The quest to uncover Adryn's past continues. And it is understandable that she is more comfortable with the "ancient ancestors, who never actually abandoned me" part of that quest.

I had to laugh at Adryn's interrogation of the whole "Oh no- you can't use a Master-level home-brewed potion!" racket. Trust a person who--- formerly possessed moral latitude to spot a money-making scheme.

And- as others have pointed out elsewhere, if Vivec was really SO concerned about "his people"- why did he decide to leave the moon hanging there, as a permanent threat, instead of flinging it away?

And I have often used the "To Stop the Moon" shrine when my character needed to get somewhere in a hurry- probably a scandalous violation of Temple protocol, to which Trey says- "Yeah- and so what?"

You have a wonderful talent for heightening tension and then relieving with... Adryn being herself, which strikes the rest of us as humorous. The result is that both are enhanced in the reading.

Note to those who don't follow the writing chat thread: Adryn's place of last residence in Skyrim is now Windhelm, not Solitude, and past posts have been edited accordingly. My reasoning can be found there; basically, I picked Solitude before Skyrim actually came out, and once I played the game I discovered Windhelm was a much better fit for what I'd been imagining. The general irony of it all is just icing on the cake.

@haute ecole rider - you can't possibly expect Adryn to let this sort of thing pass unremarked! It offends her all the way down to her core both as an alchemist and an ex-professional criminal. As for Vivec... we'll see.

@SubRosa - I, being an inveterate linguistics geek, actually did some research into this and it looks like Llarara's theory is wrong. Kids can lose their native language from lack of use, that part is true, but according to the studies I found they lose it so completely they have zero advantage if they try to learn it again later in life. I find this pretty astonishing, honestly, to the point where I left this as it was - Llarara is after all working off a sample size of two, and I can't imagine that some former native speakers don't get a leg up!

And it's also worth noting that there's a confounding factor Llarara isn't aware of: Adryn is, after all, dreaming in fluent Chimeris most nights.

@ghastley - ...honestly, I feel as though I can only adequately respond to that after the end of this section.

@treydog - glad you approve! My characters usually ended up master-level alchemists fairly quickly in-game and that always annoyed me. I don't quite remember, but the image of Adryn arguing with the shrine may have been one of the earliest scenes I came up with when I started writing. And I, too, horrendously abused the Shrine to Stop the Moon.

Vivec and Baar Dau... I 100% hear you. Vivec is a weird character for me, because for some reason I keep on liking him despite the giant mountain of reasons why I shouldn't. Baar Dau especially is one of the ones that is very hard to explain with him remotely sympathetic. I do actually plan on taking it on eventually - I don't generally consider myself bound by post-Morrowind canon - but that would be in the far far future of this story (read "probably Adryn: Tribunal").

And of course thank you for the kind words about my writing! Adryn calls for a very particular blend of humour and drama, and I'm always glad to hear that it's working for people.

Last installment, Adryn argued her way into being allowed to perform the Shrine to Stop the Moon pilgrimage with a home-brewed levitation potion. Last we saw her, she was enjoying the long-lasting levitation effect it confers. Let's see how flying is treating our alchemist...

Warning: There are some unfortunate unintended parallels to current real-world events in this section.



Some time later found me hovering near the roof of the High Fane.

For all Ervesa's claims that the spell wore off slowly, I wasn't ready to risk distancing myself too far from the place I'd started. Initially, I'd considered investigating the giant floating rock – perhaps up close I'd be able to find evidence one way or the other regarding Vivec putting it there – but when I'd drifted closer I'd discovered that there had been changes since it had (supposedly) been frozen in the sky by a god. Apparently someone had decided the rock was in dire need of development, because there was a wooden platform running all round the thing and a dark shadow on one side had turned out to be an arched entryway. This in and of itself wouldn't have given me pause, but there was also a figure standing next to the entryway. An Ordinator, in fact, armed with a bow with an arrow already nocked.

