstition holds that an orphan and outcast, a youth born on a certain day to uncertain parents, shall unite all the tribes of the Dunmer, drive out the invaders of Morrowind, and shall reestablish the ancient laws and customs of the Dark Elven nations. This orphan and outcast is called in legend the ‘Nerevarine’, and is supposed to be a reincarnation of the long-dead Dunmer General and First Councillor, Lord Indoril Nerevar.

Ada Ventura has the appearance of meeting the conditions of this local superstition. Therefore it is his Majesty’s desire that she shall, insofar as is possible, satisfy the conditions of this ancient prophecy, and shall become the Nerevarine.

I stopped reading, and looked up at Caius. “What?!”

“It’s all there in the letter,” he said patiently. “The Emperor thinks you satisfy the conditions of the Nerevarine prophecies. Can I be any clearer?”

I simply couldn’t find words to express how ridiculous this was. “Caius… this is insane. There must be thousands of people born on the same day as me to uncertain parents! I mean, no offence to his Majesty, but what in Arkay’s name is he thinking? If he wants to create a puppet Nerevarine, surely it would make more sense to choose a male Dunmer?”

“Zainsubani says Sul-Matuul and Nibani Maesa at Urshilaku camp are the heads of the Nerevarine cult,” he continued, as if he hadn’t heard. “So I’m sending you to speak with them. Tell them your story, and have them test you against the Nerevarine prophecies.”

I gaped at him. “You want me to go and tell a bunch of tent-dwelling savages, who want nothing more than to drive all foreigners out of Morrowind, that I’m the reincarnated Saviour they’ve been waiting for all these years? They’ll rip me to pieces!”

“Well, the package you gave me described the prophecy’s conditions, and you seem to match them – ”

“Caius! This. Is. Not. Going. To. Work.” I slammed my hand down on the table. “No one in their right mind is going to believe that a 23-year-old Imperial woman is the Nerevarine! I don’t believe it myself, so how the heck am I supposed to convince anyone else?”

“Don’t dismiss it out of hand, Ada,” he said softly. “You’ve seen for yourself that the Emperor and his counsellors think you have the ‘appearance’ of satisfying the prophecy. At first I thought we were just supposed to create a persuasive impostor, but…”

My jaw dropped. “You’re not telling me you actually believe this crap!”

Caius looked me directly in the eye. “I don’t know what to think. But I am sure of one thing: This is not just primitive superstition, and we will treat it seriously, just as his Majesty commands. Won’t we, Ada?”

Okay, I thought, this is it. He’s lost it. Gone completely and utterly off his rocker. I was starting to suspect that he wasn’t even a Blades agent at all, just some lunatic with delusions of grandeur.

“Would you like me to leave you something in my will, Caius?” I asked bitterly.

He ignored me. “As I said, go to Sul-Matuul and Nibani Maesa, and have them test you against the prophecies, then report back to me. Here’s 200 drakes for expenses, and you can pick up essential supplies at Fort Moonmoth.”

I let out a sigh of pure exasperation. “All right, Caius,” I said. “I will play along with this ridiculous charade, for now. But the minute anyone cottons on to what we’re doing, I’m out of here – and don’t go threatening me with arrest, because that’s nothing compared to what the Temple will do to me if they ever find out about this.”

Ten minutes later I staggered into the Eight Plates tavern and flopped down on one of the barstools. “Cyrodilic brandy,” I told the bartender. “A large one. In fact, better make it a double.”

I spent the rest of the evening trying to process what I had heard, but no matter how much I drank, it still didn’t make any sense. Somehow, the Emperor – and Dagoth Ur, it would appear – had got the idea that I was the reincarnation of this Nerevar guy, or at least that I’d make a handy substitute for the real thing. But if the Emperor wanted a convincing ‘fake’ Nerevarine, how did I even begin to fit the bill? And if he really thought the prophecy was genuine, why would he even want to make it come true? Didn’t all the prophecies claim that the Nerevarine would drive the Empire out of Morrowind?

No, that couldn’t be it – he had some kind of scheme, and I was just a pawn in whatever political game he was playing. For the first time since joining the Blades, I felt genuinely angry at what I’d been asked to do. He wants me to trick them, I thought. He wants me to go to these people, who have nothing left except dreams of their long-awaited messiah, and use those dreams against them.

Well, he had another think coming. If there was one thing I did remember from my history lessons, it was what happened to ‘pretenders’ who got found out, and it was never good. I wasn’t a fool, and I certainly wasn’t going to make the mistake of thinking I’d be any different.

Hilarious as always. I much enjoyed Ada's frustration with mis-characterization.



Case in point. Though I do think Morrowind is a bit heavy on "Killing is always an option" in the game. Even if it's a 'duel.'



Ah, the pitfalls of being stuck between a rock and a hard place. Though it seems odd that James Bond never had this problem...



It could work. Bruce Wayne got selected for jury duty once, plead non-impartiality to try to get out of a criminal case. His reason for knowing about the case at hand? "I'm Batman." Shame, nobody believed him either...



Indeed. The worst threat in Morrowind, and the developers actually apologized for how many were in the game. I actually don't play Morrowind without a mod that dilutes their presence in-game.



What's the old Chinese curse? "May you have an interesting life" or something like that? Ada clearly understands this first-hand...

In some ways, these are my favorite chapters, as Ada is dragged kicking and screaming (literally as it happens) into the realization that she really is the "Never-Ever-Againe."

As Treydog said, these early chapters were my fave chapters as well. These are where I first fell in love with Ada's character, personality, and her story.

Chapter 15: Licence To Kill

I woke up in the inn with a stinking hangover and a strong conviction that I must have dreamed the last night’s events. Unfortunately, the first thing I saw when I forced my eyes open was the translated letter from the Emperor, which was still clutched in my hands. I must have fallen asleep while reading through it, trying to find something – anything – to give me a clue of what this was really all about.

For the moment I couldn’t see any choice but to go along with this crazy scheme, however little I wanted to. After all, I thought, the Ashlanders would soon send me packing when they realised I wasn’t the Nerevarine – and Caius would be forced to admit defeat and let me go back to Cyrodiil. If I survived that long, that was.

I had to take a ‘Cure Poison’ potion to get rid of the hangover before setting off on my latest Redoran mission. I won’t bother to describe my second visit to Drulene Falen’s farm, because it would be far too boring. Suffice it to say that I found and killed the bandits who were molesting Drulene’s guar, and received more Hackle-Lo as a reward. The only vaguely interesting thing that happened to me was on the way back, when I ran into a well-dressed Argonian carrying a pile of clothing.

“Greetings, traveller,” he called, speaking with a heavy accent. “Rasha wishes you well, and thinks you maybe can help him with some pressing business.”

“What sort of business?”

“I have, you see, a shipment of clothing,” he said, patting the shirts he carried. “Fine clothing, it is... to get to Ald-ruhn. But, I fear other business draws me away. Perhaps you and I might come to an arrangement, yes? If you will deliver Rasha’s shirts… these fine, fine shirts... to Ald-ruhn, you will be paid for your services.”

I couldn’t help wondering why he wasn’t able to deliver them himself, but I couldn’t see any problem with accepting the offer. I was going back to Ald’ruhn anyway, and the worst thing that could happen was that they’d refuse to pay me. After taking a quick look at the shirts to check that they weren’t cursed or anything (well, you never know), I nodded and told him I’d do it.

“Most excellent!” he cried. “I would ask that you swear an oath to Zenithar to seal our arrangement, though. Yes?”

“Um, okay,” I said. “I swear to Zenithar that I will deliver your shipment.”

“Wonderful!” He practically flung the shirts at me – and then, to my amazement, removed his own shirt and added it to the pile. “Take these to Bivale Teneran the clothier in Ald-ruhn – she will pay you. And a generous woman she is.”

Bivale Teneran, the clothier who acted as a Hlaalu spy? My heart sank. She was the last person I wanted to speak to again, especially since I’d ratted her out to Neminda. Still, once I reached Ald’ruhn, maybe I could hand over the shirts to someone else and get them to complete the delivery.

“Take care, my friend,” Rasha warned me as I made to leave. “One should not take an oath sworn to Zenithar lightly. No, never lightly.”

I’d never sworn an oath to Zenithar before – or any of the other Divines, for that matter – but while I had no intention of breaking it, I wasn’t exactly quaking in my boots at the thought of pissing off the god of commerce. What exactly was he going to do, get all the local merchants to charge me really inflated prices?

By the time I arrived back it was so late that all the traders had shut up shop, so I couldn’t do anything else that evening. On my way back to the Fighters’ Guild I ran into some other Guild members on their way to the tavern, who invited me to come and have a drink with them. I accepted, and spent several hours in the Rat in the Pot, happily regaling them with stories of my adventures in the Legion.

The next morning I went back to Neminda to report the success of my latest mission. She couldn’t offer me any more duties for the moment, so I returned to Tuls Valen at the Temple to see if he had any tasks for me. I was less than thrilled when he suggested I undertake yet another pilgrimage – this time to Maar Gan, a Redoran town in the north. Still, it wasn’t like I had anything better to do right now (no, visiting the Urshilaku camp definitely did not count as ‘anything better’).

Before setting off I went to visit the local alchemist to stock up on potions, but when I tried to purchase some, she shook her head. “Sorry. I’ll do no business with one who bears the mark of Zenithar.”

“The mark of Zenithar?” What, did suddenly I have a big ‘Z’ carved into my forehead?

She nodded. “It’s obvious you’ve sworn an oath to Zenithar you’ve yet to fulfill.”

“I was going to fulfill it,” I said, aggrieved. “Are you seriously saying no one will trade with me until I deliver those stupid shirts?”

“If that’s what you’ve sworn to do, yes.”

Bloody Zenithar! Well, so much for my idea of getting someone else to deliver the shirts. If His Holy Commercialness couldn’t even wait a few hours for me to make the delivery, no doubt he’d consider that cheating.

With a heavy heart I set out for Bivale Teneran’s store, only to realise half-way there that I didn’t actually have the shirts any more. I thought I’d put them in my pack, but now that I thought back to yesterday, I remembered that I’d carried them under my arm to stop them getting creased. I must have left them at the Guild, I thought, and set off to get them.

