Making Adryn guild guide would have made for some hilariously funny shenanigans, but such adventures may have to be confined to the mages guild hall, which I believe may defeat the purpose of the game (Morrowind, though I have never played TES III beyond the initial meeting with Caius Cosades . . . ). I look forward to what authorly scrambling you plan to present us - I'm sure it would be as hilarious as your original plan, plus make more sense within the parameters of the game. ;P

@haute ecole rider - yes, that was basically the problem. Although Adryn the guild guide wasn't planned to be permanent, it was still supposed to cover a longer period and it turns out writing interesting shenanigans for a character who's effectively locked in place is not exactly easy; I had some, but not enough to cover the length of time required, and I couldn't time-skip well either because I'd been sticking too close to Adryn beforehand. So, scrap the whole thing, and learn from it that I need to plan really well if I want to make Adryn immobile for a longer period. *sighs*

Anyway, on to authorly scrambling.

Last chapter, Adryn escaped Arkngthand thanks to a hasty Telvanni impersonation, then learned from Antabolis and Cosades that said Telvanni impersonation was maybe not the smartest, never to mention most unobtrusive, way of escape. Adryn retreated to the Mages' Guild with the Dwemer cube that Antabolis now refused to take in order to lick her wounds. Somehow, this turned into Ranis Athrys deciding Adryn would make a fine guild guide. Last we saw her, she was planning to move to a different guild hall in order to escape this fate.



If I was to be honest, Ald'ruhn hadn't made a good impression on me so far. It started with the city being located in a blasted wasteland, compounded the matter through having been built by architects who'd clearly been high on skooma when it came to selecting suitable building materials, and then added insult to injury by being populated by Redorans. Between Varvur, Bolvyn Venim, and (last but certainly not least) Athyn Sarethi, I'd really had enough of the breed to last me a lifetime.

In one aspect, however, I did have to give Ald'ruhn credit over Balmora: its Mages' Guild was built on a significantly larger scale. Between a separate chamber for the guild guide – one which I had to doubt the Altmer in question was particularly happy about – the library I'd holed up in the last time I was here, a proper dining hall instead of chairs crammed into the kitchen, even what looked like private chambers which I optimistically hoped were available to Apprentices, it was clear that the guild had managed to acquire a larger space when they expanded here.

I liked it. Balmora could get a bit cramped, in my opinion.

The guildmistress' office was no exception. When I poked my nose in the door that had been pointed out to me when I asked about Edwinna Elbert's whereabouts, I saw a room several times the size of the little cubbyhole Ranis Athrys presided over in Balmora. The space was taken up with a sturdy oak desk, bookshelves on every wall, and a workbench to the side covered in an assortment of Dwemer items in varying states of disassembly. The woman herself was seated behind the desk, scribbling industriously. She looked up when I entered.

"Adryn, wasn't it? The apprentice who brought me Chronicles of Nchuleft?"

The book in question was lying open beside her, glimmering with preservation magic. Judging by the thick sheaf of notes also on the desk, Edwinna Elbert had apparently taken the time to get acquainted with it since my delivery.

"Yes, that's me. Although I'm afraid I don't have any rare books or Dwemer items with me today, guildmistress," I said with some regret.

Edwinna Elbert had emerged as the clear favourite when it came to Vvardenfell guild heads to try to work with. Trebonius was obviously right out, Skink-in-Trees'-Shade in Sadrith Mora was apparently not accepting new Apprentices due to 'the delicate political situation', and Folms Mirel in Caldera was not only rumoured to be difficult to work with but also specialised in Mysticism and enchanting – a bad match for me, to put it mildly. Given the lack of other contenders, making the Ald'ruhn guildmistress approve of me was quite important and I'd seriously considered gifting her the Dwemer cube from Arkngthand as a bribe. Alas, I'd decided that although she might be grateful for a Dwemer artifact, she was unlikely to thank me for getting her tangled up in the mess of complications involving looters, criminal organisations, corrupt members of the Imperial Legion, Hlaalu and Telvanni the cube carried with it.

The woman laughed, a clear, ringing sound. "Don't worry about it! I don't expect people to come bearing gifts. What can I do for you?" Her lips quirked in a smile. "You can call me Edwinna, by the way. I don't stand on ceremony."

Hesitantly, I felt an answering smile tug at my mouth. The friendliness was a distinct contrast to Ranis Athrys'... everything... and I knew which one I preferred. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

"Ah... you know I'm nominally attached to the Balmora guild? It... hasn't been working out. I was hoping you'd be willing to take me on as an apprentice. Um..."

I'd had a speech all worked out. It had been a good speech, covering all the angles of why I, Adryn, was an excellent aspiring scholar and mage in the making whom any guild-mistress should be delighted to mentor. I'd stayed up late fine-tuning it. Unfortunately, right now I couldn't remember a word of the thing.

I was about to start improvising when Edwinna held up a hand. It was probably for the best, since that usually ended badly.

"Well, I can't say it's a surprise. For all her efforts at recruitment, Ranis Athrys never quite knows what to do with apprentices." For a moment, the woman seemed lost in thought, eyes gazing into the distance. Then she blinked as though coming back to herself and fixed me with a look. "Now, why don't you have a seat."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't worry, I don't bite." Edwinna flashed me another smile, although she still seemed more serious than before. "It's just that this could take a while, so you might as well be comfortable for it."

Let no one say I'm not amenable to logic... or creature comforts, for that matter. I needed no further prompting to sit down in the carved wooden chair in front of the desk.

"All right, then." Carefully, the woman shifted Chronicles of Nchuleft to one side and pulled a blank piece of parchment. "If I remember correctly, you're an alchemist by trade. I'm afraid there's no opening for one here – Anarenen handles all our needs, and he's refused any and all apprentices I've thrown at him so far. The only real position I can offer is one in Dwemer scholarship. Is that something you'd be interested in?"

I'd been expecting it – and Ajira had warned me – but my heart still fell at the confirmation that alchemy was out.

"It's all right. I know there's no alchemist positions available, so I figured I might branch out a little. I've been reading about the Dwemer after Archmage Trebonius asked me to look into them, and I've found it interesting."

Edwinna groaned, rubbing her forehead. "I'd ask what our most esteemed leader asked you to do, but I'm certain I don't want to know."

Probably a wise decision, that. I as a complete layperson had reacted badly enough to his suggestion that the mystery of the Dwemer should be easily to solve – Nine only knew how someone who was dedicating their life to the subject would react.

"So, tell me. Which books have you been reading?"

The interview took quite a while, but as it was significantly more relaxed than any other I'd been subjected to on this island I didn't mind. Although we briefly touched on my abilities in the various magical schools (I found myself pathetically grateful when Edwinna opted not to dwell on the subject of Mysticism), the bulk of our talk concerned the Dwemer. Edwinna was just as unimpressed by Nordssen's writing as me, but grudgingly agreed when I claimed there were useful tidbits of information buried in Ruins of Kemel-Ze alongside the dross. In contrast, Antecedents of Dwemer Law met her approval as a serious scholarly work, even if she thought the author overstated the level of Aldmer influence on Dwemer society.

Edwinna also professed herself deeply jealous when she heard I'd lived in Markarth.

"The only inhabited Dwemer city in all of Tamriel! I've always wanted to see it, but it's such a long way and it's so hard to find the time..."

"It's not that impressive, really. Anything that wasn't welded in place is long gone – I've seen more Dwemer artifacts in your office than in my entire time living there."

"But the insights that can be gained from the layout alone!" Edwinna sighed, starry-eyed. "You'll have to tell me about it sometime."

I shrugged, aiming for noncommital. I really didn't know what she wanted to hear – that, judging from the layout of the buildings, the Dwemer had eaten, slept, and used the privy the same as any man or mer four millennia later?

Besides, thinking about Markarth meant thinking about Charon, and that was something I strenuously avoided doing these days.

Finally, Edwinna set down her quill decisively.

"Well! Thank you for taking the time to answer my questions, Adryn. I believe this will work out nicely – welcome to the Ald'ruhn guild."

She stretched out a hand. I shook it, knees weak with relief.

"Really? You mean it? Um, I mean- thanks!"

Edwinna kindly ignored my incoherence. (In my defense, at this point in my time on Vvardenfell I was not used to things going according to plan.) "It's a pity you aren't combat capable," she said instead, sounding thoughtful. "I could use someone to pick up some items from Arkngthunch-Sturdumz-"

And maybe this still qualified as things not going as planned. I withdrew my hand and took a small step backwards.

"-but I can find someone else for that," Edwinna made the shift smoothly. "More to the point, I could also use someone to cross-reference materials, sift through the items the expeditions bring in, skim the lower-ranking journals in case there's any worth among the dross, proof-read my work and other such more clerical tasks. From our conversation that sounds far more like your sort of expertise."

I nodded my emphatic agreement. Perhaps I could relax again?

"Sadly, I don't have anything for you to do right now, not until Senilias gets back from Nchuleftingth or the latest edition of Annals of the Dwemer gets here from Imperial City. I can give you some background books to read for now and let you get settled in, or..." Edwinna snapped her fingers. "I know!"

"Know what?"

"Something for you to do until real work arrives. I'd like you to go to Maar Gan and talk to Huleen for me." My expression must have been rather blank, because Edwinna took one look at me and clearly realised more explanation was necessary. "She's a member of the guild, brilliant researcher, fantastic work in the Illusion school, doing an excellent job with that apprentice of hers... but she does get a little, mm, carried away sometimes. Forgets little things, like the fact that she needs to eat or sleep, or that she is not the only person living in Maar Gan. And that some of the others might find certain side-effects disturbing."

"I think I see where this is going."

Edwinna sighed. "I talked to her after the incident with the area-effect low-level Calm spell and she did apologise for it. She knows to be considerate, she's just a little... forgetful sometimes."

A ball of ice had formed in the pit of my stomach at the words Calm spell. I ignored it with iron determination. "Sometimes. Like now?"

"I've had complaints, yes," Edwinna admitted, sounding as if each word was being dragged out of her. "Noises, that sort of thing. I'd like it if you could have a word with her. Remind her of the importance of good neighbourly relations, that sort of thing. I'd do it myself, but I can't take the time away from Ald'ruhn right now."

Well, that sounded easy enough. Except for the fact where I would be telling a powerful mage to stop doing something she wanted to do, and I wasn't... exactly... renowned for my tact.

"There's no chance of her taking this badly, is there?" I probed.

Edwinna blinked, looking taken aback. "Oh, goodness no. Huleen is one of the calmest people I know, I've never seen her lose her temper. And she used to work in the Vivec guild."

I heard the unspoken words: with Trebonius. If managing that without an explosion wasn't proof of a person's unruffled and easy-going nature, I didn't know what was.

"So? Will you do it?"

Now it was my turn to be surprised. Wonder of wonders, Edwinna was actually waiting for me to agree to her request, rather than assuming I would naturally fall in line. I didn't know who had last given me such consideration, except that it certainly hadn't been Ranis Athrys.

One of the basic tenets of training is to reward behaviour you'd like to see more of. Besides, how difficult could this be? "Sure. It sounds pretty manageable."

"Wonderful! I promise I'll have something more suitable arranged for you once you get back."



Notes: Edwinna decided to surprise me by actually trying to be a good mentor. Let's see how that works out in the long run.

After the previous installment regarding Adryn's future work placement, I was all set to post a comment along the lines of:

"Hey, Trebonius might get his answer!"

or

"Ooh, Adryn in Telvanni territory, wonder if she'll wear the cube as a necklace!"

When you posted an update, rendering those comments outdated

Must admit, I was always a fan of Edwinna, out of the Mages Guild, she seemed the most... normal(ish). Though...

"It's a pity you aren't combat capable," she said instead, sounding thoughtful. "I could use someone to pick up some items from Arkngthunch-Sturdumz-"

*There may be trouble ahead*

Always eagerly read these updates, though time isn't always allowing me to comment as quickly as I'd like.

S.G.M.

Oh, no!

Doesn't Uleen live not quite in Maar Gan? Or is she about to relocate as a result of whatever happens next?

I am playing catch up. Since I was kind of lost, I decided to start over from the very start again. I had almost forgotten how much I loved Adryn's snarky nature. Sort of like Daria Morgendorffer, but with magic.

Yeah, I’m starting at the beginning again too. Strangely enough, for such an avid reader of Adryn’s story I haven’t really commented on it. Not once, I think. I’d like to chalk it up to people already saying what I wanted to say but eh. I’m shy when it comes to posting on other people’s stories. Dunno why, tbh.

Anyway, yo, what up! I gotta say that I find several aspects of Adryn’s character to be just plain diamonds; her humor and the way she reacts to hilarious situations is obviously at the top of the list, but her street smarts, rebellious nature and the absolutely *human* way she responds to more serious matters is just outstandingly excellent!


Case in point, when she counted the money Caius Cosades gave her and cried because she reasoned that was all her life was worth, I felt that deeply, like a punch. Like oh man. It just felt so organic and just ... in-place.

Why oh why am I thinking of a High Elf mage named Ancotar in a ruin with an unpronounceable name? (thinking back to Julian's story). Yup, that mission that Adryn just agreed to do reminds me of that. I am wondering if my thoughts are correct . . .

WAIT WAIT WAIT

CHAPTER 8.8 RIGHT NOW AND

OUTER LEG REAP??????

OUTER.

LEG.

REAP?

OH MY GOD THATS MY GO TO MOVE IN GRAPPLING! (It helps that I have long legs and I base my movesets on foot sweeps and trips against shorter partners— a matter of practicality, you see)

Baranat’s wheel is a little more ambiguous since Judo has a whole slew of moves with wheels in their names...

But!

if I would go a-theorizing, with Varvur being a Dunmer (and thus shorter than the Nord) and focusing a critical eye on his opponent’s footwork I would guess that he was going for a Hiza Guruma? Probably catch him when he was circling? If correct, then I must say that his choice of moves (Reap + Wheel) is commendable.

Your choice of moves is commendable.

SO.

LET’S SHINE A LITTLE LIGHT ON YOU, YOU DELIGHTFUL PERSON YOU.

HAVE. YOU. DONE. MARTIAL ARTS. YOURSELF???????

GOD IM SO EXCITED RN AND THIS IS MAKING THE WHOLE CHAPTER MORE FUN TO READ THAN IT ALREADY IS!

Thank you for commenting, everyone!

@Burnt Sierra - I always felt the same about Edwinna! That said, normal-ish compared to the likes of Trebonius is... not a super high bar, haha.

@ghastley - Huleen lives a little outside Maar Gan, correct. That said, that... isn't the main problem with this quest, as we'll see.

@SubRosa - hey! I hope you enjoy the reread, and glad you like Adryn's sarcasm - honestly, I think her POV is the main thing that keeps me at this fic, it's just so fun to write.

@Uleni Athram - first off, you absolutely don't need to be shy about commenting (I appreciate everything!) but I do get it and am not always as good as I'd like to be about posting on other people's stories myself. I'm glad to hear that you're reading and enjoying!

Second off, I have to admit I'm not a martial artist at all (sorry!), but delighted that Varvur's strategy came across so believably! I vaguely remember looking up martial arts moves on Youtube for something I thought would have worked in the situation Varvur was in. Apparently I succeeded beyond my wildest dreams

@haute ecole rider - there absolutely may be similarities. I think the inhabitants of Maar Gan would definitely agree. Mages, right?



Some time later, I'd laid claim to a bed and chest in the Ald'ruhn communal dorms and finished moving my paltry stack of belongings. The communal dorms, too, were better-furnished than the ones in Balmora, and (more to the point) were located at the end of a corridor off the library instead of only closed curtains away from the central hall, meaning that it might be possible to sleep in without customers walking straight past your snoring form. An improvement, all in all, but I was still battling disappointment at the discovery that Apprentices were not allowed to use the private rooms. Perhaps after I finished Edwinna's task, I'd have the necessary distance to view the bright side.

Given Edwinna's statement that she didn't have the time to travel to Maar Gan, never to mention that I hadn't heard of a guild there, I suspected the teleportation network did not stretch that far. Still, hope springs eternal, which was how I found myself back in the tiny chamber upstairs that housed the guild guide platform... as well as a small end-table bravely supporting a precarious pile of books along with a half-eaten pastry and a mug, never to mention an Altmer who'd been looking increasingly bored every time I passed through.

"Not one of our destinations, I'm afraid." Erranil shrugged where she perched on a small stool that had been jammed into one corner. "This is as close as the network will take you. You can take the silt strider. Or walk."

I sighed. It was disturbing how quickly you got used to instantaneous transport - particularly when you got free use thanks to your guild membership.

Given what lived in the wilderness around here, the silt strider was not just the most appealing option, I'd also argue it was the sane one. Sadly for me, it was also the expensive one. I hadn't seen hide nor hair of any stipend from the guild and suspected it was reserved for people with assigned duties like Ajira and Masalinie. Worse, I was down twenty drakes for the ingredients I'd used back in Balmora to replenish my emergency potions kit. My purse now contained a sum total of one septim and twenty-eight drakes, and I was watching it dwindle with worry.

"Say, Tanar mentioned something earlier," the guild guide interrupted my thoughts. "She said that Masalinie was training you in guild guide magic. Is that true?"

I gulped. The tone was casual, but there was a hungry glitter in Erranil's eyes which I did not like at all.

"Well... yes," I was forced to admit. "But! It was just as an experiment, with inanimate objects. My teleportation spells can misfire, I have a condition, I really can't work as a guild guide unless you want your customers strewn over the landscape."

Worryingly, Erranil's expression didn't change. "Oh, I don't see the problem myself. It's an experimental form of transport, you know, a certain element of risk is to be expected, anyone who's put off by the possibility of dismemberment can take the strider. You should consider-"

"Really nice to have this chat but I do have to get going now have a nice day goodbye!"

Even as I (not to put too fine a word on it) fled, I could feel Erranil's eyes burning into my back.

I slowed down once I'd left the guild hall. The sun was shining down from a clear blue sky, the sort of weather that - after my last experience in Ald'ruhn - I felt deserved both appreciation and reinforcement. Something that would not be found by hurrying through it.

Besides, I still had to work out where I was going. Silt strider or city gates?

After a few moments of thought, I sighed, turned and began heading towards the strider station. Really, there was no choice here - it wasn't as if the money would do me any good in a kagouti's stomach.

In the long run, I definitely had to figure out a regular income. For now, I could just hope that Edwinna believed in rewarding apprentices for their errands.



The view from the strider made it clear I'd made the right choice, my lighter purse (one septim seventeen now) notwithstanding. The nix-hound pack we'd passed had not looked friendly, and I found myself glad I was dozens of feet above ground.

"They're getting desperate," my travelling companion noted.

The only other passenger was, or so he said, a priest of the Tribunal Temple on his way to Maar Gan. He was also the only Dunmer I'd met so far with anything resembling my hair colour, maybe a shade darker than mine but still a red that was coppery-orange rather than crimson. There was no other resemblance that I could make out, his skin much paler than my own and his round face, arched nose and flared ears decidedly unfamiliar, but it still left me more kindly disposed towards him than I might otherwise have been. I even found myself willing to ignore the fact that I was sure I'd caught a hint of contempt in his eyes when I'd introduced myself as a member of the Mages' Guild - after all, he was being polite enough now.

"Desperate?"

"Less and less prey about these days. And with the Blight spreading, what there is often isn't safe for them to eat. In these lean times, anyone travelling had better know how to protect themselves."

"Or take the strider," our caravaneer threw in from where he was directing the beast. "I've never seen anything out here that will attack a full-grown silt strider, and our prices are very reasonable."

Eleven drakes was daylight robbery, in my opinion. Especially when I could swear that I'd only seen seven pass hands when the priest had boarded. I had a suspicion I'd paid the Tamrielic-speakers special rate and I didn't like it at all.