I could take a hint before it shot me in the face, so I'd propelled myself back until I was above the shrine and settled in to wait for the spell to wear off. This was far less boring than one might think due to the unusual perspective. Although it wasn't my first time viewing the world from a height, it was my first time not coloured by the fear of imminent death – never to mention that the bustling city of Vivec brought far more interesting sights with it than the West Gash. I could happily keep myself occupied watching the crowds.

When I noticed their movement change, at first I thought I was imagining it.

It started at the docks and spread from there. Suddenly, the small figures who were simply strolling along leisurely were gone. Movement became hurried, frantic, people streaming away as though trying to distance themselves from a possible danger. Others stayed, grouped together...

In my second year in Windhelm, there'd been a drought during the summer, a poor harvest followed by a harsh winter. By Morning Star, the city's stores of grain had run low. Food prices rose and rose, to the point where the guild's burglaries began to target the larder rather than the lockbox. The poor of the city who couldn't follow suit grew steadily thinner and angrier. Eventually things hit the breaking point, and a riot broke out. I'd narrowly escaped being caught up in it, and to my dying day I didn't think I would forget the feel of the crowd's mood changing around me.

I was terrifyingly certain I was seeing the beginnings of the exact same thing right now from above.

A twist of will sent me drifting back down. To my relief, I realised that Ervesa was still there – or should it perhaps be there again? Judging by the half-eaten stuffed flatbread she was holding, she must have left to visit a street vendor earlier. In any case, she was here now, deep in conversation with the swamp-water-selling priestess. Although not so deep that she didn't look up and smile at me as I neared ground level.

"Did you enjoy your time flying, then?"

"I-" I shook my head. "It's not important. Ervesa, I think there's something wrong in the city-"

I didn't get a chance to explain, nor the profoundly skeptical-looking priestess a chance to interrupt, because at that point a man in novice's robes came racing up the stairs.

"News!" I spent a split second trying to parse the word before I realised he was speaking Dunmeris. "News from Ebonheart!" He gasped for air. I could see dark stains where sweat soaked his robes – he must have run the whole way from the docks, driven on by the urgency of his message.

"What is it?" an authoritative voice spoke from behind me. I glanced back to see Lloran again, arms propped on her hips.

"The Imperials- the Imperials have ordered a hlethovryla of Vvardenfell!"

My fledgling Dunmeris failed me at that point, because I didn't know what the clearly most important word in that sentence meant. I could however gather from context – in the form of the initial shocked silence around me, soon broken by angry, fearful voices – that it was likely something bad.

I turned to Ervesa, who was very pale and very still. "What's going on?"

"They've put the island under quarantine," she whispered.

For a moment, I didn't understand what she meant.

I'd encountered quarantines before, of course. Every now and then, a new or changed illness that didn't respond to the standard spells and potions would sweep through the country. Those sick would be isolated while the researcher-healers worked to adapt existing treatments into one the disease would respond to. I'd even heard stories of entire towns cut off due to plague, guards keeping the inhabitants from leaving until the illness that had struck it could be managed.

Never before had I considered that someone might think of doing the same to the entire island of Vvardenfell.

Judging by the rising voices around me, I wasn't the only one going through this process of disbelief. However, my companions seemed to be leaving it fairly quickly. I couldn't make out what they were saying – speaking clearly and slowly for the non-natives among them was evidently not high on anyone's priority list at the moment – but tone of voice and expressions made it clear they were heading straight into rage instead, the clamour of shock and horror slowly turning to an angry roar.

It was a roar that was echoed in the distance, like the growl of a great beast.

My heart skipped a beat. The messenger had driven it clean out of my mind, but now I remembered what I'd seen from the air.

The levitation spell hadn't quite worn off yet. Hoping against hope that I was wrong, I willed myself to rise in the air again. This time, I didn't spend time letting my gaze wander. I focused my vision on the city to the north...