But when I got there, the shirts weren’t there. I looked absolutely everywhere – in my equipment chest, under the bed, in the bed – but I just couldn’t find them. By now I was starting to feel mildly panicked. What was I going to do if I’d lost the shirts and couldn’t fulfill my oath to Zenithar?

Suddenly, with a sinking heart, I realised where I must have left them. When I’d gone to the Rat in the Pot with the others the night before, I’d put them down on the back of one of the chairs while we drank – and I didn’t remember picking them up again. And that place was the Thieves’ Guild headquarters, I realised, groaning inwardly. I’d never see the damn things again.

What was I going to do now? All I could think of was to try and replace the shirts, but how could I do that when no one would sell me anything? Aaarrgh. This was definitely the last time I’d agree to swear an oath to one of the Divines.

Finally, out of sheer desperation, I went back to the Rat in the Pot to speak with the owner Lirielle Stoine. “I don’t suppose you’d happen to have seen some expensive-looking shirts round here?” I asked, without much hope.

To my amazement, she reached under the counter and pulled out Rasha’s shirts. “Would these be what you’re looking for?”

“Yes,” I said joyfully, clutching them to my chest. “Oh, thank you so much.” Perhaps there was ‘honour among thieves’ after all – some of them, at least.

“Yak gro-Skandar handed them in after you left them behind last night,” she said with a wink. “He said something about ‘making it too easy’.”

Blushing, I mumbled my thanks and apologies and left for Bivale’s clothing store as quickly as possible. At this point I had to grudgingly admit that Zenithar might have a reason for considering me unreliable.

I had no idea how Bivale would react to seeing me again, since she must have heard by now about me leaving House Hlaalu for Redoran. But in the event she greeted me exactly as she had before, with the same friendly smile I remembered from our last meeting. She even gave me a very nice enchanted belt as payment for delivering the shirts. Had the Redorans actually taken any action against her? I couldn’t tell.

I had to take the silt strider to Maar Gan, as there was no Mages Guild guide there. When I entered the town’s Temple I found that the entrance hall was dominated by a large rock, with a plaque attached to it and a collection plate nearby. I was startled to see another Dremora, like the one in the Puzzle Canal in Vivec, standing there beside an armed guard.

When I approached the Daedra, wondering what he was doing there, he scowled at me. “I am Anhaedra. If you are a pilgrim, read the inscription on the stupid rock.”

I went over to the ‘stupid rock’ and read the inscription: “Here Mehrunes Dagon held this rock high above the Dunmer. Vivec taunted Mehrunes Dagon so that Dagon threw the rock at Vivec instead of the people.” Well, okay. What now?

I turned to the priest standing nearby for help. He smiled at me. “If you are on the pilgrimage here, I may assist you. Do you want the blessings of the Temple?”

“Um, I suppose so,” I said uncertainly, and he cast what sounded like a Sanctuary blessing on me. Nice of him, I thought, but I still wasn’t sure exactly what I was supposed to be doing.

I glanced back and forth from him, to the rock, to the Daedra, and then suddenly burst out laughing as I realised what was going on here. “Is that what you’re here for?” I said, striding up to Anhaedra. “Helping pilgrims to re-enact the rock-throwing scene?”

He looked impassively at me. “Your words are weak, mortal, as is your flesh.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “I mean, no offence, but that is truly pathetic. You seriously just stand around here all day letting people make fun of you?”

I could see that he was starting to get annoyed, but he contained his anger with an effort. “Continue with your insults, mortal. I long to feast on your marrow.”

“Oooh, I’m scaaared,” I jeered. “Oooh, look at the big Dremora who wants to feast on my marrow. Are you going to throw rocks at me, Dremora?”

That did it. With a vicious snarl, Anhaedra drew a silver longsword from the sheath by his side. “After I kill you, I will rape your corpse,” he growled. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”

Charming, I thought. Still, I couldn’t entirely blame him. If I were a Daedra magically bound to the mortal plane for eternity, forced to endure endless taunts and jeers for the amusement of smug pilgrims, I’d probably be threatening to rape people’s corpses as well.

Fighting a Dremora would normally be a terrifying experience, but the Sanctuary spell the priest had cast on me made it all but impossible for Anhaedra to hit me. I struck him a couple of times with my own blade and he instantly vanished, leaving nothing behind but his sword and a Daedra heart. I couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for the guy, to be honest. Okay, so the Daedra are basically pitiless monsters who look on mortals roughly the same way we view insects, but surely even they didn’t deserve a fate like this.

“You have done well, outlander,” said the priest, as I turned back to him. “Wisdom and praise be unto you. Culminate your pilgrimage by reading the inscription on the rock.”

Sighing, I read the inscription out loud once more and waited while the shrine cast another blessing on me. On leaving the temple I realised I’d have to stay the night here, as there was no silt strider service back to Ald’ruhn until the next day. I wondered what else there was to do in Maar Gan.

The answer to this turned out to be ‘not a lot’, so I paid for a room at the only tradehouse in the town and spent the rest of the evening there. I didn’t know anyone, so I wasn’t able to join in any of the conversation, but I did overhear an interesting rumour – apparently some rogue Ashlanders in a camp near the town were bragging about having captured a famous noble. Hmm, I thought. If he was a Redoran, wouldn’t Neminda have told me about this?

The next morning I got up very early, just before dawn, and followed the innkeeper’s directions to the Ashlander camp nearby. I found it a mile or so down the dirt road that led from Maar Gan to Ald’ruhn. Some Ashlanders were already sitting outside their yurt, cooking breakfast around a small campfire.

I really didn’t want to have to attack anyone this time, so I approached the Ashlanders cautiously and asked if I could enter the yurt. They didn’t seem to understand very well, so I repeated the question more slowly and carefully, pointing towards the tent. If they’d recognised me as a Legion soldier they might well have refused, but I’d left off my cuirass, remembering what my Ashlander informant Hassour Zainsubani had told me. One of them finally shrugged and nodded, before turning his back to me and continuing with his breakfast.

Inside the yurt I found an Ashlander man in netch leather armour and another male Dunmer, presumably the ‘famous noble’. For a famous noble he was certainly dressed pretty shabbily, and I noticed that he was barefoot – perhaps to make it harder for him to escape. “Sera. Bless and be blessed,” I said to the Ashlander, remembering how Hassour Zainsubani had greeted me. “I hear that you’re holding a nobleman prisoner?”

“Yes, you heard right. I have the famous noble Beden Giladren.” He gestured towards the other Dunmer. “I demand five thousand drakes in ransom. Will you pay?”

I didn’t have five thousand drakes, and even if I had, there was no way I was paying him that kind of money. “May I speak to Beden?” I asked, stalling for time. “I don’t have the money, but his family might.”

The man looked me up and down briefly, noting the armour I wore and the scabbard hanging from my belt. At last he nodded and moved aside, allowing me to approach the prisoner. “Are you Beden Giladren?” I asked him, in a voice too low for the Ashlander to hear.

He nodded. “Can you get me out of here, outlander? These Ashlanders are holding me for ransom.”

“I’ll do my best, but I’m not going to pay them five thousand septims.” I paused. “Are you a Redoran, then? I don’t recognise the name.”

Beden reddened slightly. “Well… no, I’m not. I’m just a poor pilgrim. I thought the Ashlanders would kill me, so I told them that I was a famous noble.”

I couldn’t believe this. “You bloody idiot!”

“Well, what was I supposed to tell them?” he hissed. “I was afraid. I knew it was wrong, but what else could I do?”

“If you’d just told them the truth, they’d probably have let you go.” Heaving an exasperated sigh, I turned back to the Ashlander. “Excuse me, sera. About your hostage here.”

“Yes?” he asked impatiently. “Have you not heard of this famous Redoran noble, Beden Giladren?”

“He’s not a famous noble,” I said through gritted teeth, ignoring the frantic gestures Beden was making. “He’s not even a Redoran. He just told you those things because he was afraid you would kill him.”

I watched the man’s face gradually flush with anger as he realised how he’d been fooled. “So this ‘famous noble’ is a liar and a coward,” he said scornfully. I could understand his disgust, to be honest, though I couldn’t feel much sympathy for him. “Very well, you can have him for five drakes.”

As I said before, I don’t usually like paying ransoms, but this barely counted as a ‘ransom’ – it was a face-saving gesture, a sop to his wounded pride. I handed over five drakes – which was probably far less than he’d already spent on feeding his hostage – and he agreed that Beden was free to go. I hoped that perhaps this would teach these Ashlanders a lesson about attacking innocent travellers and holding them prisoner.

I offered to accompany Beden back to Maar Gan, but he told me he could make his own way there. Frankly I wouldn’t have trusted this guy to walk from one end of the street to the other without getting into trouble, but it was his choice. I left the Ashlander camp and headed back to the town, arriving just in time to catch the silt strider to Ald’ruhn.

Beden had told me I should speak to someone at the temple in Ald’ruhn to explain what had happened to him. When I went back to Tuls Valen to tell him I’d completed the Maar Gan pilgrimage, I mentioned Beden’s name and was directed to Lloros Sarano, a Redoran priest.

“So you rescued Beden Giladren from the Ashlander camp,” he said at last, when I explained who I was and what had happened to Beden. “I was wondering what had happened to him. Thank you, Sera Ventura – I will make sure House Redoran hears of your deeds.”

I still didn’t feel like setting off on Caius’s latest errand, so I went back to Skar in the hope that Neminda might have something for me to do. I found her looking anxious and harassed. “Ah, Ada!” she exclaimed. “I’m glad you’re back. I have an urgent assignment for you.”

“What sort of assignment?”

“Serjo Athyn Sarethi, a councillor of House Redoran, believes his life is in danger.” She cast a nervous glance towards Skar’s main chamber, where the entrances to the noble manors could be found. “He’s in Sarethi Manor under Skar. I need someone to guard him.”

“Okay, fine.” I paused, trying to remember where I’d heard the name Sarethi just recently. Ah, yes – the author of The True Noble’s Code, and… “Does he have a son called Varvur, by any chance?”