"-if you do find yourself on foot, I recommend the Conjuration school, for what it's worth," the priest was saying. "Far more versatile than simply tossing a fireball at someone, combines very well with combat training - haven't you ever wanted to pull a sword out of thin air? - and it's truly excellent for distraction. Summon a clannfear and the beasts won't even notice you leave."

I was pretty sure I wasn't imagining the hint of condescension in his voice, the experienced sorcerer talking down to the Mages' Guild know-nothing. Even though what I knew about combat magic wouldn't fill a page, it still grated.

"Thanks for the tips, I'm sure." Be diplomatic, Adryn. And - since you're really bad at being diplomatic - change the subject before you put your foot in it. "Say, I think we skipped introductions earlier. I'm Adryn." Given our somewhat bumpy method of travel, I opted to forgo any handshakes in favour of nodding in the priest's direction.

Something flickered in his eyes.

There was a hissing sound from the front of the strider. "Outlanders," the caravaneer said in the tone of someone who wished he'd charged me twenty drakes for the trip. "It's as if you'd never heard of manners. Introducing yourself with your call-name only, denying your clan, your ancestors-"

I should not push the man off the strider. He was the only one who knew how to steer it, so that would just end in us all being eaten in the wilderness - possibly by my companion So-Very-Good-At-Conjuration's summoned clannfear.

I could, however, respond in kind.

"Native Dunmer. It's as if you'd never even heard of not jumping to conclusions. So insistent that the world must work the way you think it should that you never bother to consider that foundlings exist, and some of us can't introduce ourselves by our clan-name because we have no clue what it is."

If I was any judge, the man should wish that he wasn't on the back of a giant, stilt-legged beast and far too far away from the ground for it to swallow him right about-

A groan came from the front of the strider.

-now.

I smiled.

"A pleasure to meet you, muthsera Adryn," the priest interrupted with a slight dip of his head. The condescension was gone from his voice - I decided it was due to him being impressed by my excellent verbal sparring skills. "I am Methal Seran, of the Tribunal Temple in Ald'ruhn."

My interaction with the Temple in Vivec made me wonder about his rank. Was he a novice, like the one I'd met during the cleansing? Something higher? A respected leader like a Disciple? I couldn't judge based on the very plain robes - the rules were different when it came to religion. Still, he didn't look all that old to me (the equivalent of mid-twenties, maybe?), and even with the patronising attitude taken into account he seemed far too friendly for a higher-up.

"I'd be honoured if you would call me Methal," he said, adding another point in favour of him being closer to a novice in status than a Disciple; in my experience, someone who's earned a title likes for you to use it. "And what brings you to Maar Gan?"

"Mages' Guild business." I thought about it for a moment and decided not to elaborate. Disciplinary matters between members really shouldn't be aired about. At least, we'd certainly have kept this sort of talking-to quiet back in Windhelm.

A wrinkle grew between his brows. "I see. If you-"

"Destination in sight!" the caravaneer hollered.

"Oh?" I slid along the low bench until I was near the front of the beast.

There was one thing I had to be thankful for when it came to my experiences on this island - somehow, miraculously, I'd escaped my midair adventures with Varvur without developing a crippling fear of heights. This meant that silt strider journeys were still quite manageable, and that I could now lean forward and observe the city of Maar Gan from an angle only cliff racers usually got to enjoy without being disturbed by flashbacks.

Maar Gan was nestled against a steep hill. It had been built, if that was the right word, in the same style as Ald'ruhn - if on a smaller scale. There was no giant emperor crabshell like Skar, and the largest shell-house I saw was maybe the size of the one housing the Ald'ruhn Mages' Guild. There were far fewer of them, as well. A town rather than a city, Kynesgrove to Ald'ruhn's Windhelm.

"The view's the best part of this job," the caravaneer commented as his fingers danced over the exposed organs on the strider's head, manipulating them to guide the beast towards the city. (This was truly the weirdest form of transport I'd ever encountered). Then, after a pause, "...sorry. You're right. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions."

He sounded genuinely apologetic, and I could feel myself soften despite myself. "Forgiven and forgotten. Just maybe stop and think a little next time someone introduces themselves with a call-name only?"

"No danger of that, trust me." The man's mutter was fervent.

Last installment, Adryn made friends on the silt strider trip to Maar Gan. For a certain value of friends. Now, she's in town and ready to investigate these mysterious disturbances at Huleen's hut...



Once on the ground in Maar Gan, I waved farewell to other two Dunmer and began my investigations.

After a short time, I had the sinking feeling I'd have difficulty finding my destination. The locals' eyes followed me with suspicion, suspicion that bled into hostility when I greeted them. I was inclined to guess that the reason was, again, my use of Tamrielic. Dunmeris was more wide-spread here than I'd seen anywhere else – I hadn't passed a single conversation I could understand yet – and although thanks to the Empire everyone seemed to be reasonably competent in Tamrielic, I suspected that the words they'd use for that fact wouldn't include 'thanks'.

If I was going to be staying in this region, it would really help to pick up some basic Dunmeris. I suspected knowing even a greeting in the language would help thaw some of the stony faces meeting me. One more for my list of things to look into.

At least the woman I was speaking with now hadn't clammed up entirely, even if her expression made me think she had considered it. "What do you want, outlander?"

"Excuse me, I'm from the Mages' Guild, here to investigate reports of disturbances coming from the residence of a guild member – Huleen? Could you tell me where-"

"About time!" the woman snapped. "It's been terrible, absolutely terrible – screeches and howls coming from that hut all hours of the day, to say nothing of the crashes and banging."

I paused as the sinking feeling in my stomach demanded my full attention. Screeches and howls? From what Edwinna had said, I'd been expecting... oh... bangs, odd smoke, maybe some minor damage to the surrounding area or the errant spell effect such as accidental widespread invisibility – the usual signs of a guild member getting carried away, who one could carefully interrupt in order to point out they were scaring the locals. But the sort of noise the woman was describing pointed towards a completely different problem altogether, and one I was – frankly – not equipped to handle.

"It sounds like there's a rampaging Daedra in there!"

I swallowed. My throat had gone very dry.

"Yes, I can see how that would be disturbing," I said carefully. Especially if that's actually true. "If you don't mind me asking – it's definitely noises from some sort of living creature, you'd say? Not, say, explosions of any sort? Spell misfires? A Sound spell gone terribly wrong?"

The woman glared at me. "When I say screeches and howling, I mean screeches and howling. Not explosions. Explosions wouldn't be a problem, we got used to them!" She frowned in thought. "Although there haven't been any since the howling started, come to think of it."

Well, scamp drek.

"Thank you for the information, that's very helpful to know." I licked my lips. "I'll... look into it. Could you tell me where Huleen's residence is?"

Huleen's residence turned out to be in the natural location for a mage's home: outside the city, where as few people as possible would be inconvienced by experiments gone wrong – no matter what 'going wrong' involved. The little crab-shell house wasn't far from the southern wall, near the guard tower.

I stopped a safe distance away, eyeing the building suspiciously. I couldn't hear any noises right now, but the problem neatly resolving itself just as I got here would be the sort of luck I, in my experience, simply did not have.

Although maybe that had changed? After all, with the amount of bad luck I'd been faced with lately, I thought I was more than due its opposite.

In any case, I needed to do something. I doubted Edwinna would be particularly impressed if I came back and told her I'd been too afraid to open the front door. Edwinna not being impressed meant bidding farewell to any possibility of becoming an Ald'ruhn apprentice, which meant being subjected to Ranis Athrys' ideas for a suitable task. I could feel the prospect of Adryn, guild guide (and, looming just behind it, that of getting drummed out of the guild for accidentally killing customers) breathing down my neck. A little risk was nothing in comparison to that.

"Who knows? Maybe Huleen was testing sound-based illusion spells and there's nothing dangerous in there at all."

Trying to convince myself of that idea got me to the door, which I unlocked with the key Edwinna had given me and eased open.

I stared.

The place was wrecked.

Carpets had been turned into shreds. What had once been furniture lay in splinters. A chair had proven hardier, only one of its legs wrenched off – but, as if in revenge for its durability, the upholstered back had been torn into to the point where white stuffing coated the surroundings like snow. Shards of glass and ceramic were scattered all over the floor. Nine, even the stone wall bore claw-marks.

A faint whimpering noise came from the hallway ahead. I thought it was coming closer.

Very, very carefully, I closed and locked the door again.

Right. There was probably a Daedra loose in the building. What potions did I have that might be able to handle a Daedra? I hadn't exactly packed for combat... but maybe...

Stop.

In my few scant weeks on this island, I'd found myself in over more my head more times than I wanted to count. A lot of the time, the problem was that I just kept on going at a point where I should've stepped back. The disaster of Arkngthand was freshest in my memory. I'd let preliminary scouting turn into the actual theft, at which point my ignorance of the circumstances surrounding the object I was pursuing had not just nearly killed me but led to my drawing so much attention to the retrieval that the client had rejected it. If I'd just withdrawn to rethink and investigate instead of jumping in, I might have managed to avoid those problems.

There was a probable Daedra in the building, and I was in no way, shape or form equipped to handle one – potions notwithstanding. I didn't need a particularly clever plan. What I needed was backup.

How unfortunate for me that Edwinna hadn't thought I'd need to bring any.

Well, I definitely couldn't head back to get some. Heading back to Ald'ruhn, getting someone to come with me and travelling back here would take at least a day. I didn't think it was a good idea to allow whatever beast was loose inside Huleen's house that much time for mischief. The front door hadn't looked that sturdy.

No, if I was going to get help, it would have to be from someone here in Maar Gan.

Well. I did know one person in Maar Gan. He'd even claimed to be reasonably proficient in Conjuration.



Once inside, the Maar Gan Temple looked much like the one in Suran. There were the plain surroundings, the tapestries, the kneeling-cushions, the central pit ringed by candles (although strangely enough, this one had a giant rock sitting on top of it), the plate of offerings...

There was also a dremora.

"What," I said flatly, "is wrong with this town."

"Trust me, I've wondered that for a long time now," said the dremora, its voice deep and gravelly like an avalanche. I'd never heard one talk before. "Shall I assume you've come to hurl insults at me then, mortal? Or..." It peered at me, eyes narrowed. "Oh. It's you again."

Apparently dremora weren't particularly good at telling us mortals apart, because I was pretty sure I'd remember if we'd met before. Maybe it had spent so long watching people pass in and out of the temple that it was getting confused. Because apparently standing around in a Dunmer Temple looking rather bored was now a thing dremora did.

"Ah. Adryn, wasn't it?" My companion from the silt strider trip rose from where he'd been crouching near the giant rock. "What brings you to the Temple?"

"I'd answer that question except that honestly, I'm still stuck on the dremora."

"Oh, don't mind Anhaedra." Methal's voice was inappropriately cheerful, in my opinion. "He's harmless. I've just finished making sure of that, in fact."

"May the overseers of Coldharbour flay the flesh from your bones," the dremora droned. It sounded as if it were about to fall asleep from boredom.

"Right. Of course." I decided ignoring that statement was probably the best hope I had of preserving my sanity. "I've actually come about a Daedra. Not that Daedra, a different Daedra," and I didn't think I'd forgive Maar Gan anytime soon for having so many of the things I had to specify. "I was supposed to check on a guild member's house because there were reports of disturbances – screeching and howling. When I looked inside, the place had been torn apart."

"A rogue summoning?" Methal, I noticed, didn't sound cheerful anymore.

"It's my best guess. I need to investigate, but I'm,.. not... exactly very skilled at Conjuration magic." I squirmed. I hated this. "I was... hoping you... might be willing to help?"

Methal paused. I realised I hadn't offered a single thing in trade, and that appealing to people's good natures generally only has a low success rate.

I wasn't quite so far gone that I'd be willing to dig into my shrinking purse to offer a reward, thank you very much Athyn Sarethi. All the same, I was pretty sure I could sweeten this deal so it contained something Methal would appreciate.

Well, there was definitely one thing I'd learned about the man on our trip here.

"I'm sure people would be very interested to hear that the Mages' Guild needed help from the Temple to deal with their own affairs," I suggested. "Something I'd obviously be willing to confirm."

If Edwinna had wanted to keep our reputation intact, she shouldn't have sent an alchemist to investigate a summoning gone wrong. I mean, really.

A smile grew on Methal's face. "Ah, of course. I assure you, the Tribunal Temple is always happy to assist the Mages' Guild when they find their skills are not... adequate... for the task at hand." A pause. "Although honestly, this falls within my remit as a Master of Conjuration anyway."

A Master? Really? Either he was quite a bit older than he looked, or he was inflating his own skills.

Well, inflating his skills would still make him better at Conjuration than me, considering inflating implied that there was at least some sort of basis there. For me, claiming any ability in Conjuration at all would be inventing out of whole cloth. Methal's abilities, no matter how dubious, were going to be an improvement.

"I hope my cousin feasts on your intestines," the dremora told us as we left. Both of us ignored it.

Last installment, Adryn discovered that the strange noises coming from Huleen's Hut were not coming from a mage preoccupied by their experiments, but in fact from what was likely a rogue Daedra - or at least something with claws capable of damaging stone walls and the desire to use them. She decided to go get reinforcements in the form of the priest she'd met on the way to Maar Gan who'd claimed to be good at Conjuration.

When she went to ask him for his assistance, she also ran into a dremora who seemed certain the two of them had met before. Strange how it would make that sort of mistake, right?



"Well," Methal said as he stepped inside the hut. Something crunched under his feet. "I think we can discount a controlled summoning. Unless the summoner is truly disturbed." He paused in the doorway, a magelight sparking in his palm. "Coming?"

In all honesty, I'd been hoping the experienced mage would take pity on my hapless self and take over the matter entirely, braving the dangers on his own and leaving me to wait in the crisp, Daedra-free outside air. Alas, the experienced mage in question didn't appear to agree with this course of action, and since I was the one who'd asked him for help there wasn't much I could do to protest.

I gritted my teeth as I joined Methal in the devastated hallway. Broken pot-shards ground unpleasantly beneath my heel, and I found myself deeply grateful for my tough-soled boots.

The destruction didn't wane as we carefully made our way downstairs, me trying not to be too obvious about the way I was doing my best to hide behind Methal with each step. The main difference to the entranceway was the diversity of destroyed materials. Ceramic shards gave way to broken glass lying in a viscuous fluid which shimmered oddly in the low blue glow of the magelight. I stepped carefully and winced at the smell. I was pretty sure I was walking over the remains of Huleen's potions supply right now, and I really didn't know what some of those combinations were doing. What a pointless waste of good potions, too.

Although even the smashed vials didn't make me as sad as the scored, empty covers and feathery shreds that used to be books.

At the bottom of the stairs, we reached what must be the main chamber of the hut. There were doors to both our sides and ahead, all shut. There, Methal stopped. The flickering light in his hand cast strange, dancing shadows across his face, rendering his expression alien and unreadable.

"A minor Daedra, I'd say, by the signs," he murmured. "A scamp, would be my guess. Nothing particularly intelligent, and no great threat. Perhaps-"

I never got to hear his suggestion, and Methal never got to hear what I had to say about calling any Daedra 'no great threat', because that was the point where we heard the door in front of us rattle.

I decided discretion was the better part of valour and I'd rather have the mage who considered scamps harmless in between me and whatever was trying to escape from Huleen's cellar.

Although wait – if the Daedra was locked down here, how had it done so much damage in the rest of the building?

On the heels of that thought came a muffled cry from the room ahead. "Please help!" It did not sound particularly Daedric.

"Well," Methal said brightly, "I do believe we've found our summoner." He walked to the door, pulled the handle, and completely failed to open it.

"The scamp locked me in here!"

"Did it? That seems rather careless!" Methal called back.

"Believe me, I noticed."

"Excuse me? I think I should probably handle this one," I interrupted.

The whole thing went to show that lock-picking is a very versatile skill, coming in handy in all sorts of situations, and certainly not only of use to those of a criminal bent. At least, I certainly hoped that was the impression Methal was coming away with – I could feel his considering stare burning into my back as I bent over the lock, and the situation had me on edge enough that I really didn't feel like explaining away the misunderstandings (or, for that matter, the correct understandings) my skillset often produced.

Finally, the lock sprang open with a click. I straightened and rubbed the back of my neck, where I could feel tension that would lead to a headache later if I wasn't careful. It hadn't been a difficult lock, but (and here was a sentence I hadn't expected to ever think) the absence of Daedra was making me nervous.

It had to know we were here. Where was the thing?

Then the door swung open, sending a ray of bright light into the gloom of the hallway. I found myself distracted by the unexpected glare, then distracted by the stink that followed it out of the room. I wrinkled my nose at the odour; it was clear that whoever was in there, they'd been stuck without access to a privy for long enough to need one.

"Oh, thank you! Thank you! Mara bless you!"

As my eyes adjusted to the brighter light inside the room, more details became apparent. The speaker was a young Breton man, perhaps around my age, looking thin and ill. I cleverly deduced that he was quite unlikely to be Huleen, unless his parents had been truly radical when it came to naming conventions.

He was also completely naked. Apparently the Vvardenfell nudity plague wasn't limited to Nords.

"This island is going to drive me to drink," I muttered.

I decided that one of us should be keeping watch, and turned my back on the Breton currently displaying body parts I had no interest in studying closely in favour of staring back into the gloom we'd come from.

"I'm Listien, Huleen's apprentice," I heard the Breton say. "She's on the mainland for a meeting- I- I'm so sorry, the scamp tricked me- I just wanted to prove I could be a real sorcerer-"

"I take it you summoned the scamp, then?" I was amazed at how casual Methal sounded, as though we were relaxing in the Mages' Guild common area instead of inside a half-destroyed building containing not just a very guilty (and rank) apprentice but also a lurking Daedra which we still hadn't located.

At the reminder, I let my eyes rove over the darkness behind us.

Silence. Nothing moving. No scamp creeping up on us from behind.

Although I really couldn't see that far in this light. There was nothing saying it wasn't hiding in, say, that long shadow over there...

...suddenly, the fact that I'd never managed to get my Detection spell to pick up summoned beings no longer seemed so minor a flaw.

"-thank you so much, I swear I'll never summon another Daedra as long as I live- oof-" The thump of flesh hitting stone.

"Careful there, boy. You're weak from lack of sustenance, don't try to stand too quickly. Here, I can strengthen-"

Was that shadow moving?

"Methal," I hissed, "shouldn't we do something about the scamp before we start giving first aid?"

"This boy needs a healer's attention sooner rather than later, and the scamp will vanish as soon as I manage to disentangle the summoning spell from his core. If it finds us before, you can take care of it."

My jaw dropped at the outrageous suggestion. "Me?" I sputtered, unable to keep myself from twisting back around to glare at the man. "For your information, I-"

A scratching sound from behind me.

With a horrible sinking feeling, I realised I shouldn't have taken my eyes off the shadows.

By the time I'd gotten myself turned to face the oncoming threat, the scamp was halfway across the room and accelerating. Its eyes glowed eerily in the low light, there was a deranged smile on its imp-like face, and its claws looked very, very sharp.

"Methal!"

Even as I yelled, I knew I was out of time. Methal had been crouching next to the idiot who'd started this whole mess – even if he suddenly saw reason, there was no way he'd be able to do anything before the scamp reached and gutted me.

I didn't remember deciding to draw on the power. No, the conscious part of my brain was fully occupied with staring at my oncoming doom and cursing Methal, Huleen, her apprentice, Edwinna, and anyone and everyone else who'd been involved in me ending up in this situation. However, some subconscious part of my brain was not ready to roll over and give up without a fight. And that part remembered one ability I had that had gotten me out of life-threatening situations recently.

As the scamp neared, I stretched out a hand. Just before it reached me, green light blossomed.