...the city, and the dark mass spilling out from the Arena canton. Even though I'd expected it, it still took me a moment to identify it as a massive crowd of people.

It took precious seconds to reach ground level again, and Ervesa blinked at me as my feet touched the ground, the spell finally fading away. She, I noted with relief, was not among the ones now shouting.

"Adryn? What-"

"There's a riot, spreading from the Arena canton." My words stumbled over each other in their haste to leave my mouth. "It looked like some of them were heading here- Ervesa, you have to-"

To what?

Over the time I'd known her, Ervesa had developed the habit of swanning into my life, rescuing me from some mishap or another, then vanishing again. It was therefore perhaps understandable that somehow, without consciously realising it, I'd built her up to be a figure larger than life inside my head – one capable of saving me from kagouti, ash statues, murder accusations and more, without ever seeming to exert herself in the process.

A grave mistake, because for all her skills, for all her uncanny knack of popping up at exactly the right point in time, at the core of it Ervesa was just a girl not much older than me with no godly abilities to her name. There was nothing she could do to halt a riot that had gained momentum. Judging by her wide, wide eyes and pale face, she knew it as well as I.

I spent a few precious seconds in bitter recrimination: how, after all this time, after the Warp and all that followed, had I still not learned that there was no such thing as heroes in this world?

"We have to hide," I corrected myself. There was no stopping this riot, no keeping it from coming our way, and I was worried that it wouldn't be healthy for us to be out in the open when it did. Especially me, as an outlander. Obviously, I hadn't had anything to do with the decision of quarantine – was in fact in a worse position than many natives, since I was now stuck on an island where I had no real ties – but logic counts for little in these sorts of situations.

Ervesa opened her mouth, but I never got to hear her answer.

Silence descended.

It began behind me then spread out like ripples over a pool, all sound dying away. Around me I could see open mouths, to my left sunlight glinting off rippling water, ahead the bridge that would bring the mob. Yet I could hear nothing at all, not speech nor the splash of waves nor the roar of the riot, not even the beat of my own heart.

One of the priests glanced behind us – then froze. I saw his eyes widen large enough to overtake his face in the split second before he spun round and dropped to his knees. Around us, others began to follow suit, some kneeling, some fully prostrate against the ground

I couldn't help but think that turning my back on the approaching mob was a terrible idea, but curiosity was one of my primary weaknesses and I'd always suspected it would be the end of me one day. I turned around.

I'd made note of the palace that lay beyond the High Fane before, especially as Ervesa had told me two more of the shrines I'd need to visit were found there. Throughout the day a steady stream of people had made their way to it, and in the last half-hour or so I'd been able to observe them closely from my excellent vantage point. Many approached the triangular stone at the top, or entered a small door halfway up beside one of the spigots. Others simply came to lay offerings on the stairs. Flowers, mostly, mixed with some small gleams that I guessed to be coins or jewels – enough the steps were strewn with them. Throughout, the golden door at the top had remained firmly shut, with no one entering and no one leaving.

Until now.

In another situation, I might have said the figure that hovered before the open door looked odd, even bizarre. Bald and clean-shaven, clad in only a loincloth and a jeweled chest-guard, it was distinctly obvious that the – man? - was divided in half, his left side Dunmer but his right gold as an Altmer. His eyes, sweeping over the kneeling crowds, were split in colour as well-

His eyes.

Looking into those eyes felt like standing upright in a howling midwinter gale, a tiny flicker of life trying desperately to hold against the uncaring might of nature. They were ancient, alien, crackling with impossible power. They did not, could not, belong to a mortal.

And yet...

And yet I'd seen those eyes before.

Both golden, they'd been back then, and lacking the unearthly glow that filled them now... but in its place had been mortal emotions. Worry, anger, fear, mirth, joy, love – all reflected in those eyes in bygone days, all burned away by divinity.