“Yes,” she said, looking mildly surprised. “Have you met him?”

“Er… not exactly.”

She bit her lip. “Oh, I hope Athyn is okay. He and my father were close friends, and the Sarethi family has had enough trouble recently.”

I assumed she was referring to Varvur and the murder accusations, but there was no time to ask. Following her directions I headed straight for the Sarethi manor, hoping that I would get there in time. Somehow I had a very bad feeling about this.

As I entered the manor, my heart skipped a beat. A fight had clearly just taken place, and the floor was strewn with dead bodies – some in bonemold armour, others wearing masks and outfits made of dark leather. In the midst of them all stood a middle-aged Dunmer in a red robe, clutching what looked like a Dwarven shortsword, whom I desperately hoped was Athyn Sarethi. Otherwise it would seem I’d got here a little late.

When the man saw me, his eyes widened and he shifted into a defensive stance. “It’s OK!” I called to him, sheathing my own sword quickly and raising my hands. “Are you Serjo Athyn Sarethi? Neminda sent me to guard you.”

“Oh, thank the Tribunal!” he exclaimed, with a sigh of relief. “The assassins have already taken my guards, as you see. I fear there will be mo- ”

He broke off at the sound of a tremendous racket at the entrance to the mansion. Moments later two more leather-clad figures burst through the door, brandishing shortswords, and we seized our own weapons in preparation for a battle. I’m not sure I could have taken on both of them at once, but luckily Lord Sarethi seemed perfectly capable of defending himself. Having made short work of the second assassin, he stood back to mop his brow, and I saw through a tear in his robe that he was wearing chitin armour underneath it.

Looking down at the man I’d just killed, I saw a piece of folded-up paper tucked into his belt. I bent down to pick it up, and blinked in astonishment as I spotted the words at the top of the page. “ ‘Honourable Writ of Execution for Athyn Sarethi’? What the hell is this?”

He said nothing. “The afore-mentioned personage has been marked for honourable execution in accordance to the lawful tradition and practice of the Morag Tong Guild,” I read aloud. “The Bearer of this non-disputable document has official sanctioned licence to kill – This is some kind of sick joke, right?”

Lord Sarethi shook his head, still breathing heavily. “They are Morag Tong.”

“Is that something like the Camonna Tong?”

“No, the word ‘Tong’ means ‘guild’. And ‘Morag’…” He hesitated. “The literal translation is ‘Foresters’.”

My mouth dropped open as I realised what he was saying. “Assassins? You have a bloody guild of bloody assassins?” You know, I’d always suspected that the Dunmer were completely insane, but here at last was cast-iron proof.

Sarethi nodded stiffly. I just couldn’t get my head round this. “So… something like the Dark Brotherhood? Only legal?”

“No!” he exclaimed. “Not like the Dark Brotherhood. The Morag Tong are not just cutthroats, they have honour…” I couldn’t believe he was defending the people who’d just tried to kill him!

“Well, they may have honour,” I said grimly, “but the person who hired them clearly doesn’t.” I glanced back at the ‘writ of execution’, sickened at the thought of someone actually sitting down and writing these things. “Do you know who it was? I could pay them a little ‘visit’ and put the fear of Talos into ’em if you like.”

But he was shaking his head. “No, thank you, outlander. You have done enough.” He took the writ from my hand. “I am in your debt, and will try to repay you. Please, go and tell Neminda that I am safe.”

By now I could hear voices further into the manor, and looking round I saw a few heads – presumably belonging to servants – peeking nervously out of doorways. Even so, I was a bit nervous about leaving Sarethi alone. “You don’t think there’ll be any more of them?” I asked him.

“No. Not today, at least.”

“Okay then. Sorry about your guards,” I said softly, glancing down at the bodies that littered the floor. He bowed his head, and said nothing.

“What happened?” Neminda asked urgently, as soon as I arrived back in the Council hall. “I heard there was an attack. Is Athyn Sarethi safe?”

When I explained what had happened, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you so much. Do you know that’s the fourth Morag Tong attack he’s fended off in the past few weeks?”

I let out a low whistle. “Wow. Someone really wants him dead, don’t they?”

“Yes, and I know wh-” She broke off abruptly. “But no matter. Guard duties pay in drakes, Ada,” she continued, handing me two hundred septims. “It’s not much, but perhaps you can put it to good use.”

She promoted me to Lawman rank, and reminded me that I’d need a Councillor to sponsor me if I wanted to rise further in the House. I wasn’t particularly surprised when she recommended Athyn Sarethi. “He’s a good man, and was a close friend of my father,” she told me. “You will find no better sponsor in all of House Redoran.”

Well, the guy whose life I’d just saved certainly sounded like a good choice, but I thought I’d give him a bit of time to recover and mop the blood off his floor before going to him and demanding sponsorship. Besides, I’d been putting off my visit to the Urshilaku long enough; it was time to get this Nerevarine nonsense over with once and for all. If I set out for their camp the next day, I could pay a visit to Athyn Sarethi when I got back – if I got back. Which wasn’t looking at all certain, I thought dourly.

As I left the hall, I wondered who could be ordering the assassination attempts against Sarethi. It sounded like Neminda knew, or suspected, but wasn’t willing to tell – why? And if he was really such a good man as she claimed, why would anyone want him dead? The plot thickened.

Ah, Redoran politics. They do have honor, of a sort, and Athyn is properly stoic about the whole situation.

This clip offers a nice interpretation of how the "Guard Athyn Sarethi" quest would work today.

Your write-up made me think of it while I was reading through.

LOL, brilliant! Yes, Athyn is remarkably nonchalant about the fact that one of his fellow Councillors is trying to kill him. That's Great House politics for you...

Eh, it's Morrowind for you. Great House politics is a cut-throat business, and these are the reasons why Faction X is number 2 to Faction Y's number 1. Really, the whole province is like that. They care less about the dead assassins, guards, and coffee-boys than they do about important things like Mages' Guild monopolies or Ebony mining rights.

Too bad there's no golf course for them after this whole thing blows over.

Now there is a creative (and clever) use for alchemy. But "alcohol poisoning," so it should work,



I enjoy the way Ada keeps finding “other things to do” besides going to the Urshilaku. I wonder if she is halfway hoping Caius- or she- will eventually forget the whole thing.


And Ada is introduced to the machinations within House Redoran. It has always struck me that they have an awful lot of affairs, murders, etc. for the “honorable” House. Of course, one has only to look at the goings-on in Hlaalu and Telvanni to understand that “honor” is a relative term.

It always struck me as odd as well, particularly since the Telvanni have a nice, direct way of going about things. If'n you think you've got what it takes, you too can be a Telvanni Councilor. If somebody else thinks that you don't have what it takes, it's up to them to prove that point...sufficiently. At least they'll tell you up front that if you step on toes, you will get attacked. On the other hand, if somebody steps on your toes, feel free to respond in kind.

It's the Telvanni way.

To be fair, the affairs, murders etc. are largely centred around one person. Most of the others seem decent enough.

Chapter 16: A Harrowing Experience

After only a couple of weeks in the Ashlands, I was convinced that the cliff racers had it in for me personally.

It always happened the same way. I would be walking through the countryside, minding my own business, when I’d hear the cry of a racer somewhere in the distance and instantly freeze. My hand would fly to my sword and I’d scan the horizon desperately, hoping to spot the thing before it spotted me. Occasionally I’d manage to catch one unawares and pick it off with an arrow, but most of them would spot me as soon as I got close and come swooping down with a shriek, determined to tear apart the upstart human that dared approach within 200 feet of its nest.

I didn’t know what the people of Vvardenfell had done to turn the local wildlife so rabid and vicious, but it must have been something pretty nasty. With all the trouble those birds caused, I wondered why people didn’t just band together and hunt the things to extinction. Anyone who could manage it would probably be declared a living saint.

The Urshilaku camp was turning out to be more difficult to reach than I had expected. The village of Khuul to the west was the closest settlement, but in between them was an impassable mountain range. I could have tried to approach from the east, but there were no towns or even villages for miles around. In the end I decided to return to Maar Gan, the town I’d just visited, and head north from there up the Foyada Bani-Dad, another of those dried-up lava channels.

The journey took the best part of two days. I rested overnight in a small cave close to some Dwemer ruins, but first I had to drive out the bandits who had taken refuge there. I soon found out what they were guarding: Khajiit and Argonian slaves, six of them in total.

“Have you seen the Twin Lamps?” one of them asked me, as I removed her slave bracers.

Hang on, I’d heard that before somewhere. “Er… yes?”

“They light the way to freedom,” she whispered, then hurried off after the others before I could ask any more questions. Clearly the poor sods were desperate to get out of that place. It wasn’t until later that it occurred to me to wonder how, with no armour or weapons, they were going to make it back to safety.

It was around midday when I finally reached the Urshilaku camp, which seemed to be nothing more than a collection of yurts in a small clearing. In the end I’d chosen to wear my Legion cuirass after all, deciding that I’d rather face the wrath of the Ashlanders than the talons of the cliff racers. I don’t know whether it was this, or just the fact that I was a human and an outlander, but I could sense the hostility and suspicion in the air as soon as I came within sight of the inhabitants. Several of them instantly disappeared inside their tents, and a few children playing near the edge of the camp were hastily dragged away by their parents.

I noticed that most of the tribespeople were barefoot, and wondered if this was part of their culture, or if they were just too poor to afford shoes. Certainly I found it hard to imagine why else anyone would choose to live like this. Don’t get me wrong, I had plenty of admiration for anyone who could survive such harsh conditions; what I couldn’t understand was why the heck anyone would want to. Why struggle by on a hand-to-mouth existence when you could be living in a city, with warm, dry houses and hot baths and proper sanitation?

My first few attempts to talk to the Urshilaku didn’t go too well. The first person I approached was an elderly woman, who greeted me with a scowl and a shake of her head. “Leave this place, Imperial. You and your people are not welcome here.”

“What do you have against Imperials?” I very foolishly asked.