"Do something!" I snapped, then found myself too occupied with trying to stay upright to talk.

With darkening vision, I saw Methal come up beside me. He frowned at me, then made a gesture with one hand.

Golden light sped out from him in a stream, curling around and then into the scamp's frozen figure. For a moment, it glowed as bright as the sun.

Then it disintegrated.

You couldn't have done that before? I wanted to ask, but I'd lost all control over my body. Eyelids included; they fell shut, and I fell with them into unconsciousness.



Notes: On my initial draft, Listien was not naked; I considered it briefly but decided that it was stretching belief.

Then I realised he is, in fact, naked in the game, and decided why not torture Adryn stay true to canon?

Good to see Adryn is continuing her quest to make friends and influence all those nice natives of Morrowind

And the power, she may not be combat capable, but that skill is looking like it could have potential (if she doesn't disintegrate herself with it first of course, which doesn't seem entirely impossible...)

Excellent updates as always, and the previous update had a line I had to quote:

"May the overseers of Coldharbour flay the flesh from your bones," the dremora droned. It sounded as if it were about to fall asleep from boredom.

Loved the whole segment with the Dremora, dry humour at its finest!

Sorry for not commenting earlier - RL, you know?

Anyways, I really enjoyed these latest segments in Adryn's adventures. I admit I chuckled not once, nor twice, but several times throughout these updates. Adryn's dry humor is really shining here, especially, as Burnt Sierra pointed out, during the interaction with the Dremora at the temple. The whole convo about jumping to conclusions with the caravaneer had me groaning in sympathy (I have this same convo several times a shift at work), and I got a kick out of the little train-o-thought regarding her lockpicking skills.

Story Good, More!

My apologies for the delay! RL happened, both in good and bad ways. Thank you everyone for commenting!

@Burnt Sierra - Adryn is excellent at making friends and influencing people! And I'm glad you like the dremora, Anhaedra always cracked me up in the game.

As for the ability... well, you're right that Adryn could definitely use something to defend herself with that doesn't knock her unconscious. Slight downside, that.

@haute ecole rider - No worries, and I know *points above*. I'm glad the dry humour is popular with people, because it's so fun to write I'd probably keep up with it even if it weren't and am sorry you can commiserate re: the jumping to conclusions - always frustrating to have to deal with that.

Anyway, with no further ado...

Last installment, Adryn explored Huleen's Hut with a self-proclaimed Conjuration expert. Somehow, despite such fearsome firepower on her side, she still ended up needing to use her birthsign ability and falling unconscious as a result. Adryn blames everything.



Slowly, my awareness began to surface from the depths. Sensation tugged at my mind – warmth surrounding me, save for the cool air on my face. My hair tickled my forehead, my weight pressed on my back...

I was lying down, and on something too soft to be the ground.

I blinked open my eyes and watched the ceiling swim into view. Guarhide, stretched on polished poles of chitin which met not far from my head. Dim light filtered through the smoke-hole. A yurt.

A familiar sight, taking me back to my childhood.

A rustling sound from next to me made me turn my head, an act that took far more effort than it should.

A young man in chitin armour was sitting cross-legged on the ground next to me, nose buried in a book. He'd shaved his head, leaving only dark stubble. His eyes were a clear, bright gold, unusual among the dark eyes more common to our people. The colour was reflected by the golden rings and cuffs all along the curve of both ears, more than the last time I'd seen him. My young friend was turning into a real cliff-racer as far as shiny things were concerned. Privately, I blamed his deprived childhood, although I certainly wasn't going to say such a thing out loud.

"Vivec," I croaked.

Vivec let the book fall to the ground as his eyes snapped to me. For a moment, I saw relief clear as day on his face, then he smoothed his expression.

"Nerevar. About time you woke up – I was beginning to think you were planning to sleep the day away. If only the Chimer people knew how lazy their hero was..."

I groaned. I felt as if some spirit of mischief had replaced all my muscles with jelly.

"Do you remember the way you idolised me when you were young?" I asked plaintively. "Can we go back to that time, please? It was so much pleasant to deal with."

"Hero-worship dies a quick death when said hero behaves like an idiot," Vivec told me in the lofty tones of a youngster recently come into adulthood and, with it, omniscience. "Which this definitely qualifies as. What were you even thinking? Just because you were born in Sun's Dawn does not mean using your birth-sign ability is a good idea!"

The boy – man, I supposed he was now – had definitely been spending too much time around Sotha Sil. At least, that was the only way I could explain the way he'd picked up the way Sil scolded. My old Wise Woman had nothing on the man, and I wasn't happy to realise he was – one way or another – propagating the ability to the next generation.

"I know it's a terrible idea, trust me. I don't generally call on it. Unfortunately, I didn't have a choice this time. There was-"

(a scamp, least of all Daedra but still a Daedra coming at me with claws sharp enough to carve lines into solid stone, my companion too far away, no useful potion at hand, no way to fight-)

I frowned. My memory of the time leading up to my unconsciousness was unexpectly confused.

"-a child," I said once I'd managed to pull the recollections into a coherent whole. "The Nord came on us so suddenly, I didn't even have time to go for my spear." And I'd be having words with the patrols once I could stand again. We'd been in sight of the camp! Our scouts should have caught the enemy miles away! Being attacked there meant either treachery or incompetence on behalf of those meant to keep these lands safe, and I didn't know which possibility disturbed me more.

Vivec was waiting for me to continue, eyebrow quirked. The fact that he considered my explanation insufficient was written on every inch of him.

"Sul was only yards behind me, so I didn't think it much risk if I collapsed." I paused. "Although I'll admit I didn't expect to actually do so. Apparently I'm more tired than I thought."

My birth-sign ability came with some very obvious drawbacks, so I tried not to use it if I could help it. Still, there were times – like today – when it proved unavoidable. When I was young it had well and truly knocked me out, but the amount of combat I'd seen since had done wonders for my endurance and it had been decades since the last time I'd fainted from its use. It was a trend I'd been hoping to continue.

Vivec was giving me a penetrating look. The scolding was bad enough, if it turned out Sil had passed on his ability to mother-hen in full I'd have to flee the island.

"Is the boy all right?" I asked. To my shame, the impetus for the query was to distract him, but now that I'd said it I did genuinely want to know.

"Fine, I hear. Shaken up, from the attack and from watching his hero collapse before his eyes." Sometimes, Vivec also bore a significant resemblance to a cliff-racer who'd sighted prey in his utter refusal to let something go. Today clearly was one of those days. "We could have used you when the rest of the raiding party attacked-"

"Wait," I interrupted, "there was a full raiding party? How many? What were the casualties? How did they reach this far inland undetected?" I jerked up from where I lay-

-and immediately regretted the impulse, because it proved too much exertion too soon. For a moment I held myself in the vertical through an effort of sheer will, the world spinning around me, all sound drowned out by the racing patter of my heartbeat...

Then darkness swam across my vision as my muscles gave way. I could feel myself fall back to the bed, too weak to brace myself in any way. I was dreading the impact when warm hands caught my shoulders.

"Nerevar!"

The last thing I heard before unconsciousness claimed me again was Vivec cursing up a storm.



Notes: Some things cross incarnations. Much though Vivec probably wishes they didn't.

I'm going to have to re-read the last flashback to Nerevar before I can completely follow this, but it does make a bit more sense to me this time. If making sense is appropriate in this story ...

I can't recall if this was mentioned before in the story, and I'm quite unfamiliar with the skill lines and traits in the game, so which birth sign are we speaking of, and what does it do? I recall being confused about what was going on in the previous installment when she was fighting the daedra, but not being too sure just what was happening with Adryn.

Oh, and how delightful to see Vivec as a young man . . . and the view of Sotha Sil as being other than half machine (as he is now presented in ESO).

Ah, sorry! I didn't realise how far back that was explained. Adryn was born under the Lover, which in-game has the effect of +25 Agility and a once-per-day power "Lover's Kiss" that does Paralyze 60 seconds on target + Damage Fatigue 200 points on self. This is Adryn's sole offensive ability, and she's a scrawny weakling so the Damage Fatigue portion knocks her out every time. It's come up a few times, both at the very start and when Adryn resorts to it in order to defend herself.

In-game, there's a big fuss made about how the Nerevarine was born under a "certain sign", which I take to mean that Nerevar had the same birth-sign and the same ability. Nerevar would like to believe he's not a scrawny weakling; Vivec says the empirical evidence points in another direction.

As for Sotha Sil, glad you like him! One of the things that is simultaneously amazing and frustrating about ESO is the way it delves into matters I figured I wouldn't get any canon for and went and made up for myself, such as Tribunal characterisations. For the most part, I've decided that I'll try to adapt what I've got to ESO, even if it does require reworking plot and backstory, but there's thankfully still quite a bit of leeway there. Especially since I do like to play with the before/after of the Tribunal and what divinity did to each of them - I figure mother-henning mortal Sotha Sil can still become the half-machine god.

My sincere apologies for the delay, again! I've been distracted by RL in mostly bad ways lately (frustrating health problems + the fact that over here in Germany the weather appears to be trying to roast us all. These are not normal summer temperatures!! My flat doesn't have air conditioning!!!).

@ghastley - I'm definitely dropping you into random sections of Nerevar's life, which isn't ideal with big gaps between updates (*guilty wince*). As with Adryn's birthsign, I admit I hope this will work better for a later reader reading everything at once.

@haute ecole rider - see above!



When I awoke a second time I was more cautious about it, taking careful stock of my position (lying down, with something soft and warm covering me) and condition (terrible, but I thought I could manage to stay conscious if I was careful about it).

-wait, a second time? I thought back...

...the last thing I remembered clearly was the scamp in Huleen's house. After that... vague impressions of waking, of a golden-skinned mer speaking to me with thinly disguised worry, of some shocking news, of falling. Already fading.

Maybe I'd woken earlier, too out of it to form coherent memories. Even if I had no idea where the Altmer might have come from – I couldn't remember seeing any in town.

I blinked my eyes open and watched the ceiling swim into view. Stone braced with wooden beams, shadows cast from flickering candlelight dancing across it. For some reason, the sight felt vaguely surprising.

More to the point, I didn't think I was in Huleen's hut anymore. I should probably get up so I could work out what happened. Sadly, judging by the sensations being reported back from my muscles, any position outside the horizontal was not going to be happening anytime soon.

"You know, you really need a different offensive spell."

I knew that voice.

"Ervesa?" I croaked. I was still too out of it to be surprised, but I could do confused twice as well to make up for it.

The Buoyant Armiger's face appeared above me, amber earrings winking in the candlelight. "Hi, Adryn. It's good to see you awake. You're in one of the back rooms of the Maar Gan Shrine. I happened to be passing by when I saw you being carried past by a clannfear."

I considered that for a moment.

"I'd say that you cannot possibly be serious, except this town."

The earrings swayed. I guessed Ervesa had nodded; it was hard to make out from this angle. "Brother Methal is a master of Conjuration magic. He called it up to bring you back when you fainted."

"How lovely," I told the ceiling. "If only he'd thought of that spell a little earlier. When we were investigating Huleen's house, say. Then this wouldn't have been necessary at all."

"I'm sure he had a good reason," Ervesa said diplomatically.

"I'm sure," I echoed. I was dubious, to put it mildly, but was far too exhausted to worry about what exactly had been going through the man's head when he left me to face a Daedra on my own, then summoned one himself once the danger was gone.

Unless...

A terrible thought struck me.

It must have looked exceptionally humiliating for the Mages' Guild to have their agent carried, unconscious, through the middle of town by a summoning after having completely failed to hold her own against a single scamp. Methal, on the other hand, would have come out of it the dashing hero, rescuing not just one but two hapless Guild mages from mortal peril. A far better look for the Tribunal Temple than the both of us returning perfectly upright, no matter how much I'd been planning to give him the credit... and, arguably, perfectly in line with the deal we'd struck.

All right, my pride was officially not just dented but entirely crushed.

My thoughts would have probably progressed along increasingly self-pitying lines, except that that was the point where my stomach gurgled.

"I brought soup," offered Ervesa, and reached down to help me sit up.



Eating the soup was a lengthy, awkward experience, given that I was so drained I could barely hold a spoon. Ervesa's help was invaluable. I'd have also called it humiliating, except that there comes a point where you've reached the pinnacle of embarrassment and there is simply no room for any further such feelings.

I wasn't sure I'd forgive Edwinna for this one. Of course, given what I'd done to the reputation of the Mages' Guild in Maar Gan, the feeling was probably mutual.

"-would have liked to be there to get you out, but I was called away," Ervesa said.

At least it was proving an informative encounter, given that Ervesa had apparently decided to distract me from the horrors of the past day by telling me about her perspective on recent events in Vivec.

Apparently Ervesa had heard about my arrest almost as soon as it happened, and I had her to thank for Athyn Sarethi getting involved. I'd made sure to express my gratitude, even if I privately wished she'd been able to find a rescuer with less of a fondness for brutally stripping away all illusions and mental defenses of poor, innocent alchemists, not to mention completely unsuitable offers of patronage. Now that I knew the backstory, I did wonder why Ervesa herself had not numbered among my rescuers.

"Called away?" I asked now.

"My Lord Vivec asked for me." There was something proud and remote in her voice. "He had another task for me, a delicate one. He said I'd done very well in my investigations of the cursed statues, so he could trust me with this." Then, in a softer, awed tone, "He praised me."

"Mm." I looked away, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. I found Ervesa good enough company it was simple to forget she was a religious devotee, and therefore probably demented.

"He asked me to talk to a young man in Suran who was proclaiming himself the Nerevarine."

A sudden surge of dizziness had me glad I was sitting propped up against cushions. I clearly wasn't recovered from today. "Nerevarine?" That word sounded familiar-

Oh, of course. It was what Cosades had wanted me to ask Antabolis about.

Well, I wasn't about to share anything I learned from Ervesa with the Blades. But surely it couldn't hurt to indulge my curiosity. "I don't believe I know what that is?" I prompted.

Ervesa sighed. "It's an Ashlander superstition. They claim that one day Indoril Nerevar will be reborn and go to war against the Tribunal." Her voice grew hard. "It's blasphemy, is what it is. Indoril Nerevar was a great hero of our people and a friend and supporter of the Tribunal in their early days. He's one of our greatest saints and ancestors. Claiming that his spirit would return as an enemy is bad enough. Doing it in this uncertain time? Undermining people's faith in the Temple, when it's the only thing standing between us and Dagoth Ur? It's positively criminal." She paused. "Thankfully, that boy was just misguided. I managed to talk him out of his heresy."

Despite being cocooned in blankets, I was freezing cold. A strange roaring sound filled my ears, and black spots had appeared on the edges of my vision.

"Um, Ervesa?" Was that faint sound really my voice? It sounded... wrong, somehow, too high, something alien about the rise and fall of my Skyrim-accented Tamrielic. "I don't- I'm not feeling well, I don't think I'm quite recovered yet. Do you mind leaving me to get some more sleep?"

"Of course. Sorry, Adryn, I should have realised."

Once Ervesa had helped me lie back down and left, I immediately felt better. I must have overdone it - as any healer will tell you, magicka-induced exhaustion is nothing to play around with. Hopefully I'd feel better after some more sleep.

As I closed my eyes, the memory of Ervesa's voice echoed in my mind.

They claim one day Indoril Nerevar will be reborn...

Indoril Nerevar will be reborn...

Indoril Nerevar... reborn...

The words followed me down into the darkness.

You can't blame the entire story on an overheated imagination. And if it's any consolation, Britain is also overheated this year, so no regretting the move, either.

I'm still a bit confused why nobody's saying "I know those symptoms, because 8% of all people have them" and casting a restore fatigue spell on her. Soup is the cure for the common cold.

@ghastley - objection! 8% of people are born under the Lover. However, the majority of these quickly decide that this ability is terrible and do their level best not to use it. Also, for Adryn it hits her especially badly as she has next to no endurance. As a result, it's probably not actually something the healers see that often.

As for casting a restore fatigue spell... fair point! I'll try to add some hint as to why people might not go that route unless it's necessary (such as: Adryn has collapsed in the middle of the wilderness and they kind of need her walking) in the next section.

Last chapter, Adryn moved herself to the Ald'ruhn guild, then immediately went to Maar Gan on a mission to tell a guild mage to keep it down a little because she was disturbing the locals. Alas for Adryn, the noises the locals had complained about were not, in fact, caused by an absent-minded research mage getting carried away, but by a summoned Daedra rampaging out of control. Despite her best efforts, and recruitment of backup, she ended up calling on her birth-sign ability. Last we saw her, she was recovering from that in the Maar Gan Temple, Ervesa having stopped by to say hi.



The next morning, I woke feeling much better than the day before. A good, natural night's sleep always worked wonders for dealing with the exhaustion that followed the use of the Lover's Kiss, and so I found myself capable of getting up, freshening up in the small washing alcove, and then going in search of breakfast.

I'd been bedded down in a small windowless room where shelves stacked with clay jars, bottles and burlap sacks had been erected against every available wall. Four cots had been crammed into the paltry floor space that remained, although it looked like I was the only current occupant. The air smelled of spices, and from its cool temperature along with the fact that the walls were made of stone and of a very normal shape all told I suspected we were underground. At the end of a corridor, I found a small staircase leading upwards, confirming that belief.

Upstairs did have windows – small round holes carved into the carapace – but they were all shuttered, torches and mage-lights giving the only illumination. The wind moaned outside, an eerie sound that reminded me of wolves in the hills of Daggerfall. Less poetically, it reminded me of the build-up to the ash-storm in Ald'ruhn. I really hoped I wasn't about to experience an encore.

I also really hoped I wasn't about to be kicked out now that I was capable of standing on my own two feet again.

The first door off the corridor I tried opened on another storage room, this one without cots but instead crammed with boxes. The second led to the kitchen. A fire was crackling merrily in the hearth, warming a large iron stove. A cupboard door hung open to reveal stacked clay bowls and cups, dried herbs hung from the ceiling, and a large wood box glimmering with enchantment with runes for cold engraved on his lid took up most of one wall. The smell of fresh bread reached my nose, and I could feel myself relax. Nowhere is as homey as a kitchen.

Methal sat at a small table in the near corner with a bowl. He looked up when the door creaked open.

"Adryn! I'm glad to see you up. You looked rather unwell when I brought you back."

I paused at the entrance to the room in order to give the man a mistrustful glance. I wasn't entirely sure I reciprocated, given that I hadn't quite sorted through my feelings regarding the mer who'd almost let me become a Daedric chew toy.

"Feel free to help yourself to some porridge." He gestured to a large pot on the stove.

My stomach growled at the mention of food. I decided that I wasn't that mistrustful of the man, and fetched myself a bowl.

The porridge (made with an unusual grain I could now recognise as the Morrowind-native saltrice) was bland and tasteless. Eating it was more of a chore than a pleasure, at least up to the point where I noticed the two small pots in the middle of the table. One was scrib jelly, the other a red powder I managed to identify as ground fire-fern leaf. Judging by the colour, Methal's porridge had definitely been adulterated. After following suit, my own became quite palatable.

After a few minutes of eating in silence, Methal put his spoon down. "I owe you an apology."

I paused. "Oh?"

"When you came to me for help, I thought the issue was that you didn't know how to deal with a rogue summoning. I didn't realise you had no skill in combat whatsoever. I put you in danger because of that, and I apologise for it."

Despite my best intentions, I could feel myself thaw. It was a plausible explanation, certainly a kinder one than my imaginings of the day before, and the apology was a welcome balm. Especially because-

"I admit I really hadn't thought the Mages' Guild would send such a person on such a mission. There's no shame in having your skills lie in other directions, don't get me wrong, but surely there were more suitable people who could have investigated?"

Especially because that.

"I have absolutely no idea, you'd have to ask Edwinna." Then, because it was true, I added, "I'm an alchemist. I fail to see why people keep sending me into dangerous situations when the only things I can do are run away, throw potions at them, or paralyse something and faint. I'm getting quite tired of it, to be honest."

"I can imagine." There was a sympathetic note to Methal's voice. My defenses came down further.

Then, honey-smooth, he continued. "You know, the Tribunal Temple is always in need of alchemists. Not only is providing healing one of our primary duties, but our... mm... more military arm is also always in need of potions. The forces at Ghostgate alone... rest assured, we have so much work for alchemists, we'd never dream of sending them on completely unsuitable errands."

I could not possibly be hearing this correctly. "Are you trying to recruit me?"

Methal sprinkled another helping of fire-fern onto his porridge and stirred it in meditatively. "Not recruit, entirely. It's not as though one can just join the Temple as one would a guild. Say rather... I'm making you aware of the benefits of conversion."

"Conversion," I repeated, hoping that this would sound more reasonable on hearing it a second time. Alas, my hope was in vain. "I... I'm sorry. I'm not particularly religious at all."

"Excellent. It would be quite a problem if you were already a devotee of one of the Aedra, wouldn't it? Or a Daedra, for that matter."

I realised my mouth was hanging open and quickly shut it. I supposed I could be grateful I hadn't been eating; that would definitely not be the appropriate impression.

"I... um..." Hurriedly I tried to gather my wits, never to mention my defenses. "Look, I spent years living in an orphanage attached to a temple of Kynareth, all right? We were absolutely surrounded by religion day and night, and it still didn't take. I've decided some people are just inherently unsuited to worship, me being one of them. No offense intended."

I bit my tongue. This was not an angle of attack I'd been expecting, and it showed in my unplanned, too-honest response.

Thankfully, Methal didn't seem to notice that I hadn't meant to let that detail slip. "Oh, I don't blame you when it comes to Kynareth. Worshipping the Aedra... ecch." His lip curled. "What's the point of devoting yourself to beings that have put so much of their being into making the world that they can't even affect it anymore?"

I felt my eyebrows go up in surprise. This was surprisingly close to some of my secret, heretical thoughts on eight of the Nine Divines.

"The Tribunal is quite different, believe me. In fact, from what Ervesa said I believe you've experienced their power yourself. You needed to be cleansed, yes?"

"Yes." I grabbed the change of subject with both hands. "I ran afoul of an ash statue. It... wasn't good." I swallowed against the memories. Maybe religion wasn't such a bad choice of subject after all.

"And how have your dreams been, since the cleansing?"

There was a clinical tone to Methal's voice that made me think of a healer, checking on the treatment of an illness. It made me answer in more detail than I might have otherwise. "Not memorable. Literally. I'm pretty sure I've been dreaming, but I can't remember any of them. But that started happening before I ran into the statue, so I've been chalking them up as back to normal."

"Ah. I see." The priest's expression was grim. What it wasn't was surprised. On the whole, Methal looked more as though I'd just confirmed something he hadn't wanted to be true. I wasn't sure I liked it.

"Is that... is there a problem?" I ventured when he didn't elaborate. "Did the cleansing not work right?" Now there was an idea to turn my (apparently) supremely boring dreams straight back into nightmares.

"What?" Methal blinked at me, then shook his head. "Oh, no. The cleansing worked fine, you're in no danger from the corruption as long as you avoid being exposed again." He then made that statement significantly less reassuring by adding, "Besides, if the cleansing truly hadn't worked, you'd either have noticed or be incapable of noticing by now."

More nightmare fuel right there, as if I didn't have enough to choose from. That abundance may have been what made it easy to put the idea aside in order to keep my focus on Methal's reaction.

"All right, then what is wrong with my dreams? Because clearly something is, from your reaction. If it's something dangerous I'd like to know, whether or not it has anything to do with that statue."

Methal blinked, eyes going wide. For a moment he looked taken aback, then his expression smoothed.

I'd never been the best with people, and so never the best at spotting manipulation. Always a little too gullible, too slow to doubt – Ingerte, to whom it all came so naturally, had nearly despaired of me. More to the point, she'd tried to teach me. Although I hadn't proved a particularly apt pupil, some shreds of her lessons had stuck.

At least, that was the only way I could explain why, as Methal opened his mouth, I found myself absolutely certain that he was about to lie to me.

"-insistent on ignoring the portents, but I trust Nuleno and I trust my divinations and both say this will be a bad one- oh! Hello!"

Both of us looked up as more people entered the kitchen. I recognised Ervesa – clad in her chitin armour, earrings out – but with her came two Dunmer I didn't recognise. An older man, tall and bony with a pale, thin face, and the woman who'd been speaking, dark as a Redguard with curly black hair.

"I'm Tashpi Ashibael," she introduced herself. "Healer, independent but I help out at the shrine on a regular basis. Ooh, is that breakfast?"

As the clearly hungry group filed in, I resigned myself to the fact that I would not be getting any answers, honest or otherwise, from Methal.

Of course, I'd thought about it after posting, and saw that a spell would likely only fix the immediate issue of the fatigue, and none of the side-effects. Natural sleep would do the whole job, and so be preferable. Still, I'd have used it if my alternative was carrying the person any distance.

I'm getting curious why he's asking about dreams, but that mostly comes from playing the game, so I shouldn't.

@ghastley - exactly re: natural sleep. And being curious as to why Methal is asking about dreams is... actually useful information for me! There's a very particular thing I'm doing with Methal, and I'm not certain how clearly I need to spell it out in order for most readers to pick up on it. Reader feedback on what you think Methal is doing, or whether his motivations are just confusing to you, is enormously helpful, so thanks!

Last installment, Adryn breakfasted with Methal. She told him about her dreams, which he seemed to take quite seriously. She'd just asked him what the issue was when they were interrupted.



Lack of answers notwithstanding, I didn't mind the newcomers. Tashpi was fun to talk to, with an irreverent sense of humour I could very much appreciate. In fact, I was so busy giggling over one of her remarks that although I caught that the older man was nominally in charge of Maar Gan Temple, I entirely missed his name; I silently nicknamed him Scarecrow for his rangy build. Scarecrow seemed friendly enough, although quiet and strangely respectful towards Methal. Between them and Ervesa, I quickly got caught up on some useful information.

After getting an earful on safe summoning practices, Huleen's most unfortunate apprentice had caught the evening strider back to Ald'ruhn to report on events to (and, I hoped, be dressed down by) Edwinna. I, of course, had been unable to join him due to being thoroughly unconscious at the time. When I asked about the next strider out, the others traded uncomfortable glances.

Apparently there was a nasty ash storm inbound, one no caravaneer worth their salt would risk their beast in. I was stuck in Maar Gan until it had passed.

My face must have been a picture at that news, because Scarecrow hastily assured me I could stay at the Temple until I was able to travel back.

"It's the least we can do, after you risked yourself to help us with that scamp." He frowned. He'd professed himself distinctly unimpressed by Listien's recklessness – I'll have to have a word with Huleen about keeping her apprentice in line when she gets back from the mainland, as if Anhaedra wasn't bad enough on his own – and appreciative of my help. "Besides, it's part of our duties, helping stranded wayfarers. I'd say you qualify."

"Speaking of stranded wayfarers..." Tashpi dropped her spoon into her empty bowl with a clink. "Should we start setting up?" At my puzzled look, she explained, "Temple always gets lost travellers coming in in an ash storm – pilgrims, travelling traders, the odd Ashlander, anyone who might be out without shelter. The teleportation beacon, you know. We should get things ready before the storm hits and the stragglers start pouring in. Set up beds, put out healing potions, start a pot of soup, that sort of thing."

I looked around to see agreeing nods. The leisurely breakfast was clearly at an end.

At this point, it would have been easy to beg off. Oh, so sorry, still not recovered from yesterday... probably best if I retire to my bed to rest while the rest of you do the heavy lifting...

Instead, I asked, "Can I help?"

Personally, I blamed Athyn Sarethi. It had been a lot easier to resist my stray altruistic impulses before he'd so brutally stripped me of my dearly-held illusions regarding my own selfishness.

At any rate, that was how I ended up chopping vegetables with Methal and Ervesa as the other two went to set up more cots.

Truthfully, I didn't mind it. Although I was still rather tired, dicing trama root was at least not particularly strenuous as activities went. And the conversation remained interesting, even if it was primarily concerned with the Tribunal Temple. I suspected that Methal hadn't given up on the idea of conversion, but I was quite certain of my immunity in that regard, and Ervesa was surely innocent of any such ulterior motives.

In many ways, Methal was doing me a favour – I needed to simply get a handle on how this local religion worked. I'd been planning to investigate it since my first meeting with Ervesa, but events had gotten in the way, and I was coming to realise that it was intertwined enough with native Dunmer life that I'd really need a decent understanding of it if I wanted to function in Morrowind.

The living gods, Vivec along with Almalexia and Sotha Sil, had certainly been spoken of often in my time on the island, or at least that was my best explanation for why all three names seemed familiar. They seemed to fulfil many of the same functions as the Divines, although clearly far more present and geographically limited in their activities, and although their spheres seemed rather more... Daedric... than what I was used to. Still, the common elements were there.

Stranger to me was the notion of ancestor worship. Although Nords have a healthy respect for their departed forbears (respect which occasionally involves necromancy – don't try to rob a barrow unless you're weary of life, that's all I'm saying), they wouldn't recognise the lengths the Dunmer went to. Ervesa said she prayed to her ancestors on a daily basis, tried to make small sacrifices at least once a week, kept a small shrine in her quarters at Molag Mar and made regular trips to her family's ancestral tomb on the mainland. Even a Greybeard would view that as excessive. In return, she said, they lent her strength and guidance – one had even appeared at her side as a spirit in a difficult fight.

Conceptually, it made sense. Supposing someone decided to hang around after death instead of giving Nirn a (probably metaphorical, at that point) rude gesture and vanishing to some Dunmer equivalent of Sovngarde, it was pretty likely they'd have a vested interest in the well-being of their kids, and their kids, and so on and so forth. Sure, your great-great-grandmother might have less power than an Aedra, but unless you're caught in a really unfortunate family feud you can at least be assured she's going to be on your side in a conflict. All very logical, surely a great reassurance to someone like Ervesa with her clan name and ancestral tomb...

...and then there was me, alone in the world with no trace of family and no clue who said ancestors might be at all. I was beginning to understand why native Dunmer treated my circumstances as such a huge tragedy. Frankly, I'd have preferred to remain ignorant.

"I thank you for your enthusiasm for the task, but I'm wondering if the trama root did something to offend you?" Methal asked.

"Of course it did," I said, deadpan. "Insulted my heritage. I'm honourably obliged to take revenge."

Even in this new context, lack of family wasn't all bad. At least, I could head straight to the afterlife after death. No hanging around looking after people for me, no.

"Ah, very understandable. But we really don't need the trama minced that fine. Perhaps you could take mercy on it?"

I agreed that I did, indeed, see myself capable of forgiving the root I'd been in the process of demolishing for its crimes and forced myself to concentrate on the assembly of the soup.

Possibly my intent focus was catching, because we worked in silence from that point on. In what felt like no time at all, a large pot sat simmering on the stove, the dishes and chopping boards had been washed, dried and put away, and we were looking at each other wondering what to do next. Three people seemed a little excessive for stirring.

"Ah, I see you've finished too." Scarecrow walked in. "I'll take matters from here. Er, that is, if you don't mind," he added hastily, shooting Methal an anxious look.

"What, you don't trust my cooking skills? I think I may be insulted."

I was relatively sure Methal was joking, but Scarecrow clearly wasn't considering the horror that spread across his face. Catching sight of the expression, Methal raised his hands. "Don't worry! I don't trust my cooking skills, it's for the best that someone with a sense for seasoning takes over this stage of the operation." A brief pause. "I am, of course, at your disposal. Is there anything else you'd like us to help you with?"

"Um." Scarecrow was still white, and seemed to be having some trouble finding his voice. Uneasiness curled in my gut as I watched him stammer. It would be easy to dismiss the man as overly anxious and shy, but he hadn't reacted to any of the rest of us this way. Only Methal.

Methal, who I'd love to think of much like Ervesa – a low-ranking Temple member with a sense of humour willing to be friendly to hapless outlanders, with a few manageable flaws such as not realising that your average alchemist was not capable of fighting off a scamp... except that there were things about him that didn't quite add up. His ease with Conjuration, the strange moment we'd shared before the others had arrived. His confidence, quiet but very present if you looked for it, a rock-hard certainty of his own ability and place in the world which felt as though it should belong to a grey-haired elder, not someone who looked to be just out of novicehood. And now Scarecrow's reactions.

No. There was something odd here.

"Actually," Scarecrow had finally managed to collect himself. "I was hoping that you might be willing to continue what you were working on earlier, before we were warned of the storm?"

It was a question, although Methal bowed his head as though it had been an order. "Of course. Would you like to join me, Adryn?"

Wait, how had I become part of this conversation?

"As a major destination for pilgrimages, the Maar Gan shrine receives many donations – including of magical items. Since there is no trained mage attached to the Temple, they tend to pile up until a brother or sister who can identify them passes by. Myself being a prime example." He shrugged. "I wouldn't mind company, and I assume you have some basic magical training, yes? I admit my expectations of the Mages' Guild are low, but I'm expecting they do require something of the sort in their recruits."

I paused.

It did sound interesting. And I had to admit I found myself curious about the man and his unexplained mysteries. Perhaps he'd let something slip?

Besides, if I remembered my recruitment correctly (and I did, considering it had been less than a month ago), the Mages' Guild did not, in fact, require basic magical training in their recruits. However, I wasn't planning to admit to that – after my showing in Huleen's Hut, I felt I needed to try to preserve some of the guild's reputation – and bowing out at this stage might raise awkward questions.

"Sure," I said. "It sounds like fun."

This- this is why I like Adryn so much. She doesn't just see the flaws in herself (most of which are not flaws), but in the unthinking way the guilds- Mages especially- send unqualified novices into mortal danger.



Oh Adryn.... (shakes head). Don't you know that's like saying, "What's the worst that could happen?" or "How bad can it be?" or "Well, at least it can't get any worse."

At least it wasn't "hold my beer".

"after my showing in Huleen's Hut, I felt I needed to try to preserve some of the guild's reputation"

The guilds or hers? There's a fascinating subplot building here between the Mages Guild and the Temple, and the nature of loyalty and honour. Which seems to be a growing concern for Adryn after Athyn Sarethi has opened the Pandora's Box of her self-delusion. It's genuinely fascinating watching Adryn develop.

Excellent, as always. More, please?

I just discovered this wonderful story a few days ago, and essentially binge-read my weekend through it!
I love everything about it... the dry humour, Adryn's personality, the banter amongst the characters, and the way you so vividly bring Vvardenfell to life.

Also, I feel vindicated, there's something reassuring about learning that you aren't the only one who inexplicably loses interest in something, vanishes off of the ends of the earth, and then, just as inexplicably, resurfaces. It's a pattern for me.. with games, lets plays, fan fiction, anything really, and it drives me nuts, so I'm really glad I'm not alone in this.

Anyway, I can't wait to see more of Adryn whenever the muse does strike you !

Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates, and insert the usual apologies for vanishing here! The holidays seemed like a good opportunity to try to get back to a regular posting habit - wish me luck.

@treydog - yeah, one of the fun things of writing Adryn is that she really magnifies how weird the canon quests can be. Like, why doesn't the Mages' Guild set you any research tasks? Why does everything involve mortal danger? Already odd if you have an adventuring mage who joined the Guild, but highlighted to complete absurdity with our noncombatant protagonist in this fic.

And you'd think Adryn would know better than to challenge fate by now. You'd really think.

@ghastley - ha! Knowing her, she probably will now. (Well, comberry juice. )

@Burnt Sierra - thank you!! And you're right that I really want to tackle some of the inter-faction (and intra-faction) dynamics, and sometimes show a little more complexity than is there in canon. Loyalty and honour is definitely a fun one to tackle as well, especially with the very astute Athyn Sarethi in the mix! (I could babble for a looong time about Adryn's character but I'll refrain. )

@ArtemisNoir2 - thank you very much, I'm glad you enjoyed the story! Bringing Vvardenfell to life is one of my main goals, I'm always glad to hear I'm succeeding in that.

Re: vanishing... many sympathies on this front, it's always hugely frustrating for me! I've been like this basically forever, so I've tried to come to terms with it and appreciate the way I sometimes end up learning unusual things and having interesting experiences through my uncontrollable interest patterns, but I totally understand when you say it drives you nuts. I'm embarrassed every time I stop posting here because the sledgehammer of interest switch has hit.

Iii am obviously not sure if this is the case for you, but I bring it up for completeness' sake: in my case I'm about 99% sure my weird and wacky interest patterns are caused by Asperger's, which I was diagnosed with in my early twenties. (Obsessive interests being an autistic trait, although I get the impression mine lasting as briefly as they do is relatively unusual.) If you think it's possible, this sort of thing can be worth looking into - AS was causing other, ADHD-esque problems in my life as well, and learning about it helped me figure out coping strategies for those. I also got some assistance through disability services when I was at uni which was hugely helpful when it came to finishing my degree.

ANYWAY, enough personal life, on to Adryn!

Last installment, Adryn - stuck at Maar Gan Temple thanks to the weather - helped the Temple inhabitants prepare for the upcoming ash storm, then found herself volunteering to help the priest Methal with a different task: identifying magical items that had been donated to the Temple. On the one hand, this should be harmless; on the other, Adryn accepted the task using words not much better than "what's the worst that can happen?", foretelling disaster. Let's see which of the two wins out...



Ervesa, who professed only middling training in magic, sat by the side checking her gear as Methal and I went through the items. To Methal's clear surprise – and growing respect – my knowledge proved useful for even the nonmagical items, as I could at a glance separate ruby from garnet, solid silver from coatings or alloys, and value items quite precisely. A thief's training did have uses even outside the criminal realm, even though I didn't plan to inform either of the two mer of the source of my knowledge.

The magical items didn't go quite as well, which came as something of a surprise seeing as I'd always been proud of my sensitivity and relished the chance to hone my abilities. However, Methal turned out to be significantly more experienced in the area than I was, and him attempting to give me tips was more frustrating than helpful.

Now, I certainly wasn't one to refuse knowledge due to wounded pride, and initially I listened to his explanation about spells used to analyse the precise makeup of an enchanted item with interest... up to the point where he mentioned they were from the Mysticism school, falling into the Absorption subschool. Something about taking in a miniscule amount of the magicka emanating from an item in order to pick apart its composition more precisely than was possible with a purely passive scan. A fascinating and novel application of the school, I was sure, except for the oh-so-small downside that Absorption spells, like Soultrap, were spells Ledd's Syndrome apparently left me unable to learn. I made do with my passive senses aided by my detection spell tuned to enchantments, but watching Methal pull detailed information from each item smarted.

"What do you think about this one?" Methal asked, distracting me from my thoughts. "I don't believe it's magical, but I'm not certain of the metal."

He was holding out a roughly conical dark crystal about four inches long, clamped in heavily tarnished silver at both ends. Tiny Daedric letters had been etched into it, running along its side. I took the crystal and brought it closer to my face to read Falasmaryon.

It seemed...

(a crystal held in my hand, frowning as I tried to funnel my magicka into the bthuri while balancing the nzamchend-)

...familiar.

More to the point, I wasn't picking up any active magicka at all. "Not enchanted," I agreed, trying to shake off the strange feeling that was false recognition. "Under the tarnish that's pure silver, though. Maybe someone wanted a fancy paperweight, or... wait a moment."