Her scowl deepened. “The Imperials came out of the West and tricked the gods of the settled people, the false gods called the Tribunal. Now the Imperials act like they own Morrowind, and they claim we are ruled by their chief, the one they call Emperor. We think nothing of this foolishness, but they have great armies of soldiers in armour who come and burn our yurts and slay our children.” She ground her teeth. “So we hate them. Do you understand, outlander?”

“Well, there’s no need to take it out on me,” I mumbled, as she stalked off. “I never killed anyone’s children.” I couldn’t imagine the Imperial soldiers I’d met doing anything like that, and I wondered if the things he described had happened before the Armistice. To a human, that was ancient history – but the Dark Elves had long lives, and long memories.

I tried several other people, male and female, but all of them either just waved me away or snapped at me in a language I didn’t recognise. Finally, in desperation, I introduced myself to one slightly younger man by offering to bring him a gift – any gift he wanted. He looked at me with a faintly mocking smile, obviously recognising me straight away for a soft, city-bred Western type.

“You want to offer me a gift?” he sneered. “Poor outlander. Even these small things are a puzzle to you.” His smile grew wider. “Then bring me some trama root for my larder. I am a hunter, and it is beneath my dignity to scrabble about in the dirt – but you? Perhaps this is a task you can handle.”

From the smug expression on his face it was clear that he’d deliberately chosen the most demeaning task he could think of, and was expecting me to refuse outright - but this only made me more determined not to back down. I met his gaze with a defiant stare of my own. “All right,” I said coolly, as if grubbing around in the soil for roots was something I did every day. “Where can I find some trama root?”

He shrugged. “There are many patches near to the camp. Go out and find some.”

I waited until I was safely out of hearing before venting my feelings. I had plenty of opportunity, since the nearest patch of roots I could find was some way away. Trama root was a tough, spiny plant that was difficult to pull up even with steel gauntlets, and I didn’t want to waste water from my canteen to soften the soil. In the end I just hacked a few pieces off with my sword.

The Ashlander man raised his eyebrows when I returned to him clutching handfuls of trama root. “Well, outlander, you are not proud,” he said. “But you are courteous, and in an outlander, that is not a thing to be despised.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I had plenty of pride, that I’d only agreed to come here because I’d be executed if I didn’t, and that I couldn’t give a flying crap about him, his tribe, or his desire for trama root. But all that would have got me was a bollocking from Caius and quite possibly a fight, so I bit back my retort and forced myself to smile. “Very well, I accept your gift,” he continued. “And thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” I said, doing my best to keep any trace of sarcasm out of my voice. “My name is Ada Ventura, by the way.”

“Under sun and sky, Ada. I am Shabinbael.”

“Good to meet you, Shabinbael.” I paused. “Er… now that I’ve brought you a gift, might you be able to help me? I need to speak to Sul-Matuul or Nibani Maesa.”

“And what do you wish to speak to them about?”

“Er… the Nerevarine prophecies.”

Shabinbael frowned; clearly this wasn’t an answer he’d been expecting. “You are an outlander,” he said. “And you wish to talk of the Nerevarine prophecies? You are polite and well-mannered, for an outlander, and I do not think you mean to give offence. But why should you care about these prophecies?”

Okay, here came the really difficult part. “Well, I know this is going to be very hard to believe, but…” I hesitated, steeling myself for the inevitable disbelieving response. “I’ve been told that I may fulfil the prophecies.”

I wasn’t sure whether I expected him to laugh, or hit me, or both. Looking back, I’m pretty sure all that stopped him doing one of those things was the fact that I’d just brought him trama root; if I was willing to humiliate myself by scrabbling around in the dirt for him, at least it showed I was serious. His eyes grew very wide, and he stared hard at me for several seconds.

“I do not believe what I am hearing,” he murmured. “You think you are the Nerevarine? You do not look like the Nerevarine, but… you do not speak like a fool, or a madman.”

Well, frankly, even this was a much better reception than I’d been expecting. “Go speak with Zabamund in his yurt,” Shabinbael said at last. “He is a gulakhan, Sul-Matuul’s champion, and he will decide what is right. If Zabamund gives you permission, then you may enter the Ashkhan’s Yurt and speak with Sul-Matuul.” He indicated one of a group of yurts under a canopy, presumably belonging to the leaders of the tribe.

So it was that I found myself facing yet another skeptical Ashlander, this one a warrior in chitin armour. This time I had the sense to introduce myself politely and offer him a gift before asking for anything else.

“I am not proud,” he said with a shrug. “I like gold. This is the custom you outlanders call a ‘bribe’, yes?

My mouth fell open. For a moment I thought he was joking, but there wasn’t a trace of amusement in his face. Wordlessly I took fifty drakes from my pouch and handed them over to him, hoping that would be enough.

Only then did Zabamund’s lips curve into a faint smile. “Good,” he said, as he pocketed the gold. “You come to talk? Then talk, outlander.”

I explained that I needed to speak to Sul-Matuul and Nibani Maesa, and he shook his head. “You have no standing among us, outlander. But you speak well, and with respect, so I will explain: It is against our customs that an outlander should speak to an ashkhan or wise woman. I’ll tell you also that Sul-Matuul has no love for outlanders.”

Time to turn on the charm, I thought. If only I’d thought to bring some of that Telvanni bug musk. “I understand this, sera,” I said, as humbly as possible. “But I have very important business to discuss with them. It concerns the Nerevarine prophecies.”

Zabamund frowned. “The Nerevarine Prophecies are not for outlanders. Why should we speak to you about these things? Who are you, that we should trust you?”

Well, why indeed? All I could think of was to tell him all I’d learned about the prophecies, and hope that he would believe my admittedly ridiculous story. So I told him what had happened so far – leaving out all the parts about the Blades, of course – and watched his expression grow increasingly thoughtful.

“Hmm,” he said, stroking his chin. “These are not simple matters. You know a great deal more than I would have thought – and some of what you say is news to me. I believe you should speak to Sul-Matuul. Go to the Ashkhan’s Yurt, and tell him I have sent you.”

The Urshilaku chief was a tall, middle-aged Dunmer, who carried himself proudly despite his humble surroundings. From the way he looked at me I could tell that he wasn’t impressed, and he looked even less impressed when I explained what I was there for. Even so, he found it in himself to speak to me politely – which made for a nice change, I must admit.

“So. My champion Zabamund has sent you to talk with me about the Nerevarine prophecies,” he said, with a manful attempt to feign interest. “Then go ahead, Ada. I am very curious.”

By the time I’d finished telling my story yet again I was just about ready to kill myself. Sul-Matuul still looked skeptical – not that I could blame him – but, rather to my amazement, he didn’t immediately dismiss what I had said. “You think you fulfill the Nerevarine prophecies. You wish to be tested to see if you are the Nerevarine.”

“Well, er – ”

“No outlander may join the Nerevarine cult,” he continued, before I could finish. “If you were a Clanfriend, an adopted member of the Ashlander tribes, then perhaps. I have an initiation rite in mind, and if you pass this rite, I will adopt you as a Clanfriend of the Ashlanders.”

The phrase ‘initiation rite’ brought back unpleasant memories of my induction into the Fighters’ Guild in Chorrol, courtesy of a bunch of loutish Colovians. They’d had great fun with the spoiled princess from the big city, oh yes. “What sort of initiation rite?” I asked, hoping at least that this one wouldn’t involve live chickens and a Colovian fur helm.

He looked grave. “To be adopted into the tribe, you must undergo a harrowing.”

“A harrowing?” Okay, this sounded bad. Really, really bad.

“In a harrowing, you will be judged by the spirits and ancestors to see if you are worthy,” he explained. “Go to the Urshilaku Burial Caverns and fetch me the Bonebiter Bow of my father Sul-Senipul. Return to me with this bow, and I will adopt you into the Ashlander tribes as a Clanfriend.”

I had to bite my tongue to suppress my exasperation. All I wanted was to be told I wasn’t the Nerevarine, and now I was expected to trudge through someone’s burial caverns on yet another sodding fetch quest? Couldn’t he just say “no” and be done with it?

“All right,” I said at last, with deep reluctance. “Where can I find these burial caverns, and how will I recognise the bow when I see it?”

“The burial caverns lie to the south-southeast of the camp, a north-facing door in a little hill halfway between us and the slopes of Red Mountain. Be cautious, for the spirits of our ancestors guard the caverns – they will attack and kill you if they can. As for the bow, you will recognise it by the markings.”

I wasn’t quite so confident of this, but I thought I’d better make a move before it got dark. There was a distinct lack of anything resembling hotels in this place, and even a dank, ancestor-infested cave would be better than sleeping outside in this dustbowl. So, after refreshing myself with a few stamina potions, I set out to look for the Urshilaku burial caverns. It was already growing dark when I finally stumbled across the entrance.

After creeping through several long, dimly-lit passages guarded by rats and skeletons, I found myself in a large chamber that was mostly submerged in water. Several large stepping stones provided the only means of crossing the underground lake. Unfortunately they were quite far apart, and jumping across them in my heavy armour was no easy task. I managed to clear the first few, but on the third stone I mistimed the jump and plunged into the water.

Swearing loudly enough to wake the dead (literally), I struggled to the side of the lake and hauled myself out, coughing and spluttering. A Water Walking spell was definitely going to be first on my list when I next visited a Mages’ Guild.

The next cavern I entered was another huge water-filled chamber, this one so tall that I could barely see the ceiling. I must have been further underground than I had realised. A waterfall tumbled down a huge central pillar, which was surrounded by a wet and slippery spiral ramp. Set into the outer walls, at varying heights, were doors to other burial chambers.

As I carefully made my way up the ramp, battered by spray from the waterfall, I noticed several mummified bodies on the central pillar. Each one was clutching what looked like a fantastic treasure – magically-preserved books, jewelled amulets, enchanted longswords of volcanic glass. Unfortunately they were all well out of reach, and in any case, I would have felt guilty about taking something so obviously valuable from a tomb.

I lost track of time completely while wandering through those caverns. Several times I paused to rest, eat and sleep, but I soon found it impossible to tell what time of day it was or how long I’d been in there. I’d hoped to find the bow fairly quickly and get out, but of course, that would have been too easy. On the plus side, I did manage to pick up some good loot in the form of scrolls and potions left behind by other adventurers – after all, I reasoned, they weren’t much use to someone who was already dead.