The object didn't feel magical, no. There was none of the glow so common to enchanted items, and it was a blank spot amid pinpricks of magicka I could feel around the room. However, I still had trouble continually keeping my detection spell to a single level over a long period. Just now, it had fluctuated away from the one I used to pick up on enchanted items. And on the other level...

With a thought, I let the spell shift.

The Mystic beacon for the Maar Gan Temple was just at the entrance, probably no more than a few dozen feet from where we now sat. This close, it was almost overwhelming, but if I concentrated I could pick up on more beacons further away. Two far to the south, in the direction we'd come from in the strider – one was Ald'ruhn Temple, I presumed, although I had no idea what the other would be. They felt much like the Maar Gan beacon, although one was slightly lower in 'pitch' (for lack of a better word). One to the northeast, closer than Ald'ruhn, which did not feel the same as any of the others. The best I could do to describe the difference was that there was a vibrating hum underlying this signature which was missing from the others.

And...

And there was a thin strand connecting that northeastern signature with the crystal I held in my hands, a tiny echo of that hum beating against my palms.

"Well, isn't that interesting."

"What's interesting?"

I jumped. Lost in thought, I'd forgotten that I wasn't alone. Methal and Ervesa were now looking at me curiously.

"There's something odd about that crystal. It's..."

I described what I felt as best I could, which – judging by Ervesa's confused expression – wasn't very well at all. Most likely, the fact that my impressions were being filtered through a learning disability wasn't helping.

"Interesting," Methal agreed after I finally gave up. "To the northeast, you say?" He held out a hand for the crystal. I gave it back with a strange pang of reluctance. The item felt familiar, still, despite the fact that I knew I'd never seen anything like it before.

Methal turned it over so the inscription was fully exposed. "It must be Falasmaryon. It's an old Chimer fortress," he explained, "as were built in the time of the Grand Council between the Dwemer and Chimer. Uninhabited, these days."

"At least we hope so," Ervesa jumped in. "Places like that – the fortresses, but also caves and old Velothi domes – they attract trouble like flies. Bandits, fugitives, unsanctioned slavers, smugglers, mages running illicit experiments, even cursed necromancers... anyone that has a reason to want a hideout away from town. It's actually the reason I'm in Maar Gan, I've been asked to do a sweep of places like that to make sure nothing's holing up near here."

"Well, that's all well and good and you've successfully cured me of ever wanting to voluntarily set foot in a cave on this island, but why do we have a crystal with a non-magical magical connection to this place?" I looked pointedly at the crystal in Methal's hands.

Methal looked down at it as if he hadn't realised he was still holding it, then passed it back to me. I could feel myself relax a little once I had it back in my hands, which was odd. Strange feelings of familiarity aside, I knew I'd never seen anything like this before. There was no reason at all to be feeling possessive over the thing.

"The consensus of historians is that the fortresses were the first major Chimer constructions, a significant shift in what had previously been a purely nomadic people." Methal's voice took on a lecturing tone. I wondered if the man taught. "There is a noticeable amount of Dwemeris influence present in them, far more than in the Velothi style or any of the other architectural modes that became common later. As a result, there are still a number of unanswered questions about parts of the fortresses and their function." He nodded at the crystal. "I wouldn't be surprised if this object were Dwemer in origin, or the result of some collaboration. The Dwemer used a very different method of enchanting, one which doesn't read as magical to our modern detection spells. At least that's the leading theory these days."

A different method of enchanting? Now that sounded interesting. I certainly wouldn't object to someone taking soul gems out of the equation.

In fact, the whole story was tickling my curiosity. A mysterious possibly-Dwemer artifact, tied to Chimer history? Not only was it interesting, it was something that Edwinna Elbert might find so as well... something she might be inclined to let an Apprentice research, tucked away safe and sound in the Ald'ruhn Mages' Guild.

A pity, then, that – strange feelings about it aside – the crystal most emphatically did not belong to me-

"Would you like to keep it?"

Wait, what?

"I honestly don't know what the Temple should do with it otherwise. It's really only of interest to a very specific class of researcher, and enough of what I've told you is supposition that it would be hard to ask for much in the way of money for it. You're clearly interested in it, and have already made headway in analysing it." A pause. "Call it a reward for your actions to keep Maar Gan safe."

Methal was meeting my eyes with no attempt at evasion, a frank and open expression on his face. No sign of a liar here. All the same, something sat uneasy with me about this. As if he wasn't telling me something.

Probably my imagination. After all, what possible benefit would the man gain from giving me the crystal?

"Thank you," I answered after a moment's thought. "This is very generous of you, especially since I can't exactly take responsibility for removing the threat to Maar Gan."

"But you can for making me aware of it," Methal countered.

I didn't argue further, tucking the crystal away. One really shouldn't look a gift horse (or magical artifact) in the mouth. Besides, I wasn't dim-witted, hadn't succumbed to the brain-fungus known as 'honour', was in short not a Redoran to turn down a reward for risking life and limb.

(Athyn Sarethi's opinions on the matter notwithstanding.)

"All right then," I said. "Shall we continue?"

Methal had opened his mouth to respond when a low, throbbing sound rang through the air, the resonance so deep I heard it as much through my bones as my ears. It was rather as if a giant had struck a gong the size of a house, and I winced at the sensation. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ervesa go straight and still.

Finally, the sound died down. "What was that?" I asked once I no longer felt as though my teeth were going to vibrate out of my skull.

"That," said Methal, "was the alert telling us that someone just used the Intervention point. I activated it earlier. It seems the first person seeking shelter from the storm has just arrived."

Gosh, I love the Nerevar interludes! They are captivating!

I completely missed the detail that Adryn would be caught up in the Warp. What a beautiful and moving scene on the edge of the walkway. Tears in my tea.

He couldn't be any more of a bandit if he had the word "Bandit" floating over him.

Worryingly, Erranil's expression didn't change. "Oh, I don't see the problem myself. It's an experimental form of transport, you know, a certain element of risk is to be expected, anyone who's put off by the possibility of dismemberment can take the strider. You should consider-"

Ervesa! Bearing soup and an uneasy clue. Delightful to see her.

... up to the point where he mentioned they were from the Mysticism school, falling into the Absorption subschool. Something about taking in a miniscule amount of the magicka emanating from an item in order to pick apart its composition more precisely than was possible with a purely passive scan.

Oh, I love this!! I imagine that the Atronach-born would have a natural advantage here.

Hmm, Methal is up to something. He is very, very interesting.


A very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to you! I’ve had a great time (and enormous vat of tea) catching up with Adryn’s antics.

@Grits - thanks so much for the comment! I am very happy you like the Nerevar interludes, they're super fun to write (especially playing with all the ways that Nerevar is like Adryn vs the ways he is different) but I'm never sure how many of them to include - especially when they're less relevant to Adryn's life at the moment.

And, yeah, I basically licked my writerly chops when I realised Adryn would be front and center for the events of TES: Daggerfall - Warp in the West included. I've embroidered on its canon capabilities a little, but not as much as one might think - and there are reasons we'll discover later that Adryn was particularly strongly affected.

Very nice point on Atronach-born having a natural advantage in identifying items... and I went re: your comment about Methal. I'm glad that the various hints I've been dropping that there's more to him are accessible to the reader! He is indeed a very interesting character we'll be seeing more of, and some of the mystery around him should lift in the next few updates.

Happy New Year to you, and to all my readers!

Last installment, Adryn encountered a propylon index... an item that seemed strangely familiar, and that she felt oddly possessive of. Why, she doesn't know - it's not like she's ever seen anything like it before, right? Methal, the Temple priest she was with, let her keep it, so I'm sure it's not important and we'll never be hearing of it again. In any case, they were interrupted by the first ash storm refugees using the Almsivi Intervention point to teleport in.



That marked the end of our peaceful interlude. The woman who'd triggered the alert had barely set foot inside when the next person teleported in. After that, we were constantly on our feet, bringing bowls of soup and healing potions to dazed, coughing people, dusting them off, wrapping blankets around their shoulders and guiding them to sit down somewhere where they could recover without being tripped over. I found myself desperately grateful for Tashpi, who as an experienced healer was able to do triage and take care of those who needed more than soup and a potion.

Several hours later found me leaning against a wall in the entrance area of the shrine, wondering if I could pretend to be a storm victim myself; I felt dead on my feet and could probably do with something hot to eat. At least I could afford a break, seeing as the influx had died down. I suspected that anyone out in the storm who hadn't teleported in by now was in no shape to do so.

"You. Mortal."

I hadn't exactly forgotten the resident dremora – hard to do so, when its glare made my skin crawl – but I'd been trying to take a leaf from the book of those experienced in dealing with it. All the inhabitants of Maar Gan who I'd met today ignored the thing with a fierce intensity. I wasn't sure I could match it – of all the phrases that could be used to describe my character, "stoic in the face of provocation" was not one of them – but I was trying my best.

"You. With the orange hair that looks like something nested in it."

I bit my tongue.

"Are you deaf, mortal?"

I could feel my brows furrow despite myself. The dremora sounded... insistent. A pretty significant change from its usual demeanour of being afflicted with near-lethal boredom. And for all that it liked to throw truly unnecessarily graphic threats of torture, death and dismemberment at anyone who spent time in its vicinity, this was the first time I'd seen it try to gain a specific person's attention.

Apparently the dremora had caught the expression. "Ah, so you are listening. Do keep staying silent. Words cannot describe how uninterested I am in your pathetic mewlings."

Was this some sort of trick? Trying to get me to talk by virtue of my sheer contrariness?

If so, I was embarrassed to admit it worked, because before I could think the better of it my mouth was opening.

"In that case, why are you talking to me?"

"Believe me, I wish I wasn't," the dremora snapped. "Your shallow mortal mind cannot even begin to grasp how much I despise being trapped in this place, gawked at and humiliated, without even the ability to gut the offenders. A thousand tortures on the false god for chaining me here. I dream of the day my lord punishes him for his effrontery. I hope his lying tongue will be extracted from him piece by bleeding piece by the torturers of Coldharbour, his eyes eaten by maggots, his feet roasted in hot coals, his toes sliced from them and fed to him-"

As the dremora went on, I took a small step back. The creature's previous threats, disturbing though they'd been, had been rather undermined by the fact that it seemed to find the whole business almost too tedious to bother with. Not so now. That alien voice was alive with malice, each increasingly graphic threat brought forth with relish. Call me a shallow mortal, but the level of sheer loathing on display here was rather chilling. I considered myself far from the nicest person around (Athyn Sarethi's accusations notwithstanding), but all the same I couldn't imagine hating anyone or anything with the sheer single-minded intensity the dremora was bringing to bear.

I guessed the creature noticed my uneasiness, because it smiled at me. The sight did not qualify as reassuring.

"Still have a weak stomach, I see. No matter. As I was saying, mortal, I loathe Vivec and his servants. In contrast, I do not loathe the Lady Azura. She is not my lord, but she is powerful and they have had dealings in the past... and she is not the one who has chained me here. So, in the spirit of respect and friendship," the dremora spat the words, "I have a warning for you, mortal."

All right. It was official: I'd lost track of this conversation. "What does Azura have to do with-"

"Did I permit you to ask questions, you snivelling worm?"

I shut up.

"My warning." The dremora's eyes bored into me. "You should not be here, you stupid creature. The Temple is not your friend. Your dear Methal is not your friend. And the false god? He is definitely no longer your friend. It astounds me that you have not learned this by now – even for an empty-headed mortal, you are tremendously forgetful about these things. So." It leaned forward, its voice dropping to a hiss. "Run, mortal. Run as though Hircine himself is after you, because you are not safe here."

The dremora leaned back against the stone wall again, silent. Clearly, it had said its piece.

My mouth was dry, my heart beating like a rabbit's. The Daedra had conjured the ominous threat so vividly the lights almost seemed a little lower, the air colder, the shadows dark and hiding monsters. For a moment I was seized by the urge to do as it bid and run out the door, storm or no storm-

Except, of course, that none of what it had said made any sense at all.

"I." My voice was a croak. I stopped, ran my tongue along my teeth in a bid to draw out some moisture, then tried again. "I think you must have me- confused. With someone else. We've never met before, I also haven't met Vivec." The identity of the dremora's 'false god' was quite clear from context. "I'm pretty sure I'd remember if I had. Really, I'm no one important, there's absolutely no reason for Methal or the Temple as a whole or a living god or a Daedric Prince to be paying any attention to me."

Weak at the start, my voice had picked up strength as I went on, bolstered by all the arguments as to why the dremora's nightmarish warnings did not match reality. At this point I'd regained enough confidence to add, "But I... thank you for the thought."

I was pretty sure the dremora had been trying to help me, even if the process had been disturbing, offensive and completely insane by turns. There was no harm in politeness.

The dremora looked at the ceiling. "Lady Azura, please note: I did what I could. If your ihilkulnaz is too stupid to heed a warning freely given, that's hardly my fault." It looked back at me, eyes narrowed. "You'll deserve it when the false god breaks you, little fool."

Before I could respond, the door swung open.

"Adryn? Are you in there? Salen needs help in the kitchen-"

Ervesa stopped so abruptly after entering I wouldn't be surprised if her boots had left skid-marks on the worn stone floor. Her eyes flicked between me and the Daedra, brow furrowed.

"If you've been bothering people again, I'll get Methal to sort you out," she finally said, voice colder than I'd ever heard it. Her gaze was resting on the Daedra.

"Bother people? I have done no such thing." It narrowed its eyes at her. "Trust me, mortal, if I decide to bother people you will not be able to mistake it for anything else."

Ervesa didn't seem impressed by what was clearly a threat. "It will go badly for you if you're lying," was her response. After a last narrow-eyed stare in the dremora's direction, she turned to approach me.

"Come on." A warm hand clasped my shoulder, giving me a gentle push towards the direction of the door. "Let's get away from here."



Notes: Have I mentioned how much fun it is to write an unreliable narrator?

Because it is so, so much fun to write an unreliable narrator.

(Also, thank you Anhaedra for probably landing this fic with a warning for graphic depictions of violence on AO3 all on his lonesome. Yikes.)

This is absolutely a Christmas (and New Year's) treat. The only thing better would be if there was more Jerric and Haa-Rei, as well..... Oh wait....

So much technical magical goodness from our favorite reluctant Redoran, sort-of-reformed thief, Mage Guild apprentice.



And there she is- such a perfectly "Adryn" thought process....

And I want to quote the whole Anhaedra scene, because I would have to in order to highlight the "good parts".

Azura- (supposedly) sending a warning- Adryn's familiarity with an unfamiliar artifact... The looming "Nerevarine vs. Temple Smackdown." (Hands out popcorn and settles in for a fun ride).

@treydog - I guess I wasn't the only one who thought it was a fitting time to come out of hiding! Am glad you're enjoying it, especially the technical magery (if it were up to Adryn she'd spend this whole story wandering from alchemy lab to library) and the convo with Anhaedra with all its Implications. That one was very fun to write. As for the looming smack-down... this update should make a little clearer what's going on there. Anyway, thanks so much for commenting!

Last installment, Adryn had a very disconcerting encounter with a dremora. It seemed to think it should warn her about the Temple in general and Methal in particular as a favour to Azura. Adryn is pretty sure it has the wrong person.



Ervesa steered me briskly out of the antechamber. The corridors passed me by in a blur, the greetings of the people we passed an indistinct babble. I was dimly aware that I was trembling.

"There. Drink." I blinked, realising I was back in the kitchen. Miraculously, considering the bustle of the day, it was empty except for the two of us. I was seated at the table, an opened vial in front of me. Ervesa was watching me from next to the hearth.

Last I remembered, I'd been walking. I seemed to have lost the events of the last few minutes. That was probably a bad sign.

"Drink. Before you keel over."

Although I'd deny it to my death-day, a sufficiently commanding voice did have the desired effect when I was sufficiently out of it. Later, I'd blame the orphanage. For now, I obediently lifted the vial to my mouth. I had to hold it in both hands to keep it steady enough not to spill.

Scathecraw, bittergreen, trama root... frightfully bitter, but more importantly rejuvenating, a restorative of mental capacity. A genuine Morrowind treatment for shock, in fact. I'd made it with Ajira only a few days ago, fulfilling an order from Fort Moonmoth.

"Thanks, Ervesa," I said hoarsely when the vial was empty.

She gave me a critical look. Apparently my appearance still didn't meet with her approval, because she frowned.

"You're still far too pale. Here, have some soup." A bowl was placed in front of my nose.

Potions are all well and good, but sometimes even an alchemist has to admit that there's no substitute for the old-fashioned non-magical remedies. The earthy liquid chased away the last bitterness of the restorative to curl warm in my belly. Finally, I felt myself relax.

"Much better." The intense feeling of Ervesa's eyes on me faded. When I looked up, she'd joined me with her own bowl. "It was probably time we had a break anyway. Especially you, considering yesterday. Still, I have to ask. What in Vivec's name did Anhaedra say to you?"

Not in Vivec's name. That was part of the problem, in fact.

"He..."

He seemed to have some demented idea that the Temple had it out for me, he must have me confused with someone else but it was still remarkably disturbing...

The words built up in my throat, eager to be spilt, for me to share the events of the past half an hour with someone who could appreciate their absurdity – who'd be able to help me laugh them off.

They stayed there, locked away by some hitherto unknown caution. Something about the dremora's intensity had stuck with me. I still couldn't believe there was any truth to his warnings – what could I have possibly done to earn the Temple's ire, after all – but all the same...

It couldn't hurt to be careful, right?

"Adryn?" A warm hand covered my own where it rested on the table. I blinked, realising I'd been staring off into space.

"Sorry, Ervesa. Um. I was just remembering." I licked my lips. "He... drew me into a conversation. I know I shouldn't have responded, but he was trying to get a rise out of me and I'm... pretty easy when it comes to that kind of thing. He got angry about being trapped here, started talking about what he wanted to happen to the ones responsible. The imagery was... very vivid."

None of it a lie... except that I was leaving out some crucial details.

Ervesa hadn't shifted her hand, fingers still wrapped around mine. Now, she squeezed lightly. The sensation made tingles spread up my arm. My life didn't exactly involve an abundance of being touched these days. Usually, that suited me well enough. Still, I... didn't mind this.

"I'm sorry, I think we're all a little too used to Anhaedra. He doesn't usually go after a single person like that, but he sometimes gets into moods. We should have warned you about him."

"It's all right. I'd gathered he was dangerous, I shouldn't have responded." Really shouldn't have responded. Nonsensical as they were, I had a horrible feeling the dremora's words would stay with me for a while. "Why do you even have a Daedra bound to the place, anyway?" I decided to kill two rats with one trap by changing the subject to something I'd wondered about since I first saw the creature.

"Well. It's Lord Vivec's doing, so no one knows exactly. Perhaps it's to prove the Tribunal's strength to the House of Troubles – Molag Bal, Mehrunes Dagon, Malacath and Sheogorath," she elaborated in response to my questioning look. "Perhaps Anhaedra has some part to play here which my lord in his wisdom foresaw. Perhaps as a sign to the people of Maar Gan." She shrugged. "Or perhaps he thought it would be funny. Or perhaps all of those and more. 'Vivec is a letter written in uncertainty,' as the saying goes." Ervesa sounded distinctly proud at the idea of having such a confusing god.

Sounds like Vivec, indeed.

I shook off the strange thought. "Well, that clarifies things. Or rather, it doesn't, but at least I know I'm not the only one wondering."

"Trust me, people have been wondering about Vivec since long before either of us were born!" Ervesa's laugh rang out, bright as a bell.

It immediately attracted trouble.

"Ervesa, er- newcomer-"

"Adryn," I supplied to Scarecrow, who was now standing in the doorway and looking rather frazzled. I generously decided to forgive him having forgotten my name on grounds of him clearly having enough on his mind already – never to mention that it would make me quite the hypocrite to hold it against him.