Finally, at the very end of the topmost cavern, I came across a powerful-looking ancestor ghost carrying an enchanted chitin bow. Maybe this was Sul-Matuul’s father, Sul-Senipul? I’d never know, because it attacked as soon as it spotted me, correctly recognising me for a greedy adventurer here to steal its precious bow.

This time my enchanted weapon made fairly quick work of the ghost, but just before giving up the – er, ghost, it cast a spell on me that made my muscles seize up painfully. What was more, the spell didn’t wear off once the spirit had vanished. With a sinking heart I realised that it had struck me with some kind of curse, one designed to permanently reduce my agility. It could only be cured by a spell or potion, and I didn’t have either.

So I slowly limped back to the Urshilaku camp, still somewhat damp, and half-crippled with the pain in my arms and legs. By the light level and the position of the moons and stars, I could tell that it was late evening – but as to what evening, I had no idea. I was so tired that it felt like I’d been wandering around those caves for weeks.

Sul-Matuul nearly jumped out of his skin when I entered his tent. For a moment he looked as if he’d seen a ghost, and I realised that he hadn’t actually been expecting to see me come back. “So, outlander,” he said, recovering his cool with impressive speed. “Have you completed the initiation rite?”

“Your bow, sera,” I said, handing it over. If he told me it was the wrong one after all I’d been through, I was going to hack him to death with his own battle axe.

Sul-Matuul briefly examined the bow. “This is my father’s Bonebiter Bow,” he said at last. “You have completed the initiation rite. I name you, Ada Ventura, Clanfriend of the Ashlanders. Keep my father’s bow, and bear it with honour.”

“Really?” I asked in astonishment. “I can keep it?” It was a nice bow, I had to admit, with a fairly powerful enchantment.

He nodded. “You are a friend of our tribe, and may rest in any Urshilaku bed, but do not harm other tribe members, or take their things. And now I will fulfill my other promise. Go to the wise woman’s yurt, and Nibani Maesa shall examine you and test you against the Nerevarine prophecies.”

All I really wanted to do was take a Restore Agility potion and go to bed, but I decided it was best to get the Nerevarine business over with first. Just as I was about to leave, I thought of something else to ask him. “I don’t suppose you’d be able to tell me what day it is by my calendar?”

“I cannot tell you, but it has been two days since you left for the burial caverns.”

Two days? That would make it the twenty-first of… hang on, the twenty-first of Heartfire? That was my birthday. I’d just spent the whole of my twenty-third birthday crawling through a filthy underground tomb, being stabbed and hacked at and gnawed by rats and shot full of arrows, for the sake of a mission I knew to be completely futile and pointless. I suddenly found myself uncomfortably close to tears.

Under the circumstances it would probably have been better to wait until the next morning before visiting Nibani Maesa. The way I was feeling now it was pretty much inevitable that we’d rub each other up the wrong way, and Nibani managed to irritate me from the moment I laid eyes on her. “So. They’ve told me of you, outlander – or shall I say, Clanfriend.” She nodded slowly. “You are hard-headed. And ignorant.”

I was already in a pretty bad mood, and at this point I came very close to losing my temper. Where did she get off calling me ‘hard-headed and ignorant’ when she’d only met me ten seconds ago? I opened my mouth to protest, but before I could speak she went on: “But perhaps it is not your fault.”

“Nice to meet you too,” I said through gritted teeth. She wouldn’t be getting any ‘thoughtful gifts’ from me, that was for sure.

“My lord ashkhan says you will ask me about the Nerevarine prophecies,” she continued. “He also says I will test you against the Nerevarine prophecies. I must do as my lord ashkhan says… so ask your questions, and I will test you.”

“Okay, well…” I hesitated, realising that I really didn’t have a clue what to ask her about. “How will I know if I fulfill the prophecies?”

Nibani shrugged. “There are many Nerevarine prophecies, and they suggest many things. Aspect and uncertain parents. The moon-and-star. Sleepers. Seven curses. The curses’ bane. The prophecy of the Stranger. The prophecy of the Seven Visions. And the lost prophecies.”

My head was beginning to spin. Some of those things certainly sounded familiar –uncertain parents, Sleepers, and the prophecy of the Stranger – but ‘seven curses’? ‘Seven visions’? The ‘Lost Prophecies’? How many of these dratted prophecies were there, anyway?

“Ask me of these things,” she went on, “if you are patient, and would be wise. Or if you are impatient to know, just ask: “Do I pass the test of the Nerevarine prophecies?”

I took a deep breath. “Look, I don’t want to be rude, but… I’m cold. I’m wet. I’m incredibly tired.” I paused for effect. “I’ve just spent the best part of two days wandering around underground caverns fighting hordes of undead, and one of them cast a spell on me that makes every step I take hurt like hell. I really, really don’t want to waste any more of anyone’s time, so… if I don’t pass the test, then yes, I’d rather just be told. If you wouldn’t mind.”

Nibani regarded me silently for several seconds before answering, as if searching for something. Finally she said, “You are not the Nerevarine.”

Relief flooded over me. “Thank you,” I breathed, unable even to make a pretence of being disappointed. “Well, in that case – ”

“But you are one who may become the Nerevarine.”

“What?” My hopes, which had briefly soared, came crashing down again.

“It is a puzzle, and a hard one,” she said, nodding. “But you have found some of the pieces, and you may find more. Do you choose to be the Nerevarine?”

No! No, I bloody don’t! “I, er…”

“Then seek the lost prophecies among the Dissident priests of the Temple,” she told me. “Find the prophecies, bring them to me, and I will be your guide. But first, let me tell you the prophecy of the Seven Visions.”

Before I could object, she had begun to recite what sounded like another of those crappy poems. Reluctantly I dug out my journal, and did my best to write it down as she spoke – none of this rote-learning nonsense for me, thank you very much.

Seven trials
What he puts his hand to, that shall be done.
What is left undone, that shall be done.

First trial
On a certain day to uncertain parents
Incarnate moon and star reborn.

Second trial
Neither blight nor age can harm him.
The Curse-of-Flesh before him flies.

Third trial
In caverns dark Azura’s eye sees
And makes to shine the moon and star.

Fourth trial
A stranger’s voice unites the Houses.
Three Halls call him Hortator.

Fifth trial
A stranger’s hand unites the Velothi.
Four Tribes call him Nerevarine.

Sixth trial
He honours blood of the tribe unmourned.
He eats their sin, and is reborn.

Seventh trial
His mercy frees the cursed false gods,
Binds the broken, redeems the mad.

One destiny
He speaks the law for Veloth’s people.
He speaks for their land, and names them great.

Apart from the ‘certain day to uncertain parents’ part, I had no idea what any of this meant. “What’s all this about ‘moon-and-star’ and ‘curse-of-flesh’?”

“Legend says Indoril Nerevar’s family standard bore the moon and star, and Nerevar’s armour and weapons bore this sign. Some say he bore a moon-and-star birthmark, or has a magic ring marked with a moon-and-star, or was born under a moon-and-star.” Well, certainly none of those things were true of me. “I’m not sure what the Second Trial means – will the Nerevarine come as a spirit who is not harmed by blight or age? But I think Curse-of-Flesh means the blight disease Corprus, which causes terrible, distorted growths on its victims. Perhaps the Nerevarine will be able to heal this disease.”

So the Nerevarine was supposed to be ageless, immune to disease, and possess miraculous healing powers? I was starting to get the feeling that it would be a long time before this guy showed up. “All right… what are the Lost Prophecies?”

“There are Nerevarine prophecies that have been lost.” Well, duh. “Some are forgotten, some hidden, some deliberately lost. But we hear that the Dissident Priests of the Temple study our Nerevarine prophecies, and record them in books. You must go to them and ask for these books, and bring what you find to me.”

I heaved a long, exhausted sigh, too tired to argue. “Okay... I’ll think about it. But first I’m going to bed. I don’t suppose there’s anywhere I could get a bath round here?” I added, without much hope.

She looked at me with undisguised scorn. “A bath? Do you think we have water to spare for such luxuries, outlander? If you stay here you may wash with a bucket and a cloth, as we always have done.”

This was the moment where I completely lost it. I’d done my level best to be polite to everyone I met here, having been led to believe that the Ashlanders valued courtesy, only to find that being an outlander made me fair game for sneers and carping and barely-concealed insults. It was far from the worst thing anyone here had said to me, but her tone of voice – combined with the ‘gods, what a stupid outlander’ expression on her face – tipped me right over the edge into outright fury.

“Fine, have it your way. I’ll just be getting back to civilisation, then,” I said, with heavy emphasis on the word ‘civilisation’. Just by the tent flap, I paused for a parting shot. “I hope you’re a damn sight more polite to the real Nerevarine when he turns up, because frankly I wouldn’t blame him if he decides you’re not bloody worth saving!”

And with that I stormed out of the yurt – wishing there was a door to slam behind me – and out of the camp. The effect was spoiled a little by the fact that I couldn’t take a step without wincing, and even more so when I realised that wandering around the Ashlands in pitch darkness was a recipe for certain death. I tried to cast an Almsivi Intervention spell, but I was so exhausted and pissed off that I could barely even remember the words. I had to drink three Restore Magicka potions before I finally got it right.

Back in Gnisis – which was apparently the closest place with a Temple – I paid for a room in the tradehouse and went straight to bed. I didn’t even have the energy to take a bath first, or buy a potion to cure the stiffness in my limbs. That had to wait for the next day, as did unloading the loot I’d collected on the local shopkeepers. After that I took the morning silt strider back to Ald’ruhn.

I was well aware that I couldn’t expect Nibani Maesa to help me any more now, but to be honest, I didn’t really care all that much. As far as I was concerned, I had my answer. If Caius honestly thought I was going to voluntarily set out to become the Nerevarine, when I’d already been told I wasn’t, he needed his head examined.

Back in Ald’ruhn I went to visit Councillor Athyn Sarethi to see if he’d be willing to sponsor me in House Redoran. A servant showed me into Lord Sarethi’s study, where he greeted me with a smile. “Ah yes, Ada. Neminda has been telling me of your service to the House.” He paused. “I hear that you come to us from House Hlaalu.”