"My apologies for abandoning you, Salen," Ervesa said. "Adryn had something of a run-in with Anhaedra and wasn't feeling particularly well afterwards. However, I think she's recovered enough to continue now, or?" She shot me a glance.

"Yes, thank you Ervesa." And thank you for phrasing that in a way that made it near impossible to say 'no', as well. I levered myself up with a sigh. It had been a nice break while it lasted. "Where do you need us?"



[A ciphered letter sent to Arch-canon Tholer Saryoni at the close of the Third Era. There is no signature, however marks made by the Couriers' Guild indicate the letter originated in Maar Gan.]

To my beloved friend,

Lord Vivec has gifted me with his luck, it seems. Mere days after we spoke of the new possible N., I chanced across her on one of my journeys. Of course, I took advantage of the opportunity and performed some tests. She passed them all, or perhaps that should be failed them all? In any case, I no longer have any doubt about the matter.

(One of said tests involved the propylon index I mentioned. I hope you were not too attached to it? I know you expressed interest, but it is not as if it is more than a glorified paperweight in our hands, and I admit to some curiosity as to what she will make of it.)

I took the liberty of performing a preliminary threat and asset assessment. My conclusion as far as the former is concerned: negligible. She is completely untrained in combat, which is rather ironic but quite useful at this junction. As for the latter, although my initial inquiry was unsuccessful, I still believe there is potential there. We have found her early, this time: she is young, lonely, and wants to belong. There are several cracks that clever enough words might slip inside, and my words can be very clever indeed.

The weather continues frightful. The storms are worse than ever, and several of the townspeople have confided they hear voices on the winds. I wish I could believe it was so simple a thing as an ill omen, if only I could not feel the Sharmat's hand at work. One of the Armigers goes to seek out the corruption, but I fear it is a losing battle – there are too many nooks and crannies in the wastes where Dagoth's creatures may hide.

My friend, if our lord wishes to hear his servant's meager wisdom, this is it: these are desperate times, and in such times any tool that comes to hand is good. As such things go, the girl looks to sit in the palm well enough and better than her predecessors. Discarding her without even testing her edge would be a waste.

Of course, I bow to your leadership, and to our lord's unknowable divinity. If you would have me do differently in the matter, you must but send word. I stand ready and willing to act in the usual manner if it is desired.

I remain, as always, yours in faith and brotherhood,

M.



Notes: ...

Although, more seriously now:

You lot are basically my story guinea pigs, as I only post on other sites after it's been published here. I'd very much appreciate hearing what you think of the glimpse we get into Methal and his motivations here! I waffled quite a bit on whether to include the letter or leave the readers as ignorant as Adryn about what's going on with him.

Yikes, Anhaedra sounds suitably irritable for a Dremora bound against his will.

Methal’s letter confirms what your clues have been hinting about him. Perhaps include it if you want readers to be 100% sure what he’s up to, but it’s hard to say without knowing what he’s going to do next. Will there be a better time to reveal him? Bear in mind I haven’t played Morrowind much at all, so I don’t have a lot of game context. (And your clues so far were good enough to let me guess his intentions.)

That image warmed me as I read it... and it is a lesson Athlain should learn....

Ervesa is just a wonderful character, as well as a wonderful person.

As to your question regarding an explicit revelation of Methal's motives... it was clear beforehand that he was testing Adryn, and his Temple affiliation explains his purpose- if one is paying attention. That said, to second the estimable Grits- is there a better (in terms of the story) time to reveal him or his letter? For me, it works quite well at this point, and there is a certain glee (which probably reveals a deep character flaw on MY part) in watching poor Adryn's lack of awareness. And for some (again- probably sociopathic) readers- knowing things of which the main character is unaware provides some level of satisfaction.

Ok, now I've caught up with the latest little flurry of updates.

I'd go with the inclusion of the letter. Some readers may need the extra help, because they skipped over other parts too quickly, or just plain didn't understand them a the time. You're not writing a detective novel, so repeated info won't be treated as a deliberate attempt to mislead.

@all - thanks a lot for your feedback re: the letter! It's reassured me that including it was the right decision - the next sections will lose something if a reader doesn't put together the clues that he can't be trusted, and there's no great place to reveal him for a while after this.

@Grits - thanks! And yes, Anhaedra is not a happy dremora. To be fair, we can't really blame him... especially considering his function at the Maar Gan shrine (which we'll see a glimpse of later, but for the full details I refer you to the game/the wiki.)

@treydog - thanks for the comment! As it happens, the sociopathic glee/sheer horror of seeing Adryn wander around with no clue is definitely what I'm aiming for here. And I'm glad you like Ervesa, it's hardly a surprise she's going to be one of the recurring characters by now.

@ghastley - thanks a lot for the feedback! I was basically torn as to whether I could expect readers to figure it out from the hints I'd been dropping, so it was just what I needed to hear.

And now, with no further ado...

Last chapter, Adryn spent in the Temple recovering after her unpleasant experiences the day before. She helped prepare for an ash storm, had a very disconcerting encounter with a dremora, and ended up on reasonably friendly terms with the priest Methal - especially after he gifted her with a strange crystal that seemed somehow familiar. Of course, Methal has ulterior motives of his own...



Standing in the entrance to Indoranyon's propylon chamber, I nodded in approval. Zammusibael Siddurnanit might speak disparagingly of magic at Council, but apparently he could follow instructions when it suited. Everything had been set up as I'd specified, the diagrams sketched on the floor with admirable precision, the crystals I'd requested lined up by size on a nearby workbench. A simple touch proved that they had the requisite magical properties, too – which mage must Siddurnanit have hired to ensure that, and how hard did he gnash his teeth?

For a moment, I wondered what would have happened if I'd requested something far more exotic – for the diagram to be drawn in an elder vampire's blood, perhaps, or the crystals to be of pure diamond. It was probably for the best I hadn't. By the look of it, old Siddurnanit would have done it, and he'd never had much of a sense of humour.

Who are you calling old, Nerevar?

I ignored the whisper at the back of my mind with the studied obliviousness of a man who does not want to think about the grey hairs he's recently been finding in his hairbrush, thank you very much.

"Um. Sir?"

Surprised, I glanced back at the doorway where a figure stood. The sunlight streaming in behind him made it hard to make out more than a silhouette, but that and the voice were enough to make clear my visitor couldn't be much older than twelve.

"Well, this is a surprise. I wasn't expecting company." I made sure to keep my voice light and friendly. Children always put me in mind of Vivec as he'd been, embarrassed as Vivec himself would surely be to hear that.

"Ah... my master said he wanted to introduce us..."

As the boy came further inside, more details became apparent. Older than Vivec had been when we'd met, on the cusp of adolescence, and certainly doing better for himself than Vivec had so long ago. The plumpness in his cheeks spoke of a childhood without hunger, and the blue robes were good quality, especially for a youngster.

"Your master? Who-" An embroidered sigil on the right shoulder of the robe, in the position of patronage, caught my eye. The breaking wave; sotha. "Oh, of course. Sotha Sil. I should have realised, he mentioned that he'd taken on an apprentice."

I rifled through my memory. It had been just a paragraph, and I'd been more interested by his commentary on Nchum's latest work at the time, but centuries of politics and diplomacy had done wonders for my ability to remember names. "Divayth, wasn't it?"

Judging by the way the boy's eyes widened, I'd hit the mark. "Ah- yes! Of clan Fyr, my lord, it's an honour." Then, after a moment, "Master Sotha mentioned me?"

I had to smile at the hopeful voice. "He did," I agreed, deciding not to mention the proportion of the letter young Divayth had taken up. "He said you were clever enough, and... interested in extraplanar travel, was it?"

Which would explain why Sil had wanted to introduce the two of us. I was something of an expert when it came to magical travel on this plane, and the same principles could be applied to transport outside the bounds of Mundus – although I personally had never been particularly interested in taking my work in that direction. Instantaneous transport from Indoranyon to Rotheran is useful; transport from Indoranyon to Coldharbour distinctly less so. At least I certainly failed to see the appeal of the horde of angry Daedra that would await.

Judging by the light in young Divayth's face, he was of the same bent as Sil and so many others in that he disagreed with me. "Imagine what we could discover, if we could set foot into Oblivion! So much potential within our grasp!"

For a moment, he reminded me of nothing and no one so much as Kagrenac... Kagrenac, and the reasons he and I had never quite gotten on. For a moment I was tempted to let loose a harsh remark, but I felt the ring on my finger warm and thought better of it. Over the course of my life – occasionally with enchanted assistance – I'd learned that if you're going to utter such things at all, it's generally best to keep such things to the person they're actually meant for.

Instead, I changed the subject. "So where is Sil, anyway? He surely didn't send you here alone."

"He said he'd show me around, but then we ran into Lady Almalexia. He told me to wait, then they went off together." There was a hint of a whine in the young voice, one that intensified as the boy went on. "Probably they're talking about politics things that are too secret for an apprentice to listen in on." His arms crossed in a sulk.

I, on the other hand, had a very good idea of what Sil and my wife were up to, and Divayth was miles off. Which was for the best, of course. Not only was there the scandal and political implications to consider, Divayth was still too young for such things.

Sometimes I wished I still was, myself.

For a moment, I let myself imagine Sil and Almalexia lying entwined together, shadows playing over golden skin. I should, I knew, feel jealousy. Anger. And, of course, lust. Instead, I only felt cold and small, crushed beneath the weight of secrets, duty and my own inadequacy.

"I'm sure you're right. Almalexia did mention to me she had something important to discuss with Sil." The lie tasted bitter in my mouth. Really, what was Sil thinking, abandoning the boy to go roll in the sheets with his lover? To think he used to lecture me on responsibility.

Let it go, Nerevar.

I pushed the thoughts out of my mind and turned back to Divayth. "I hope you'll consider me adequate as a temporary substitute for your master. I was about to link Indoranyon to the propylon network, and I'd welcome a helping pair of hands."

The boy's eyes widened. "Really? You mean it? Thank you, my lord!" The excitement was clear in his face, the pout gone as if it had never been there. Ah, the changeable moods of the young.

In all honesty, I was glad for the company. The propylon network wasn't easy to work with, true, but this was the fifth chamber I'd set up – and that wasn't even counting all the experimentation I'd done to get the magic to work in the first place. At this point, the whole thing was familiar enough that I could let my mind drift as I worked... and after our conversation just now, I knew where my thoughts would go if I did. I'd disapproved of brooding even when I'd been of an age more suited to it, doing it now would just be embarrassing.

Divayth proved an excellent distraction. I quickly worked out why the notoriously misanthropic Sil had been willing to take him on – in fact, if I had enough time to spend on research to justify an apprentice, I'd be tempted to try to steal him. The boy was smart, curious and not afraid to ask questions, all traits that were rarer than they should be.

He also followed my explanations well enough, which too was an infrequent occurrence these days. The linked magical arts of teleportation and detection I'd developed with the help of Sil, Nchum, Mithand and (early on) Kagrenac were slowly being supplanted by the new school developed by the Psijics and brought from Artaeum to Resdayn by travelers. The two were similar on a superficial level but different in the fundamentals, exemplified by the fact that I'd found myself utterly unable to get the hang of the Psijic school – Sil suspected a mental block, but if so it was one I hadn't been able to overcome. This proved a problem when I was faced with students whose only training was in the new magics. Divayth, praise to Azura, was conversant in both.

"Master insisted. I didn't understand at the time, there's a lot of overlap in the spells, but there are things it's possible to do with one but not the other... right?"

"You'd have to ask someone else for the detailed comparison," I said wryly. "I'll just say that no spell for anchoring a teleportation between fixed points has come from Artaeum, although it's quite possible they simply haven't been interested. Now, stand over here and-"

With Divayth's help we made faster time with the ritual than expected, although not so fast that I wasn't more than ready for a break by the time we finished. Divayth himself was definitely drooping, and I felt a moment of guilt. Had I pushed him too far? He'd seemed eager, but perhaps I should have forced us to stop and rest? I didn't really know how to care for children, not having any of my own.

And that, as with Almalexia and Sotha Sil, was not a thought for the brightness of day, nor to be mulled over when in company.

For all his clear exhaustion, Divayth shook his head firmly when I mentioned stopping.

"Can we test it first? Please?"

I raised an eyebrow. Dedicated, too. Sil should count himself lucky that I wasn't in the market for an apprentice right now, really.

"All right, then." I was about to suggest leaving the chamber when a moment of whimsy struck me. I fished in my pocket- there.

Divayth's eyes widened when I withdrew a crystal that was twin to the one he was holding, the one we'd just spent at least an hour slaving over. "Is that-"

"Pay attention, now." I rested my free hand on the boy's shoulder. Physical contact would make this easier. "A propylon index isn't enchanted like Trueflame, or the Moon-and-Star, or-" I owned an embarrassing amount of famous, named artifacts for someone who'd grown up in a yurt. "-that amulet you're wearing. It doesn't have its own store of magicka. Instead, it carries a... set of instructions, if you will, for shaping a connection back to the propylon chamber it belongs to, which does contain a store of magicka. But you have to prime it to get the spell to work. Feed it just a trickle of your magicka. Like..."

Let your power seep into the crystal, flow the way it's meant to go-

"-this."

Air moved around us, stirring the hem of Divayth's robes and sprinkling dust over my boots.

At first, one might think that we hadn't moved at all. However, a second glance put paid to that. This chamber was smaller and more oval than Indoranyon's, the stone darker, and there was a steady stream of people moving past the propped-open double doors where in Indoranyon it'd been only the two of us.

"Are we- we're really-"

I gave Divayth a little shove; the surprise seemed to have rooted him to the spot, but staying on the receiving pedestal for too long would make whoever was travelling after us distinctly annoyed. He resisted for a moment, then sped forward. I followed as he pushed his way through the crowds, amused, to find him staring out at the many islands of the Sheogorad.

"We're in Rotheran." The boy's voice was filled with awe. Then it changed. "We're in Rotheran. That's days away from Indoranyon! And Master Sil has no idea where I am!"

"Well, then, I guess we simply have to hope we did our work correctly." I chuckled at the look Divayth shot my way. The indignation was so funny on his face, I opted not to mention the fact that in the unlikely event that we hadn't, I had a few other tricks up my sleeve that could get us back. "What? I thought you wanted to test it?"



Notes: Originally, I was planning to include Divayth Fyr in a cameo role at most during the Tribunal Era flashbacks, and not have him interact with Nerevar directly. Then I read his dialogue in ESO, in which it's made clear that he was a student of Sotha Sil and might have known Nerevar - at the very least, he certainly seems to think highly of the man. At that point I couldn't resist, so you're getting baby Divayth Fyr - twelve years old and already planning expeditions to Oblivion, isn't he just darling!

Are you allowed children in a Morrowind fan-fic? I thought you had to wait for Skyrim for that (unless you're Emma).

Ooo, young Divayth Fyr! And he wants to set foot into Oblivion. That was fun to read!

@ghastley - Adryn's world is modded in a few ways I'm guessing she has Children Of Morrowind installed, hmm? Let's hope we never have to find out if the kids in Adrynverse automatically recall home on attack...

@Grits - pursuing his interests early, he is!

Last installment, Nerevar set up a propylon chamber with the help of one rather small and adorable assistant by the name of Divayth Fyr, Sotha Sil's apprentice who was interested in travelling to Oblivion. Hmm, sure we've never heard of him before, and there's no chance of Adryn ever running into him again... but for now, let's see what Adryn is up to in Maar Gan.



I bade Ervesa farewell at the gates of Maar Gan, autumn sunlight lighting the ashy wastes with a golden glow. The skies were clear today, as if in apology for the storm the previous day. If so, I wasn't inclined to accept it. The evidence of the storm's misdeeds were everywhere to be seen – fresh drifts of ash against buildings, many of the large clay pots Morrowind natives kept outside their homes smashed and overturned by the wind, one hut's roof collapsed...

...and, of course, the distinct lack of the silhouette of a silt strider against the horizon.

Ervesa didn't seem inclined to let it stop her. "Now's the best time for travelling, really," she said as she pinned her braids to her head, the movements so deft even without a mirror it was clear she'd had a lot of practice. "A lot of the beasts will be hunkering down after a storm... a lot of the more person-shaped ones as well. And the storm shifts a lot of the ash around... you never know what might have been uncovered."

Ervesa, who'd gotten more and more antsy as yesterday went on, sounded positively giddy at leaving the safety of city walls for an ashy hellscape beset with dangerous beasts. Well, I supposed a total lack of lunacy would be too much to ask for – I should find myself grateful it didn't affect more.

The helmet went on, replacing Ervesa by the giant insect I'd first met near Lake Amaya once again. "You'll be careful?" giant insect asked, voice distinctly muffled.

"Me?" I frowned, taken aback. "What do I have to be careful about? I'm going to sit snug in the Temple until the silt strider service is running again. Wash dishes, make porridge, help Methal with identifying items... or Tashpi with her healing potions." The offer had come yesterday evening, and although Tashpi had sounded rather offhand about it I was planning to jump on the opportunity with both feet. "You're the one who's going to be throwing yourself headfirst into danger, shouldn't I be telling you to be careful?"

"Possibly you should! But I won't take it back in any case." Gauntleted hands planted themselves on armoured hips. "Adryn – every single time we've met so far, you've been in trouble. Trouble which you generally got yourself into while trying to rescue someone. Forgive me if I'm not entirely convinced when you claim you'll keep out of it this time."

I steadfastly refused to look Ervesa in the eye, a task made significantly easier by the helmet. "Do you and Athyn Sarethi talk? Because it should be forbidden, if so. Banned. I'll petition King Helseth to make it a royal decree."

The giant insect ignored my grumbling, instead bending to lift her pack to her shoulders. "So! We'll see each other soon, I hope, I should be passing through Ald'ruhn pretty regularly. Do try to make it back there safely, without any escapades involving saving pilgrims from rogue Ashlanders or the like, will you?"

"I promise I have every intention of leaving any and all saving to you." I felt that farewell missed a certain something, so I awkwardly added, "Take care out there. Don't die, all right?"

"Obviously I'm not going to die. Who'd save you from your heroism then?"

Before I could get the last word in, Ervesa gave me a wave over her shoulder as she turned her back. I watched her grow smaller and smaller until the brownish-grey of her armour began to blend into the ash-grey of her surroundings, then turned to trudge back to the Temple.

Rescue a pilgrim from Ashlanders. Honestly.



I passed the morning at Tashpi's shell-house (about the size of Huleen's or Hanarai's, although standing in contrast to both of those in its tasteful decor and lack of both Daedra and nightmarish cannibalistic ash-statue cellars), shucking saltrice, sifting wickwheat, decanting beakers, heating roobrush pulp and listening to Tashpi explain why each of these steps was necessary. She proved not just an engaging conversationalist, but also an excellent teacher when she put her mind to it and a true expert when it came to potions for healing or curing poisons or illnesses – even if I did suspect her alchemical pursuits didn't range far beyond those. All in all, the morning passed in a pleasant haze of alchemy.

It also proved quite informative in other ways.

"Oh, Methal and his little games." Tashpi shook her head. "Although in truth, I shouldn't complain. There's enough in the higher ranks of any organisation, Temple included, who're bloated with their own importance and demanding all must bow and scrape to them. It makes a nice change to have one who'd just prefer to be treated like a novice fresh from the pilgrimages."

"So he's high-ranking, then?" I carefully let five drops of marshmerrow extract fall into my bubbling mixture. Given the far longer shelf life and greater efficacy of the extract, it was hardly a surprise Tashpi had opted for it over leaves or pulp, but its use did mean I had to be very precise with the amounts.

"Oh, yes. Diviner – a step above a Disciple, only below the Temple masters and the Archcanon himself."