I winced. “Look, we all do crazy things when we’re young and stupid, right? Like getting really drunk at a family wedding, or joining House Hlaalu. There’s no need to rub it in.”

His lips twitched. “Very well. Serve House Redoran faithfully, and we will speak no more of it. But I must warn you of one thing, Ada,” he continued. “If I agree to sponsor you, you will be a Kinsman in the House, and family. No other House will take you in if you are expelled from Redoran.”

“Okay. I understand.”

“I would consider sponsoring an outlander,” Sarethi went on. “I have done so before, when the circumstances warranted it. But first, there is one more task I must ask of you.”

What, wasn’t saving his life enough? I mean, I wasn’t expecting a medal or anything, but this did seem just the teensiest bit ungrateful. I nodded silently, trying to look as if I didn’t mind, but Sarethi didn’t appear to notice; he seemed too wrapped up in his own thoughts.

“Archmaster Bolvyn Venim holds my son hostage for a crime I know he did not commit,” he said at last. “If you want me as your sponsor, you must rescue my son Varvur and return him to me.”

I stared at him. “Your son? Archmaster Venim kidnapped your son?” A dreadful realisation began to dawn on me. “When… when did this happen, exactly?”

“I am not sure exactly how or when he was taken, but he has been missing for nearly two weeks.”

My heart sank. If I wasn’t mistaken, I did know exactly how and when Varvur had been kidnapped – that evening at the Rat in the Pot when I’d seen him for the first time. No wonder the guards had reacted so badly when I tried to intervene; they’d probably slipped a sleeping potion into his drink while no one was looking. But how could I possibly have known?

Suddenly I felt like the worst person in the world. No wonder Lord Sarethi had asked for another favour; right now he’d probably do anything to get his son back. “Okay, I’ll do it,” I said instantly. This was my kind of job, after all: righting wrongs, fighting injustice and rescuing damsels in distress (or whatever the male equivalent of a damsel is).

“Why would Venim do something like this?” I asked, and then it hit me. “He’s the one who’s been sending assassins after you, isn’t he?”

Sarethi didn't directly answer the question, but I could tell from his expression that I’d guessed correctly. There was no anger in his face, only sadness.

“He is a strong leader, and has done great things for House Redoran. How can I explain the hold he has over the hearts of the Redoran people? He brought us back from certain defeat. He moved the council here to Vvardenfell and took our share of the frontier lands. He is a natural leader, born to rule.” He sighed. “One only wishes he was just and fair as well as strong.”

Clearly this was as close as he was willing to get to criticising the Archmaster. “How will I find Varvur?” I asked eventually.

“He is being held in Venim Manor, which is the first manor to your right when you enter Skar. I have heard Venim is keeping him in the right wing of his manor.” Sarethi hesitated. “Kill the guards if you must, but you must be careful not to kill Venim himself, or the other councillors will turn against you.”

I hoped to be able to rescue Varvur without killing anyone at all. There was no way I could fight an entire houseful of guards, and besides, presumably they were only following Venim’s orders. I left Sarethi Manor, deep in thought, and spent the rest of the evening trying to come up with a plan.

"But all that would have got me was a bollocking from Caius"


OH oh... and is that a good or bad thing, Helena, for Ada to get Caius' bollocks?



And even if she got off from that one, it would be worse - she'd had got off from his bollocks!



(weakly)

Apart from that bit of tomfoolery...


I loved this part then and I love it now - the story I mean, not the bollocks, though I can't speak for Ada


...

Hilarious and witty as always. Even the references to Vvardenfell's future version of St. Patrick is excellent.

To this end, I've made it a part of my stories that the Seventeenth of First Seed is St. Jiub's Day, when I play Morrowind for a few hours just hunting down Cliff Racers and then my character goes drinking. Fun times.

The acknowledgement of “Saint Jiub” driving out the cliff racers was a good touch.



Funny how that clarifies one's thinking.



The descriptions of the Urshilaku camp and the burial caverns are up to your usual standards- allowing the reader to see through Ada’s eyes.



That is one of the moments that make Ada very real to us.



And of course, you are correct that the problems in Redoran seem to all stem from Bolvyn Venim.

Oops... posted in the wrong thread.

Chapter 17: I Am The Nerevarine

The next morning, when Skar was crowded enough for me to approach Venim Manor without being noticed, I cast the Chameleon enchantment on my Amulet of Shadows and slipped into the house as a servant entered. I caught my breath as I entered the main hall, which was impressive even by the standards of the other noble manors I’d seen. It was two stories high, sumptuously decorated, and dominated by a huge flower arrangement in the centre, which included several of those giant mushrooms I’d seen in the Ascadian Isles.

Unfortunately I didn’t have time to stop and look around. I headed through a doorway into the right wing of the manor, down a corridor, then through another door and down a flight of stairs. The hallway here was guarded only by a lone female Dunmer wearing Dwarven armour, but I couldn’t see any doors to rooms where Varvur might be imprisoned.

I knew I didn’t have much time – I could re-cast the amulet’s enchantment a few times, but eventually the magical charge would run out. I noticed a scrap of paper and a key lying on a nearby bench, and tiptoed over to see what was written on the paper.

Malsa,

Keep our special guest in the room behind the tapestry. Make sure the door is locked and that he is under guard at all times. If he escapes, I will blame you.

V

Glancing round, I spotted a tapestry hanging at the end of a long passage and realised that this must be the one mentioned in the note. Poor Malsa… still, it was her fault for being stupid enough to leave a note like that lying in plain sight. With no time to lose, I snuck up behind her and used my Star of the West power to silently knock her out. I caught her in my arms as she slid to the ground – ye gods, she was heavy in all that armour – and managed to drag her out of sight behind the staircase, before grabbing the key and hurrying down the passageway to open the hidden door.

The miserable little room behind the tapestry reminded me of my own cell in the Imperial City’s prison. It was small, windowless and bare, furnished only with a bedroll, a bucket, and a small table in one corner. On the table was a candle and a bowl containing a single kwama egg.

Sitting on the bedroll was the young man I’d seen in the Rat in the Pot tavern a week or so earlier. He wore only pants, and looked tired and depressed, but apart from a few scrapes and bruises – presumably acquired during a struggle with his captors – he appeared unhurt. As the door creaked shut behind me, he leapt to his feet in alarm. “Who’s there?”

“Sssshh,” I hissed, pulling off the Amulet of Shadows.

His eyes widened. “You’re an Imperial!”

“Congratulations,” I said, and then took pity on him. “Varvur Sarethi, I take it?”

“Yes, I am Varvur. Did my father send you?” he went on anxiously. “Are you here to rescue me?”

I nodded. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Well… mostly.”

“What happened?”

“I am not sure,” he said slowly. “The last thing I remember before waking up here is drinking in a tavern with some of Venim’s guards nearby. I think they must have drugged my glass with a sleeping potion.” He bit his lip in anger and humiliation. “They even took all my clothes while I was unconscious. When I woke I tried to fight my way past them, but…”

I nodded sympathetically. “Do you have any idea why Venim would do this?”

“He and my father are political enemies. I think he planned to use me against my father.” Varvur glanced down, noting that I was armed. “Can you take me back to Sarethi Manor?”

“Well, I’ll do my best.” At this point, far too late, it occurred to me that I really should have brought some Divine or Almsivi Intervention scrolls. After a moment’s thought, I handed the Amulet of Shadows to Varvur. “This still has some charge left on it. Cast it when we leave the room, and hopefully it’ll last until we get out of the manor.”

“And if the enchantment wears off?”

“I’ll hold off the guards. You run.”

He looked doubtful, but finally nodded. “Very well.”

We set off together, going a little more slowly this time so as not to attract attention. Unfortunately I hadn’t quite memorised the layout of the manor correctly, and ended up taking a longer and more circuitous route than I had come by. Even so, we were almost at the door to Skar when I heard a loud yell behind me and realised we’d been spotted.

I rushed to the door, flung it open, and shoved Varvur through it. “RUN!” I shouted, then turned around and hurled a fireball spell at the advancing guards. It wasn’t enough to seriously harm any of them, but the ensuing chaos gave me time to escape through the door after Varvur, slamming it shut behind me.

We tore across the bridges spanning Skar’s central chamber, barrelling past unsuspecting Redoran guards and passers-by, without bothering to check whether anyone was following us. What the astonished onlookers must have thought to see me racing across Skar with a half-naked young Redoran noble in tow, I have no idea. We didn’t stop until we reached the safety of Sarethi manor, where Varvur shoved past the guards at the door and headed straight for the main hall. “Father!”

“My son!” Athyn Sarethi practically ran up the hall to greet Varvur, folding him into a tight hug. A well-dressed noblewoman, presumably Varvur’s mother, emerged from a back room to see what was causing all the commotion; when she saw Varvur, she let out a squeak of joy and rushed over to embrace her husband and son. I watched the touching scene with a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment, and was about to slink away quietly when Athyn detached himself from the group and came over to me.

“Muthsera. Words cannot express my gratitude.” He grasped my hands tightly. Tears were running down his face, and it was only now that I realised what kind of nightmare the past couple of weeks must have been for him.

“For this I will sponsor you in House Redoran,” he continued. “You may come to me now for duties and advancement… Kinsman. Only give me a little time, and I will have more tasks for you.”

I thanked him and made a hasty exit, my cheeks burning. It’s always nice to be appreciated – sheesh, it happens rarely enough – but I never really know what to do or say when people start getting emotional. (Maybe I should have taken a tip from those knights in the fairy-tale books, and asked him for half his fortune and Varvur’s hand in marriage.)

The only downside to all this, of course, was that Archmaster Venim was not going to be happy when he discovered what had happened. If he didn’t know yet who was responsible for freeing Varvur, no doubt he soon would. Certainly I’d made a friend for life in Athyn Sarethi, but I’d also managed to seriously piss off the head of my House – a man already known for his hatred of outlanders. That didn’t bode well for the future.

I figured Athyn could do with some time alone with his family, so after buying a few new spells – Water Walking from the Mages’ Guild and a magicka resistance spell at the Temple – I took a trip back to Balmora to see Caius. “Have you spoken with Sul-Matuul and Nibani Maesa?” he asked as soon as I entered.

“Yep.”

“And what did they say?”

“That I’m not the Nerevarine,” I said, after only a slight pause.

Caius wasn’t so easily fooled, unfortunately. “What else did they say?”

I sighed. “Okay… so Nibani said I was someone who might become the Nerevarine. But I don’t believe her,” I said quickly. “I mean, either I am this guy’s reincarnation or I’m not, right? Anyway, I couldn’t go back to her even if I wanted to.”

“Why not?”

I explained how I’d quarrelled with Nibani Maesa, uncomfortably aware by this time that Caius was not likely to be impressed. When I’d finished, he shook his head. “Oh, Ada. When will you learn to control that temper of yours?”

“Well, she started it!” I said indignantly. “Would you believe she called me ‘hard-headed’ and ‘ignorant’?”

A smile hovered around his lips. “Well, ah…”

“Don’t you dare,” I warned him.

Caius snorted with amusement, but his eyes narrowed slightly. “Threatening me now, are you? You’re developing a nasty habit of playing with fire, my girl.”

“Caius, I told you right from the start that I wasn’t suited to this job. Is it my fault if you didn’t listen? Look, I’m sorry,” I said wearily, as his frown deepened. “I really am, but I’m not going to magically change into a different person just because the Emperor wants it.” I threw up my hands. “Couldn’t we just ditch this idea of me becoming the Nerevarine? Tell His Majesty I wasn’t up to the task. There has to be someone out there who’d do a better job of it than I would.”

For several seconds he just stared at me without answering. From the look on his face, I got the impression he was getting as tired of this endless battle as I was. “Tell me what else the Ashlanders said to you,” he said at last.

Reluctantly I took him through the notes I’d made in my journal, including the prophecy of the Seven Visions. “Look at this,” I begged him. “How does any of this even remotely relate to me? And what’s Azura got to do with anything?” I added, noticing the reference for the first time. Azura was one of the Daedric Princes – the goddess of dusk and dawn, if I remembered correctly. How and why she should be mixed up with this Nerevarine business was beyond me.

“I don’t know,” he said. “As to what you’ve said… well, I’ll think about it. But in the meantime, I have one more assignment for you – a very tough one, this time.”

I let out a sigh of pure exasperation. “All right, Caius: one more. But after that I’m going back home, with or without your permission. Understood?”

“I recommend you take time to improve your skills,” he continued, pretending not to have heard me as usual. “You know the drill – do a few jobs for the guilds, cash in some loot, and upgrade your equipment. Here’re 400 drakes that might come in handy. And when you’re ready, come back to me, and I’ll give you your next mission.”

While I was anxious to get everything over with so that I could go home, I wasn’t going to argue with this. Frankly, anything that gave me an excuse not to see Caius for a week or two was a bonus as far as I was concerned. No doubt he had his fellow Blades keeping an eye on me, but I could work out how to deal with that later. I was determined not to let him bully me into staying in Morrowind a day longer than I had to.

Thinking I’d had enough excitement for one day, I went back to Ald’ruhn to rest. The next day I dropped by Sarethi Manor to see how Athyn and his family were doing, and he greeted me so warmly that I almost felt sorry I’d be leaving the country in a few weeks. It was such a refreshing change to come across someone who was actually pleased to see me.

Even so, as I spoke to him, I could sense that he was worried about something. “Is everything okay?” I asked, foolishly adding, “Can I do anything to help?”

Sarethi hesitated. “There is another favour I would ask of you, if you would. You may have heard that my son Varvur has been accused of foul murder.”

I nodded, remembering what I’d heard in the tavern the night Varvur was kidnapped. “Bralen Carvaren was one of Varvur’s friends,” Athyn went on. “I cannot believe that my son would do such a thing, but the evidence is... persuasive.”

“Er… what is the evidence?”

“I think you should start by speaking with my son,” Athyn said quietly. “He is in his room in the guard quarters.”

I couldn’t really see why he thought his son would confide in a virtual stranger, even if I had rescued him from Venim, but I followed his directions to the guard quarters and found Varvur’s room. The young man was lying on the bed, now richly dressed, but otherwise looking even worse than he had when I’d found him in Venim’s manor. His face was a sickly shade of pale grey, and there was a haunted look in his eyes which wrung my heart.

When he saw me, he raised himself up on his elbow and gave me a weak smile. “I am sorry, I am not feeling well. What can I do for you?”

“Your father asked me to speak to you about Bralen Carvaren.” He let out a groan and sank back onto the pillows, half-closing his eyes. “Could you tell me what happened?” I asked as gently as possible, sitting down beside him on the bed.

“I didn’t kill him. He was my closest friend.” He shook his head. “The guards found me near his body, but I don’t remember anything that happened that night.”

“What, nothing at all?” That sounded a little too convenient.

“No, nothing.”

I laid a hand on his arm. “Varvur?” I said softly. “If you won’t tell me the truth, I’m not going to be able to help you.”

“I tell you that I don’t remember anything!” He looked directly up at me for the first time, his eyes blazing with anger. “We had been drinking at the Rat in the Pot. All I know is that we left the tavern together, and then… the next thing I remember is being woken by the guards in the morning, with Bralen’s body nearby. I was covered in his blood…” He shut his eyes again, exhausted by the effort of speaking, and I thought I heard him murmur, “Just like in the dreams.”

“Dreams?”

“Sometimes I kill Bralen in my dreams,” he whispered. “It’s... horrible. But that doesn’t mean I killed him, does it? I was having bad dreams before he died.”

Poor kid, I thought. Clearly he was more ill than I had thought; he sounded almost delirious. What was more, I had a horrible feeling that I’d heard of this before: people going mad and attacking friends or relatives in a frenzied rage, then being unable to remember anything about it afterwards. If this was what had happened to Varvur, it was bad news: even if he was found innocent of murder, he’d probably have to be locked up for his own good.

I glanced around the room, searching for inspiration, and my eye fell on a small and incredibly ugly statue standing on a shelf near the bed. It was painted red and black, and looked as if it was made of ash. I don’t usually have strong reactions of any kind towards art, but this thing really was downright hideous – almost sinister, in fact. As I looked at it I could swear that its three crudely-carved ‘eyes’ were staring back at me, and for a moment I thought I could hear faint whispers in my head, like the ones I’d heard in the depths of Llevule Andrano’s tomb.

“Varvur,” I said carefully. “Do you remember where you got this statue?”

“Hmm?” He looked at it through bleary eyes. “Oh… no. I don’t remember.”

“Would it be alright if I took it for a while?”

He nodded. “Yes, take it. Maybe if you take it away, the dreams will stop…”

I picked up the statue gingerly – for some reason, I was incredibly reluctant to touch it – and carried it through to the main hall where Athyn was waiting. “Have you seen anything like this before?” I asked him. “I know it sounds strange, but… there’s something about it that really bothers me.”

Athyn took the statue from me and examined it carefully. “This ash statue troubles me,” he said at last. “I would have you speak with someone at the Temple about this. Perhaps Lloros Sarano would know more of it.”

I headed over to the Temple, where I asked the Redoran priest Lloros Sarano to take a look at the statue. He examined it closely for several minutes before setting it down.

“Thank you, Ada,” he said. “Yes, I can see there is some kind of conjuration enchantment on this statue. I believe it influenced Varvur Sarethi in some manner, causing him to kill his friend Bralen Carvaren.”

“You really think so?” I looked doubtfully at the statue. I’d never heard of an enchantment like that before… but then again, a sufficiently powerful and unscrupulous mage could probably do almost anything with magic.

“Tell Varvur to come and speak with me,” Lloros advised me. “When I am sure that he is no longer influenced by the statue, I will have him cleared of Bralen’s murder.”

I returned to Varvur to find that he was looking better already; he seemed much more alert, and his face had returned to its normal colour. I told him what Lloros Sarano had said, and he nodded. “Maybe he can do something about these bad dreams. I will see him as soon as I can.”

“Do you remember who gave you the statue now, by any chance?”

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “I got it from Galtis Guvron at the Rat in the Pot. In fact… it was Bralen who persuaded me to buy the statue.” He bowed his head, and for a moment I thought I saw tears in his eyes. Poor guy, I could only imagine what he was feeling right now.

After Varvur had left the manor, Athyn Sarethi and I waited anxiously in the entrance hall for his return. About half an hour later he reappeared, looking incredibly relieved, and said something to his father in a low voice, glancing at me as he did so. Athyn patted him on the shoulder, murmured something in response, and waited until he had left the room before turning to me.

“It seems that my son’s name will be cleared soon,” he said. “Thank you, Ada. I knew he could not be a murderer, but I did not know of the influence of these ash statues.”

Something was still preying on my mind. “But why would anyone give your son something like that? Do you think it could be…” My voice trailed off. No, surely that was just too far-fetched.

Athyn shook his head. “I don’t know. I assume this Galtis Guvron is one of my son’s friends, but I have not heard of him or his family. Perhaps you should speak to Lloros Sarano about this?” I nodded and made to leave, but he held me back. “Before you go, I must thank you again for all you have done for my family. I am forever in your debt.”

“Don’t mention it. Glad I could help,” I said, telling the truth for once. I liked Athyn Sarethi. He wasn’t an arrogant snob like many of the nobles I’d met, who seemed to look down contemptuously on anyone who actually had to work for a living. I wondered if he might be willing to help me get out of Morrowind once I’d finished my latest Blades mission – not that I was one to keep score, but he certainly owed me a favour or two.

Back in the Temple, Lloros Sarano agreed that the ash statue business needed investigating, and suggested that I speak to Galtis Guvron at the Rat in the Pot. I decided to put on my Legion uniform first – I had a feeling that I might need it, and it turned out I was right.

I found Guvron, a pawnbroker, in a back room of the tavern. There was nothing obviously suspicious about him, and he was entirely polite until I brought up the subject of ash statues, when his eyes grew wide with shock.

“How could you...?!” He broke off. “No, never mind. I’ll just have to take care of this right now.”