I couldn't deny I'd suspected something of the sort, but the level still came as a shock. He outranked the woman who'd so coolly taken charge of me and Ervesa in Vivec?

"More to the point," Tashpi continued as she shifted her pestle from her right hand to her left, then continued grinding, "he's a master of Conjuration, and I mean that in the technical sense of the word."

Seriously? But...

So I didn't know much about Temple ranks, or how quickly people generally rose through them. I did, however, know some things about what it took to earn a magical mastery. The time period involved, among others. It being about a decade longer than Methal looked to have been alive.

"But he's so young!"

"Looks young," was Tashpi's correction. "But rumour has it he converted, oh, five or so decades ago, looking much as he does now." Her lips pursed. "Maybe he's lucky – some mers' aging begins to slow early, although his would be the earliest I've ever seen. Or maybe... well, not many people have a mastery in one school without also being near it in at least some of the others. Now, life-extension magics are a well-kept secret... but no one really knows who Methal was or what he was doing before he converted."

"Um." I licked my lips. For all that I'd worked out there was more to Methal than his first appearance, this still came as something of a surprise. "I... guess I should be more polite to him, then."

"Oh, don't worry about it. He's a decent sort, whatever came before. Likes being treated normally. And he can't very well complain about not being treated like a Diviner if he's actively pretending not to be one." Tashpi, who'd finished grinding wickwheat, stretched and then walked over to where I was keeping a careful eye on three simmering beakers. "This is good work," she said after her inspection. "Nice and precise, especially with the marshmerrow extract. Now, the next step in the process..."

I was happy enough to leave the topic of high-ranking Conjuration masters who liked mingling with us common rabble aside in favour of learning more about the tricks of brewing healing potions with Morrowind ingredients.

Of course, all good things must come to an end, and so it was that not long after our lunch of toasted bread with scuttle that a knock came on Tashpi's front door. The boy, perhaps nine or so years of age, opted to deliver his message in Dunmeris. Once he had gone, Tashpi translated.

"Seems some of our storm refugees from yesterday have fallen ill." Her face was unusually grim. "I was worried about this, but they all seemed fine when I looked in on them this morning and so I hoped... well, nothing for it. I'll have to go check up on them, and pray to my ancestors that it's not the Blight. I don't suppose you have healer's training, in addition to the alchemist's?"

I shook my head. "Just a minor self-healing spell, and I've barely used it." Perhaps she'd be willing to let me stay to continue brewing instead?

"Well, I'm sure Salen will have something for you to do," Tashpi said, dashing my hopes. I supposed it was too much to expect her to leave a near-stranger performing volatile, potentially explosive tasks in her home unsupervised. "Help carry my bag, will you?"



Notes: Methal is another character where readers could have "spoiled" themselves by reading up on him on UESP - he's the master trainer of Conjuration in Morrowind, and his rank is canon. He's not involved in any quests, though - I'm guessing the "canon" Nerevarine didn't catch his attention for whatever reason. All things told, this is probably a good thing for them.

I enjoyed the alchemy session in Tashpi’s tastefully decorated shell-house. A nice break for Adryn from the ash and crowd. I confess, I’m getting a little crush on Ervesa!

@Grits - I'm glad you like the alchemy - I have to give Adryn a little break in between horrifying death-defying escapades or she'll go on strike - and Ervesa! She does make for a nice hero, doesn't she? Adryn thinks so too, although she'd never admit it.

Last installment, Adryn found herself still stuck in Maar Gan after the ash storm. She did get to chat with Ervesa and squeeze in some alchemy with Tashpi, a healer she met, but the latter was sadly cut short as Tashpi was called back to the Temple, Adryn going with her...



The afternoon was spent doing chores around the temple while avoiding the dremora and the sick ward. This was significantly less interesting than the morning - sweeping couldn't really compare to alchemy - but there was something of a bright side. During the times we were working side-by-side, Scarecrow decided to liven things up by attempting to teach me some basics of Dunmeris. By that evening, I'd learned such essentials as "hello", "thank you", "excuse me", and "my sincere apologies, good gentleperson, but I don't speak Dunmeris."

No silt-strider was spotted from Maar Gan that day.

The second day passed similarly, although with even less alchemy. Tashpi was still occupied in the sick ward, and although she didn't say a word about the illness her grim face made me suspect her fears had been realised. I kept my distance - the guar had been more than enough Blight disease for me - and hoped that any quarantine would confine itself to the sickroom and leave those of us in the rest of the Temple out of it.

In the meantime, my Dunmeris vocabulary expanded to introducing myself and talking about the weather. Scarecrow (whose name the lessons in introductions had proved to be Salen Ravel, but the nickname was now stuck in my head) praised my pronunciation, and also praised the cleanliness of the Temple. I suspected I'd removed years' worth of dust in some places.

No silt-strider made its way across the horizon that day either, and I could see worry in some of the faces at dinner.

After breakfast on the third day found me back in the storage room where I'd been staying. Although the first night after the storm I'd shared the glorified cupboard with three other storm refugees, they'd drifted away over the last few days - one finding a room in the tradehouse, the other two banding together with some of the other stranded pilgrims to travel together - and now it was just me again.

On the one hand, the space was welcome, never to mention not needing to sleep mere feet from the woman who I'd only ever be able to think of as The Snorer. On the other, the slow dispersal of all the others made me wonder if, with the unexpectedly long absence of the strider, I was also expected to find other accommodation - or worse, try to make my way back to Ald'ruhn on foot. That worry was one of the reasons I'd volunteered for cleaning duties.

Cleaning duties I was currently taking a break from. Scarecrow was across town meeting with the headsman of Maar Gan and hadn't suggested anything for me to do before he left. I'd have taken advantage of the unexpected reprieve, except that I also had nothing else to do.

Tashpi was still occupied in the sick room, face grimmer every time I saw her and lately half-covered by an enchanted cloth mask. Methal, too, was busy. Apparently he'd heard about my altercation with the Daedra somehow (I blamed Scarecrow, personally). Thankfully, he left off probing about what exactly had occurred when I made clear that I would not be answering any questions on the subject, thank you very much. Still, he professed himself concerned about the creature's misbehaviour and was now giving the spells that bound it harmlessly to this realm a closer look. Needless to mention, I was not going to be involving myself in that either.

I probably shouldn't mind being separated from Methal. His declared intention of converting me had been uncomfortable enough when I'd thought he was a perfectly ordinary person like me; knowing his true rank left me with a cold feeling in my stomach. I didn't like important people knowing who I was. I didn't like important people having plans involving me.

But truly, I told myself, what harm could he possibly be intending? Here in Morrowind I was no one. In Skyrim it might once have been otherwise, but of all the things Methal might still be hiding I doubted a connection to any of the Skyrim Thieves' Guilds was one. I was simply too unimportant to be more than a bit player in whatever scheme Methal might be running. This taken into account, Methal was at least fun to talk to, and - given that he'd probably forgotten more magic than I'd ever known - someone it might be very instructive for me to spend time with.

I sat down on the cot, kicking my boots off so I could stretch out my legs without needing to feel guilty. Pulling my pack up into my lap, I began to rifle through it in search of something - anything - to occupy my mind. Potions... a clean tunic...

I couldn't have considered bringing a book, could I?

More potions... a stack of linen pads... aha.

Cool crystal met my fingers. I pulled out the strange not-enchanted stone Methal had given me during the storm.

Possibly of Dwemer make, he'd said. That hadn't rung true to me at the time and still didn't now, although I didn't (yet) have any great expertise as far as the Dwemer went to support my intuition in the matter. Living in Markarth did not count, thank you Edwinna.

Letting my fingers trace the inscription on the crystal, I let my mind drift. For all my boredom, this was an excellent opportunity to think on things... particularly certain things I was usually too enmeshed in to be able to take a step back from. Stuck in Maar Gan with nothing to do and no one I knew around, I was able to look at things, I thought, a little more objectively.

The Mages' Guild was beginning to become a problem.

Trebonius with his Dwemer, Ranis Athrys and her mad plans involving the guild guide network... even Ajira and her flowers, much as I hated to think it. I'd hoped Edwinna would be better, but even if she hadn't intended it this errand of hers had certainly put me in harm's way. You'd think that an alchemist and aspiring mage would fit perfectly into the guild, but so far the main things I seemed to be gaining from the experience were completely unsuitable tasks often involving life-threatening danger, learning disabilities, no room for working on alchemy at all, and - of course - no steady income.

Should I let the guild go? Quit and strike out on my own? I was no longer as lost as in my first days in the island, I knew to make something of the native ingredients, I even had contacts of a sort. Tashpi had mentioned a not insignificant portion of her custom came from healing potions. If I kept an eye out for independent alchemists who could use an extra supplier... or apothecaries in need of steady custom...

But I liked the guild. Ajira, obviously, but also jesting with Marayn and Uleni over breakfast, trading barbs with Galbedir, helping Masalinie - being part of a community again, however frustrating it might sometimes prove. I'd been on my own since my time in Windhelm had come to such an abrupt and horrifying conclusion, and I was only now realising how much I'd missed being part of a group.

And... even if I could strike out on my own now, I hadn't been in any shape to do so when I'd arrived. The guild had taken me in, given me safe haven. Didn't I owe them something for that?

As my mind wandered, so did my magicka. Not really thinking about it, I began to probe the curious object in my hand. It wasn't enchanted, had no magicka of its own I could draw on, but there was something I couldn't quite put my finger on. Some trick to it...

You have to prime the spell, Divayth, feed it just a trickle... like so...

The first indication I had that I'd done something came when the cot vanished under me.

Nice to see Adryn learning some Dunmeris. Ooo, I love how her boredom and mental meanderings led to accidentally activating the crystal!

uh, whups!

I'm sure she is now experiencing the same feeling I felt when my horse disappeared from beneath me . . .

Let's hope she's not at a dizzying height this time.

@Grits - I've actually wanted to get Adryn started on learning Dunmeris for a while! It didn't quite come together until now, though. Possibly for the best, considering she immediately teleports herself off somewhere

@haute ecole rider - probably! I don't ride myself, but I can imagine having something solid you're relying on be replaced by air is remarkably disconcerting! At least, Adryn thinks so.

@ghastley - let's hope! Adryn does wear her Slowfall amulet religiously these days, but she'd still prefer to avoid a repeat.

Last installment, Adryn was bored in Maar Gan. Being bored in Maar Gan resulted in her playing with the strange crystal Methal had given her. Unfortunately, it looks like the crystal in question has powers Adryn wasn't expecting, and she set them off by accident. Let's see what they are...



Luckily, I'd been sitting up, arms resting on my knees. As such, my skull did not make harsh and unexpected contact with the stone ground. That was where my luck ended, because my tailbone did and the resulting blaze of pain meant I was unable to think about my sudden displacement - or, for that matter, anything other than ow - for quite some time.

"Tulen, if this is supposed to be a joke, I'm not laughing," I growled when I could make noise other than whimpering. Scarecrow's son had made an appearance yesterday evening, and I for one heartily distrusted his blend of a love for practical jokes and minor skill at Alteration. "If you think vanishing occupied furniture is funny-"

I looked up, and my voice trailed off mid-sentence.

I was sitting on a raised platform in the middle of a large square windowless room made out of some dark stone. To either side were two lower platforms, each with a large crystal floating over it. Light danced through the air, slow-moving white sparks that arced upwards from one crystal to stream along the ceiling to the other. A vibrating hum rose from the ground into my bones.

In short, I was now in a place that didn't even remotely resemble the one I'd been in a minute ago.

I took a moment to soak in the sheer unfairness of the universe. I hadn't even been trying to teleport this time!

Leather shifted in my lap as I drew my legs under me. Apparently, although the cot hadn't made the journey with me, my pack was a different matter. And one thing I'd been smart enough to bring with me this time...

A matter of moments had the map unrolled, a few more and I'd mustered the necessary concentration to activate its enchantment. The glowing dot formed north-north-east of Maar Gan, halfway between it and the coast. It rested directly next to a tiny label. I brought the map right up to my face and read...

Falasmaryon.

"You have got to be kidding me," I said flatly.

Alas, squeezing my eyes shut and hoping very firmly that this was a dream did not have the hoped-for effect. Nor did repeating the operation. I grudgingly accepted that this was, in fact, happening, and levered myself to my feet.

Grit dug into my socks, and I remembered with a sinking feeling that I'd taken my boots off in order to relax on the bed.

I wasn't just stranded in the wilderness, I was stranded in the wilderness with no shoes.

Why did these things keep happening to me?

I rifled through my pack again, rather more desperately than I'd looked for something to occupy my mind earlier. The air had been crisp in the mornings of late, so I'd bought...

My new cloak was green wool, worn a little thin in places but still sinfully soft. It wouldn't have been warm enough for Windhelm but should, I'd judged from asking around, more than suffice for Vvardenfell unless I suddenly developed a burning desire to visit the northernmost, desolate Sheogorad region. I'd used the excuse of a near-invisible stain near the bottom and a mended hole at the shoulder to haggle Ra'Virr of the pawn shop down to five drakes for it and left well-pleased with my prize, secure in my preparations for winter.

Life makes fools of us all. I winced as I took out my knife and began cutting strips off my lovely new cloak.

Old memory rose around me as I worked. We'd been so poor, Charon and I, lost in Markarth after the Warp. To Edwinna, Markarth might be the Dwemer. To me Markarth was the Warrens, Markarth was shivering around a paltry fire in threadbare clothes as the blizzard howled outside, Markarth was payday on Fredas with each coin carefully scrimped and stretched through the week and yet my stomach gnawing at itself every Turdas all the same. Although Charon had chanced upon a holey, worn-out pair of boots deposited in the rubbish heap that could be salvaged, my narrow elven feet weren't so lucky. There hadn't been near enough money to pay a cobbler, so instead I'd tear old rags into strips and wrap them around my feet. I rather fancied I'd caught the trick to it, as time went on. At least, I'd never lost toes to frostbite... something not all of our neighbours had been able to say.

Feet firmly wrapped, I carefully made my way to the only door, leaving the weight of memory behind.

At first, I thought the door was locked. Then I put a bit more force into my push, and it came unstuck with a metallic screech - the sound, I suspected, of hinges that had not been required to do their job for centuries and were displeased at this sudden end to their vacation. Sunlight streamed in the open doorway, and I blinked, half-blinded after the dark.

For a moment I thought I saw a small sillhouette outlined against the glare, but when I blinked again it was gone.

I stepped out to find myself standing on a flat, tiled surface raised off the ground, having just exited from what looked like a tower. Across from me, another building rose from the plateau, to the right stairs led down to the ground. Everything was made from the same dark stone.

Especially combined with the ash-grey of our surroundings, it should probably have given the scene an ominous, oppressive feel. Instead, it felt... lonely, and not a little bit sad. Somehow, some part of me was convinced this place should be teeming with life, streams of people passing through the doors, a forest of yurts down below. Seeing it abandoned like this made my heart ache.

I shook my head to dismiss my flight of fancy. It was all well and nice to go visit an ancient Chimer fortress, but if it had truly been so necessary I could have made my own travel arrangements. I really hadn't needed to be deposited on top of one by yet another magical mishap, thank you universe.

Now, the question was - investigate, or leave?

On the one hand, Maar Gan was quite some distance away, the stretch between it and me most likely beset by wild beasts, Blighted creatures, bandits and other such unsavouries. It was not a trek I was looking forward to making on my lonesome.

On the other, given the nature of what lived in the wilderness, if there was anyone living in the building opposite they almost certainly wouldn't be friendly. Hadn't Ervesa said something about that, in fact?

Of course, I was - if I did say so myself - a highly accomplished pickpocket and sneak-thief. It wouldn't particularly matter whether any hypothetical inhabitants were friendly or not if they never learned I was there.

Also, they might have boots.

Still thinking about it, I began to approach the wooden doors. I'd taken only a few steps when I noticed something that made me stop.

Like most places in this area of the island, everything here was covered in a thin layer of ash... ash that made an excellent canvas for footprints. Mine were the only ones that approached the tower with the crystals (and I certainly hoped the single set of footprints leaving, with none entering, proved a mystery for any future visitors). In contrast, there was a clear track from the stairs to the entrance of the larger building. There was no question that it was inhabited.

But that wasn't what had made me stop.

What had made me stop was... well, I might be imagining things, seeing as I was hardly a trained tracker and there were a number of prints layered on top of each other, but...

Some of the footprints looked wrong.

And suddenly "ominous and oppressive" felt like a very accurate term for this place after all.

What in Onsi's name do you think you're doing, Adryn?

"Something very stupid, Charon," I whispered. "But I can take a hint when my mind decides to hit me over the head with it." I'd survived this far, I could survive a trek through the Ashlands, surely. And there were probably no shoes to be found in there anyway.

I was about to turn to leave when the door I'd been walking towards creaked open. The person that stepped out was...

Well. First of all, person was almost certainly the wrong word for it.

Most of it looked distinctly person-shaped, true. Two arms and legs, a bald head with pointed ears, skin the colour of the ash around us - or, in other words, the colour of my own. It could have been a Dunmer man, if one who'd apparently decided wandering around in a desolate region in nothing but a loincloth was appropriate... except for the face.

In the place where, on your average person, one might expect such features as eyes or a nose this creature sported a gaping, bloody hole. It stretched from one ear to another, began high on the forehead and ended just above thin lips, was in short large enough to make clear that the creature's skull was entirely hollow.

I'd never tease Varvur about not having a brain again.

The creature hissed and took a step forward, the horror that passed for its face turning from side to side as though seeking something. Despite the strong, nearly irresistible temptation to run screaming, or possibly bend over and vomit, I stayed very, very still.

This... thing... was almost certainly not friendly, and I didn't like my chances in a chase. However, although it seemed to suspect my presence, it certainly wasn't reacting as if it knew where I was. And, of course, it was glaringly, in fact grotesquely obvious that it was lacking anything one could recognise as eyes. If it was blind, reliant on hearing, then perhaps if I stayed very, very quiet...

Something crunched beneath a grey foot as the thing took another, hesitant step in my direction, head still swivelling. I held my breath as it stopped. It seemed confused.

There's no one here, I willed. You can't hear anything, go away, there's no one here...

After what felt like an eternity, the creature turned around. Dragging footsteps carried it back into the building, the door falling shut behind it with a loud thud. My lungs were beginning to burn, but I didn't dare exhale. I couldn't quite believe that had worked.

"Ni, vyn! Llon tetha!"

The hissed whisper came from my side. I whirled around, breath leaving me in a gasp.

The man standing in the shadow of the tower I'd emerged from was wearing chitin armour, the same as I'd seen Ervesa don that morning. He'd left off the helm, which meant I could easily see that he (Nine be praised) had all the facial features one would expect in the appropriate locations. He held a bow with an arrow nocked, but the string was relaxed, the arrow pointing at the ground.

He frowned at whatever he saw on my face. "Outlander." His voice had the heaviest accent I'd heard yet in Morrowind. "Get over here. Before it comes back."

He didn't have to tell me twice.



Notes: Have I mentioned I find the Sixth House indescribably creepy and disturbing recently? No?

I'm using Hrafnir's language creation attempt as a basis for Dunmeris, because I did not want to write either complete gibberish or try creating a conlang from scratch. Mysterious Dunmer is saying something along the lines of "You, woman! Get over here!"

Standing ovation for the section with Adryn wrapping her feet and remembering Markarth. That was simply beautiful. Yikes, the creature is horrifying!

@Grits - *blushing* Thanks!! I was very proud of that section and am delighted it worked for you. And... yep, the Sixth House is horrifying! That creature, and all the other ones that will come up, are canon, and it's heavily implied that the way they come into being is... well. I'll just let you read the next bit, shall I?