Without a word of warning he pulled out a dagger he had concealed under his shirt. I’d been semi-prepared for some kind of confrontation, but I hadn’t expected him to attack me the moment I mentioned ash statues. Luckily the guy wasn’t much of a fighter, but though I yelled at him several times to surrender, I was eventually forced to deal him a fatal blow. I’d been hoping to get some information out of him; now I’d have to hope I could find something useful on his corpse or at his house.

Here, again, I was lucky. There a few more ash statues amongst the goods he was selling, and in one of his pockets I found a note from someone called ‘Hanarai’. It read as follows:

Here is another crate of statues. These are to be placed here in Ald’ruhn. Place the statues quickly and wisely. Destroy this note. Do not disappoint me again.

Hanarai

Hmm… there was definitely something strange going on here. I had no idea who Hanarai was, so I went back to Lloros Sarano and showed him the note. “Perhaps this ‘Hanarai’ is Hanarai Assutlanipal,” he said. “She claims to be an outcast Ashlander. Her house is the first one on the right down the stairs from the Temple… but she may be as unwilling to talk as Galtis, so take these potions in case you need them.” He handed me several Restore Health potions and some others which would cure common and blight diseases.

I approached Hanarai’s house with a deep sense of foreboding, and once again it turned out to be justified. Hanarai didn’t even blink when I entered her house without warning; she just stood there calmly, as if she had been expecting me. A chill ran through me as I realised that I’d seen her before: she was the crazed ‘Sleeper’ who’d accosted me in the streets of Ald’ruhn a few weeks back.

The moment she saw me, a terrible smile spread over her face. “It is the Hour of Wakening,” she hissed. “Dagoth Ur awakes, and comes forth in his glory, and his people shall rejoice, and his enemies shall scatter like dust.” And with that, she drew a dagger and attacked me.

Hanarai was a better fighter than Galtis Guvron, but with no armour and only a chitin dagger, she didn’t stand much of a chance. She still fought like a demon, refusing to yield even as her life ebbed away. All I found on her body was a few gold coins and another of those small ash statues.

I searched the house for any more evidence of what Hanarai and Guvron were mixed up in. Down the stairs in the lower part of the house, I found a door that was locked and enchanted with a magical trap. After a few tries I got my ‘Ondusi’s Unhinging’ spell to break the lock, and managed to disarm the trap with one of the probes I carried, allowing me to open the door safely. When I saw what lay in the cellar beyond it, I wished I hadn’t.

The underground room was lit only by candles and bathed in an eerie red light. It appeared to be some sort of shrine, dominated by a large red-and-black banner covered in strange symbols. In front of the banner was a bowl containing what looked like hunks of rotting meat. They looked absolutely foul, and smelled even worse.

In a corner of the room, a large ash statue stood on a packing crate. I searched the crate to find that it was full of the horrible things, tightly packed together. So this was what the Sixth House cultists had been smuggling.

Shuddering, I left the house and went back to tell Lloros Sarano what I had found. He listened in horror to my description of the Sixth House ‘shrine’, and promised me that the remaining ash statues would be dealt with. “At least the source of the statues in Ald’ruhn has been shut down,” he said. “I admire your achievement, but we must remain vigilant against anyone else who comes to Ald’ruhn with ash statues.”

I agreed. Clearly this Sixth House business was a lot more serious than just a few crazies ranting about their Lord Dagoth Ur and how he would drive out the n’wah. But what could they hope to gain by placing one of those statues in the hands of a Redoran noble?

I wondered if I should tell Athyn Sarethi what I had found, but decided he probably had enough to worry about right now without knowing that the Sixth House was after him as well. What I didn’t get was that everyone who knew Athyn seemed to speak of him with respect, or even affection. For someone so seemingly popular, he sure had a lot of people out to get him.

While taking a break to rest and eat at the Ald Skar Inn, I wondered what I should do next. It really was time I did some more work for the Fighters’ Guild and the Legion, especially if I wanted to practise my combat skills in preparation for Caius’ next mission. Also, I probably ought to carry out some duties for the Mages’ Guild as well – I was starting to feel a bit guilty about taking their free potions and equipment without actually doing any work for them. In the meantime, though, I went to ask the Temple priest Tuls Valen whether he had any tasks for me.

“Indeed I do,” he said seriously. “I have just received news of another False Incarnate in Vvardenfell.”

Cold fear gripped me. “A f-false Incarnate?” I squeaked, feeling the blood drain from my face. Surely they couldn’t already have heard about my dealings with the Ashlanders?

“Elvil Vidron in Suran claims to be the Nerevarine and makes prophecies of doom,” he said. Oh. Phew!

“What should I do?” I asked, trying to hide my relief.

“Clearly he is a heretic. Convince him that he is mistaken or, if all else fails, prove it by killing him. If he is the true Nerevarine, he is protected by prophecy and cannot die.”

I just hoped to goodness that this Vidron guy wasn’t the true Nerevarine. If that was the case then I was pretty screwed, wasn’t I?

There was no direct transportation link from Ald’ruhn to Suran, so I’d have to go via the Mages’ Guild in Vivec. Before leaving I asked Edwinna Elbert, the Breton woman who headed the Ald’ruhn Guild, if she had any duties for me. “Yes, Associate, there is something you could do for me,” she said. “I am looking for a copy of the rare Dwarven book Chronicles of Nchuleft, which is simply essential to my research. Would you be willing to find a copy for me?”

“I guess so. I take it the local bookseller doesn’t have a copy?”

She shook her head. “Here’s 250 septims to cover your expenses. Time is of the essence.”

On arriving in Vivec I went straight to Jobasha’s bookstore in the Foreign Quarter, remembering that he sold rare books. Sure enough, he had a copy of Chronicles of Nchuleft for exactly 250 septims, though I managed to haggle the price down slightly. After that I thought I would have to wait until evening and take the silt strider to Suran, but then a better idea occurred to me.

I took a gondola to the Temple canton and bought a cheap Rising Force potion from the priestess there, then donated it to Vivec’s Shrine to Stop the Moon. As before, it cast a powerful Levitation spell on me, allowing me to fly through the air almost like a bird. I floated up above the cantons and then set out in the direction of Suran, which I could just see as a faint blur in the distance. Nothing hindered me except a few cliff racers, and I arrived in the town before it got dark, far earlier than I would have done if I’d taken the silt strider.

I vaguely remembered seeing Elvil Vidron the last time I came to Suran – at least if the barefoot, shirtless guy rambling on about ‘the time of the Incarnate’ was Vidron, which I assumed was the case. He didn’t seem particularly surprised to see a young Imperial woman literally drop out of the sky above him (I guess if you’ve already convinced yourself that you’re the Nerevarine, not much else is likely to faze you either). “Excuse me, Ser Vidron?” I said. “Could I speak to you in private for a moment, please? I’m not going to arrest you or anything,” I assured him, as he looked at me suspiciously.

Elvil finally relented, and stopped his ramblings long enough for us to walk into a secluded alleyway. I just hoped I could think of something to say to convince him, because “Look, all this is a bit unlikely, don’t you think?” probably wasn’t going to do the trick.

“I’m told you claim to be the Nerevarine,” I said to him.

He smiled. “You disbelieve? I know my destiny… and you will have a hard time proving otherwise. I have seen the message in the dream. Have you not also experienced the waking dream?”

“Waking dream?” I thought back to the strange dreams I’d been having recently, and suddenly a clever idea struck me. “I have, as it happens. But you weren’t the person I saw.”

He frowned. “Who then, if not myself? The dreams are unyielding! Every day, every night! I must be the one... I must...”

“You can’t be the Nerevarine.” I leaned in towards him, lowering my voice almost to a whisper. “Because I am.”

“You?” He stared at me in disbelief. “But... how can that be?”

“Did Dagoth Ur appear to you in person?” I asked, flinging out my arms. “Did he address you as ‘Lord Nerevar Indoril, Hai Resdaynia’? ‘Long forgotten, forged anew’?” To my surprise, I found I could remember exactly what ‘Dagoth Ur’ had said to me in the dream. “Did he invite you to join him beneath Red Mountain and purge the n’wah from Morrowind? Well, that’s what he said to me!”

By now Elvil was gazing at me with eyes the size of dinner-plates. “You... The vision...” he stammered. “Then it was you, not I! Forgive me, Nerevar, forgive! I meant only to prepare the way.”

Sweet Mara, this guy was gullible. “That’s quite all right,” I told him. “Just stop telling people you’re the Nerevarine, and I’ll happily forgive you.”

“Yes, Nerevar!” he exclaimed. “I see clearly now. I shall repent at the Temple and preach in your name.”

“No, don’t do that! I mean… I need more time to prepare the people of Morrowind for my coming,” I added hastily. “The, ah… the minds of the ignorant masses are not yet ready to accept this news. When the time is right, I will reveal myself,” I continued, improvising wildly. “But in the meantime, you must tell no one about our meeting. Do you understand?”

“Of course, Nerevar,” he said meekly. “I will seek penance for my sins, and no longer claim to be the Incarnate.”

Whew, that was close. “I’m glad to hear it,” I told him, resisting the urge to mop my brow, and then a sudden thought occurred to me. “Do you happen to own an ash statue, by any chance?”

His eyes grew even wider. “How did you know?”

“Just a hunch. Er, I think you should get rid of that statue,” I said. “I… hear the paint they use to coat it is poisonous. If I were you, I’d take it along to the Temple and hand it in to one of the priests.”

He looked doubtful. “Well… if you think it is best, Nerevar.”

“Good! Well, it’s been wonderful meeting you, Elvil,” I said, forcing a smile. I could only hope he’d keep his word about not telling anyone my story; otherwise I was going to be in deep trouble.

As always, scenes with Ada and Caius are my absolute faves !!!!

They tend to be my favourites too Here are some more screenshots:

Hmph. Very... rustic.
Now there's a guy I wouldn't so much mind seeing shirtless...
A touching reunion.

Ada's failed attempt at definitively not being the Nerevarine was excellent. Too bad Caius is too savvy to let little things like "only maybe possibly could be the Nerevarine" slide. Shame about that.



Are you sure that's not the guy that Ada wouldn't mind being seen shirtless by?