Last installment, Adryn accidentally teleported herself to Falasmaryon - with her pack, but without her shoes, a lack she is quickly coming to regret. She'd barely left the chamber she teleported into before she had a close call with a strange eyeless monster. Thankfully, the creature missed her, and after it left a far less hostile Dunmer entered the scene. Let's see who he is and what he knows about what's going on here...



The man, who tersely introduced himself as one Missun Akin, led me to a small yurt made of chitin, bone and guarhide hidden between tumbled boulders in the shadow of the fortress. I hadn't exactly grown up around nomads – the Skyrim climate wasn't particularly suited to the lifestyle – so it surprised me how homely and familiar the little tent felt. Perhaps it was a matter of contrast. After all, in comparison to the fortress and its inhabitants, a wind-scoured crag of rock would qualify as welcoming.

If so, my companion was probably similar. Akin struck me as dour, his responses curt and his glances at me definitely disapproving. If I'd met him in Balmora, or Ald'ruhn, we would probably not have gotten on. In Falasmaryon, such details of attitude were minor foibles, too trivial to consider, compared to the fact that he clearly shared my beliefs regarding the possession of facial features.

He also gained points for the way he'd stopped after closing the yurt's entrance-flap to whisper a word that made green light flash in its corners. After a moment's reflexive terror, I recognised a Muffle enchantment. Given the sort of things that were out and about here, making sure our voices wouldn't carry was an example of good sense I felt I could get behind.

"Here." A flask was thrust my way. "Drink."

I found myself obeying blindly, all alchemical curiosity – as well as worry about the contents – burned away by shock. My hands were still shaking.

Luckily for courtesy (in the form of me not spitting out a gift of hospitality), it wasn't alcohol. Rather, it was some chilled tea. Tongue-curlingly bitter – there was definitely scathecraw in there – it was nevertheless refreshing... and, more importantly, calming. If Ajira and I hadn't already worked out that scathecraw was a mental restorative, this would have proved it. After only a few gulps, my racing heart slowed. A few more, and the tremor that had seized me was easing.

The mer watched me drink with an inscrutable expression. "I am used to outlanders being stupid," he said after some moments, "but exploring Falasmaryon after an ash storm, this is stupid enough to come as a surprise. You have no idea how lucky you were. What were you even thinking?"

"It wasn't exactly intentional." My feeling of friendship, comraderie and brotherhood among all people who believed in cranial organs had definitely been dented by that remark. "It was a teleportation accident," oh, and I really wanted to never need to say those words ever again. "I was studying a magical item and suddenly- poof! I was sitting in the middle of that big crystal chamber."

"Ah." There was a definite thaw in Akin's gaze (easily visible due to him possessing that most wondrous of things, eyes). "Interesting. I have wondered about that chamber, and there are tales told of the ancestors travelling between fortresses in the blink of an eye. I would ask you for details, except," his voice grew dry, "that the ash monsters make any such travel too unsafe to risk at the moment."

"Believe me, I noticed." Then, proving I'd not had enough horror for the day, I asked, "Ash monsters?"

"It is what we Velothi call them. They have begun appearing, in caves and fortresses and hidden places deep in the Ashlands. When I learned that Falasmaryon had been infested, I decided to investigate to see if I could discover the cause."

Akin held out a hand. After a moment, I realised what he wanted and handed back the flask. He took a long drink, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

I wasn't sure how I felt about the fact that this hard-bitten man clearly felt he needed fortification to continue talking about this. A wise person would almost certainly stop asking now. Alas for me, my allotted portion of wisdom had been replaced by more curiosity at birth. "And? What did you find out?"

Mere minutes later, I knew that although I was lacking in wisdom, I could at least boast of some foresight. I had been absolutely right: I should definitely have stopped asking.

According to Akin, people sometimes came to the fortress. Regular people, like him and me, in possession of all their facial features. They had certain commonalities, though. For instance, they all – even the ones whose fine clothing proclaimed them nobles – looked to have come a long distance, on foot, through the ash. And they moved as though sleep-walking, taking no notice of Akin at all.

They entered the fortress. What left was... different.

"You are telling me," I said flatly, "that that thing used to be a person. One who, what, gouged out his own brain?"

How I wished that question was sarcastic. Alas, I meant it sincerely, and Akin answered it the same way.

"As far as I can tell, yes. At the start the hole only encompasses the eyes... and judging by the marks, yes, the afflicted tear them out themselves. It becomes larger until the upper half of the face is entirely gone. At that point, an appendage grows out of the cavity, similar to a netch's limb." Akin was looking at the flask as though wishing it held alcohol. "I would like to believe that is the final stage, but I doubt it. Once, from a distance, I saw a great robed being with many tentacles for a face. The growths looked... familiar."

"I am never eating again." Also, I cursed my vivid imagination. An uncreative mind sounded like an excellent thing right now.

"You were very lucky, you know. The state you saw is the one in which the creature is most unaware of its surroundings. They begin to gain magical senses soon after. I myself have had a few close calls with the later stages. If it had been one of those that went to investigate..."

I decided not to think about that possibility. Instead, I asked, "Have you informed the Temple about any of this? It seems to be connected to some things they're looking into. Strange statues ensorcelling people, controlling them to act against their nature... this might very well be where that leads."

For a moment, I forgot all the trouble the whole thing had caused me and was simply glad I'd chosen to help Varvur. Although (I couldn't lie) he was indeed ugly enough to make small children run crying, he'd look even worse with a trunk growing out of his face.

Akin scowled. It was an impressive expression. I inched backwards.

"You are an outlander," he said after a moment. "I suppose you cannot help being ignorant, so I will not take offense. But you had best learn quickly, because I am among the few that would not. Know this: the Temple is no friend to the Velothi."

The Temple is not your friend, you stupid creature-

I pushed the dremora's words out of my mind.

"Um. Would you mind elaborating? Because I promise no offense was intended, and I'd like to avoid similar... accidents in the future."

Akin looked at me for a long moment as if gauging my sincerity. I made sure to keep meeting his eyes, expression open and earnest. Personally, I thought it would be really nice if I could stop insulting people when I wasn't actively trying. Past experience also told me this feat would probably require divine intervention, but I could at least try.

"Very well. An outlander who wishes to learn is a rare thing. One must make the most of it."

Which was how I found myself getting a crash course in the culture of the Velothi tribes – Ashlanders, the settled ones called us, as if we choose to live in the desolate regions – and their interactions with the Tribunal Temple. Honestly, it sounded much like many stories of a poor culture trying to eke out an existence against a dominant majority. It reminded me of some of the stories Charon had told of life in the Alik'r, or the treatment of Reachmen in Markarth and its surroundings. The Morrowind version seemed to come with a side of religious oppression, and of course unlike in the Reach all involved were the same race, but the common themes were undeniable.

Although for all my world-weary cynicism, the matter sat badly with me – as though something within me rebelled at the thought of (the Chimer) the Dunmer thus divided.

I shook off the strange feeling and focused on things I had a slightly larger chance of influencing. "All right, I get that you don't like the Temple, and for good reason. But isn't this," I waved a hand in the general direction of the fortress, "grounds to put aside your grudges for the time being? I mean, there's some kind of malignant force ensorcelling people and turning them into twisted monstrous horror-things straight from Vaermina's realm. This sounds like a case for allying against a common threat, no matter what went before."

(A smoky room full of bearded faces watching me with suspicion, a gigantic hand engulfing my own-)

"I admire your optimism." All right, that officially made it the first time anyone had said those words to me. I felt vaguely insulted. "For myself, history tells me that if a Velothi goes to the priests bearing tales of such corruption, it does not go well for the Velothi."

"What about an outlander? Because if you don't mind, I am planning to make a line straight back to Maar Gan and spill this story to some priests I know. Er- long story, but I got tangled up in the ash statues on the other end of this in Ald'ruhn and should have some contacts and goodwill to call on from that experience. In Redoran as well," I spoke as the thought occurred to me. "I'm pretty sure Athyn Sarethi would be extremely interested to learn of this. I can keep your name out of it, of course."

Akin was looking at me as though he'd never quite seen anything like me before. "You have... interesting friends, outlander. The assouribael in Urshilaku have spoken well of the current clan-head of Sarethi. Very well, then."

He gave a stately nod as though granting me permission to discuss the matter. It was all for the best, considering that I'd been planning to do so regardless of his opinion.

After all, I liked to think of myself as in possession of a healthy dose of sanity, and doing anything other than running screaming to the nearest... actually, to every single person I felt able and willing to do something about this would thoroughly disprove that fact. Still, I felt it best to leave Akin the impression his disapproval would have made a difference. We were getting on so unusually well, it was a state of affairs I'd like to see continue.

"I suggest you leave soon, if you wish to make it to Maar Gan before nightfall," Akin said. "The creatures do not venture from Falasmaryon on a clear day. During storms, or in the dark, is a different matter."

I sighed. Part of me had been hoping... but Akin didn't sound inclined to escort me, and I wasn't inclined to ask.

"You're right. No point in wasting daylight. Um..." I stared at my ash-covered feet. "I don't suppose you could lend me a pair of shoes?"

Oh. My Goodness. That was completely horrifying. I could use a swig of that scathecraw drink.

What I do NOT want is any of whatever the person who thought up the Ash Monsters was using.

Was the reference to Vaermina a "dreams" one, or just nightmare? I.e does Adryn think at this point that Vaermina is involved? In ES:O the "dreamers" are Vaermina's thralls, and that's history for TES3's time.

@Grits & @ghastley - see, these are the things I mean when I say that I find the Sixth House completely horrifying!

@ghastley - Vaermina was supposed to be simply a TES-esque version of "nightmarish", but this definitely gives me ideas! (I haven't played as much of TES:O Morrowind as I'd like and probably should fix that - as you say, it's history by Adryn's day.)

Last installment, Adryn spent some time talking with her rescuer, one Missun Akin. This involved learning not just about the Ashlanders and their treatment, but also about what, exactly, happened to those who vanished after being subjected to an ash statue. Alas, at some point Adryn does need to leave the safe yurt and make the trek back to Maar Gan...



Unfortunately for my soles, Akin could not lend me any footwear. I must have looked so pathetic at that revelation that he did take pity on me; no shoes were to be had, but he gave me some dried jerky and a waterskin to tide me over. He also mentioned that I might run into some cousins of his on the way to Maar Gan... although from his words, I wasn't sure if that qualified as a good thing.

"Fools. Harmless fools, at least. They may posture, seek to intimidate you. Pay them no heed." He looked me over for a moment, then sighed. "Although... they are not fond of the settled people, nor of outlanders, and young enough to be idiots about it. Tell them Missun permitted you to pass, if they decide to bare their teeth at you. That should serve to deflate them."

Thus warned, I left the little yurt along with the monster-ridden fortress looming over it behind me.

Walking through fresh ash was similar to doing so through loose snow: exhausting, each step a fight as I sunk in deep and needed to pull hard to free my foot again. In another situation, I might have considered going slowly, taking regular breaks to keep my strength up.

I liked the sound of that alternate situation, truth be told. Alternate Adryn had probably found herself in the middle of the Ashlands, nowhere near any buildings, no clue what sort of spell she'd dodged. Unfortunately for me, it wasn't the situation I was in, and for all Akin's words about how they stayed close to the fortress I wanted to get as much distance between myself and the things at Falasmaryon as possible. And so I struggled on, put foot in front of foot and ignored the burning in my thighs with the grim determination that comes with suppressed terror.

I'd have worried about losing my boots to the ash-drifts, but – of course – I wasn't wearing any. Silver linings, I supposed.

Another silver lining: at least the ash was comparatively warm. I wouldn't be losing toes to frostbite today, either, even if I suspected I'd never quite get the grit out from between them after this trip.

Time passed. I crested one hill, then another, then another. The sun rose higher in the sky, setting the wastes ablaze in light. My legs stayed at a steady throb, but I stumbled on despite them. My stomach began to growl, and I thought of the jerky Akin had given me as I left. It had been a kind gift, truly, considering that the man clearly didn't have much to his name. It also hadn't been very much – I'd finished it before I was even out of sight of the yurt. Why hadn't I packed something to eat?

Oh, because I hadn't planned to leave Maar Gan. I'd been debating even leaving the Temple.

I finally stopped for a breather beneath an old, dead tree. It was one of many that dotted the landscape.

This land must have been different, once – greener, lightly forested, with some semblance of plant and animal life. Now, it was ghostly quiet. I hadn't realised how much I took a certain level of background noise for granted until it was gone. The hum of activity in a city, birdsong in the wilderness, the lapping of waves at the shore. The closest I'd come to this desolation were the few times I'd been up in the mountains in midwinter, but even then... Skyrim in winter was a world in deep sleep. This land was closer to dead.

There weren't even any animals – fortunate, admittedly, since I hadn't been looking forward to tangling with cliff racers, guar, or kagouti, but disturbing nonetheless. Especially seeing as I knew I'd spotted some from the silt strider to Maar Gan. Perhaps they avoided the region around Falasmaryon, just as I was trying to do.

The advantage of the dead landscape, of course, was that with the skies clear and no forest to get in the way, I could see for miles. The brooding shape of Falasmaryon lay far, far behind me, nearly hidden behind a hill. And – Nine be praised – there was no sign of pursuit.

From that point on, I walked more slowly, even stopping on occasion to pick ingredients. As though the land wished to prove to me that it was not, in fact, dead, I passed scathecraw, fire fern, and a dark, thorny curling vine that I recognised as the trama root I'd chopped for yesterday's soup. Given that I knew for a fact it was edible when cooked – and that I was starving – I decided to experiment with my Firebite spell. The result was a little more charred than I'd have liked, but I managed to swallow it down and it soothed my rumbling stomach well enough.

Of course, I made sure to leave some of the root for later, alchemical use. I remembered from my work with Ajira that it was quite a useful ingredient, with not just a restorative effect that made it a prime candidate for the standard shock remedy but also forming part of the recipe for the levitation potion that had saved me in Arkngthand.

I really hoped I'd still be able to indulge in experimentation with Ajira, now that I was nominally a Dwemer scholar of the Ald'ruhn guild.

And that brought me right back to the thoughts I'd been wrestling with before my unplanned and unwanted displacement. Should I leave the guild?

No, I decided. For all that I was frustrated with how things had gone, I wasn't yet ready to give up on it. This excursion had been somewhat enlightening on that matter. I found myself missing the companionship with an ache so fierce it surprised me.

Besides, I'd just proved pretty thoroughly that I didn't need help to get myself into life-threatening situations.

Some time later, my ingredient vials were nearing full, the sun said it was nearing mid-afternoon, the landscape that I was about to enter a gorge, my map that this gorge was the Foyada Bani-Dad and that from here it wasn't far to Maar Gan, and I was suddenly hearing voices.

Voices speaking Dunmeris, from the sounds of it. My paltry knowledge of the language told me they probably weren't introducing themselves.

With a frown, I sent my magical senses spiralling outwards. My latest brush with teleportation misfortune had left me more aware of the dangers of doing so, but my Detection spells were so handy I wasn't willing to forgo them. I'd just have to be careful to steer them well clear of any crystals I might encounter – certainly of the one tucked into my pack.

Four people, one a little further than the other three, all a short distance ahead. I was still hidden from view, but would be in full sight once I rounded the next bend. More, the path descended steeply here as it met the foyada, cutting through a slope that could almost be termed a cliff – there was no way to avoid it. A quick consultation of my map proved there was no decent alternative route, either, not unless I felt like backtracking almost all the way to Falasmaryon.

Well. I'd have to hope that it was truly the cousins Akin had mentioned, and that they were as harmless as first promised.

I rounded the bend to see the path widen to a broad ledge. Scathecraw and trama bushes grew thick and heavy in the shadow of the hill, a veritable little grove that, combined with the sound of trickling water, pointed to a spring nearby. A yurt was tucked amidst the bushes, with three Dunmer – two men and a women – standing in front of it. All three were wearing what I recognised as netch leather armour, with the scarves and goggles of people who spent time in the Ashlands. More worryingly, all three were armed – a spear propped in arms'-reach here, a strung bow slung across the other's back, and of course sheathed daggers hung at all three belts.

They looked up as I approached. I was still too far distant to tell, but I hoped very hard said looks were friendly.

"Outlander!" the largest man called, then turned to his companions. "Look, Rasamsi, I told you word would get around and someone would come." Then, back to me, "You are here to pay the ransom, yes?"

"...ransom?" I hoped I didn't sound as utterly befuddled as I felt. Whatever I'd been expecting, this wasn't it.

The man shook his finger at me. "Ha, you pretend ignorance! A clever strategy, but I am cleverer." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the woman close her eyes as if in despair.

Don't argue with armed men, Adryn. "I'm sure you are," I offered, trying my very hardest to be diplomatic. "And I'm sure you won't mind telling me about this ransom, right? I somehow seem to have failed to hear of it, and I'm certain it's a very clever scheme indeed."

The second man's eyes narrowed, but the speaker's chest puffed up. I mentally dubbed him Peacock. I'd seen one once, in the menagerie attached to the Blue Palace (which I'd been passing through on perfectly legitimate business, thank you very much), and the way this man strutted reminded me very much of the bird showing off its plumed tail.

"I, the great Manat Shimmabadas," I silently tried that last name on for size and decided he could stay Peacock, "have taken a Redoran noble captive!"

"He was wandering lost and alone, with an ash storm on the way," the second man chimed in. "We rescued him, you should say. Sheltered him, gave him of our food and water. It's only right we should be rewarded for our work."

I cocked an eyebrow. That story was... odd. "A Redoran noble was wandering alone in the Ashlands? No guards?"

"See," the woman burst out, as though the words had been piling up inside her and couldn't be held back anymore, "even the outlander can smell the stink here! Manat, I told you-"

"Shut up, Rasamsi," Peacock said. There was an intonation to his words that made me think he said this (or the Dunmeris equivalent) a lot. "Obviously she is here to pay the ransom, and trying to cast doubt on his story so we let him go cheaply. Alas for her, I am too smart for such tricks! I could not consider letting the noble go for less than twenty septims."

Twenty. Septims.

Twenty septims?

Well, if it really was a noble they'd caught, it wasn't as unreasonable as it sounded. Twenty septims was probably pocket change to the likes of Athyn or Varvur Sarethi. Alas for Peacock, I really wasn't here to rescue anyone, and two thousand drakes was wildly beyond my paltry means.

"Somehow," the woman snapped, "I think if she were on an errand of rescue she would be wearing shoes."

I decided I liked her. She had sense, something that was clearly in short supply around here.

"A clever disguise, no doubt, just as the noble's. Meant to make us believe her poor, into lowering the ransom out of pity. Alas for your plan, I am too smart to be tricked so!"

Right.

"Um." I doubted Peacock would let me just walk past; no doubt he'd consider it another trick he was too clever to fall for.

Besides, if he really had kidnapped a noble, there might be opportunity there, I told myself. Athyn Sarethi had been grateful enough when I'd interceded for Varvur. Perhaps this time I'd be able to get a reward in the form of shiny coin.

"Could I have a word with your captive in private?"

Peacock hesitated.

"You can't possibly expect me to go on your word alone, with no proof of life or health. For all I know, you're not holding anyone captive at all. I need a bit more than that if you want me to even consider paying a ransom. And, of course, assurances of good treatment on your part... the kind I cannot possibly obtain with you listening in." Then, although it made me feel vaguely ill to say, "Come now, you're clearly an intelligent man. You must understand how these things work."

A muffled snort from the woman.

Peacock, bless him, fell for it completely. "Of course, of course. As you say, this is how these things work. I am quite experienced in these matters. Come, Rasamsi, Adairan, let us let the outlander and our guest have their chat."



Notes: I have relocated Manat and co. slightly from their canonical location. I regret nothing.

I have no idea where the Peacock Gang is supposed to be or who their prisoner is, but I'm curious!