"Vivec," I breathed, and saw-

A thin young boy, scowling at me suspiciously. The same boy grown to a young man, drilling with a spear. Him laughing with a red-headed woman and a bearded man, curled up with a journal scribbling away at it industriously, fire flying from his outstretched hands to engulf an armoured Nord-

Him looking down on me, remote and emotionless as my vision grew steadily dimmer, my pulse raced in my ears, I clutched at my throat I couldn't breathe I couldn't breathe-

Here and now, Vivec's eyes met mine.

In the same instant, the pain struck.

The headaches I'd been having were mere pinpricks compared to this. It felt as though someone was taking a hammer to my skull, then pouring acid into the building cracks. I fell to my knees, clutching at my head, but the agony did not relent.

Darkness ate the edges of my vision. I knew this sensation well, from my birthsign. Welcomed it, this time, because unconsciousness would make the pain stop.

Just as before, the last thing I saw was Vivec's face.



Notes: I swear the Vvardenfell quarantine is not in any way a commentary on the current situation. I'm *reasonably* sure it's some form of canon and from the very start I've been intending to have it happen part of the way through the story, the timing is just flat-out terrible and I'm really sorry about that.

For those who don't want their escapism spoiled, be aware that the next few chapters are definitely going to be heavily featuring the implications of the quarantine, but the parallels to Corona shouldn't be that strong as the Blight is a different illness and the Vvardenfell quarantine is a very particular political situation as well.

Adryn's first up close look at Baar Dau was the same as mine, with a levitation spell. Only in my case I was deliberately breaking in. I am sure Adryn will get there eventually, one way or another.

Uh oh, looks like trouble in Vivec City. I liked Adryn's thoughts back to the food riot in Windhelm. It was both a nice nod to her history, and a good example of how a crowd's can possess a visible mood.

The Imperials ordered a what in the city? Is Darth Vader coming to review the progress on the Death Star? I hear he is at least more forgiving than the Emperor.

Logic definitely counts for little in a riot. Maybe if someone dropped an asteroid on the crowd, that would stop the riot?

I was wondering if Vivec would make an appearance once the riot headed toward the High Fane. The way Adryn recognized him, not for who he is now, but for who he was, was excellent.

Depends on one's definitions, I suppose. All-powerful folk who can resolve any situation? No. But friends who will stand by you, save you, counsel you- Ervesa, Jamie... Adryn herself? Oh, there are definitely many heroes to be found. (And that is NOT a comment to the writer- just a note that Adryn has yet to learn what heroism means.)

Short sidetrack- and I apologize for it in advance... When I was... 10ish... I asked my father if there were heroes when he was my age. (I was thinking of Batman, Superman, Iron Man, et al). He, however, took the question thoughtfully, as he tended to do. "I suppose, I would have to say my father," he told me. And in that moment, my own perspective was... shifted. Because his father, my grandfather, had died when Dad was only 4, injured in a chemical fire at the Eastman plant in 1922.

The quarantine is absolutely canon- due to The Blight- wrought by Dagoth Ur, and causing the corprus monsters and the various "Curses" (which are not really explained in any detail in game), other than in The Seven Curses.


From the Wiki-- "As the infections grew, the Empire laid down an embargo on wares from Vvardenfell, leading to some starvation and further isolation of the Dunmer on the island."

And Adryn/Nervar's reaction to seeing Vivec in "present" time as well as through past memories was incredibly compelling.

@SubRosa - I have faith that Adryn will get to the point of breaking in herself too! And yeah, Baar Dau falling would definitely give that crowd something else to worry about. Vivec apparently decided, however, that it was best dealt with with a more personal touch.

@treydog - I 100% agree with you, and honestly Adryn's wrestling with the concept of "hero" is probably going to be a large part of her character arc. And thanks for the info about quarantine - I did some more research and apparently it's from Tribunal dialogue, so explains why I couldn't remember it because I never actually got that far into Tribunal. (At some point my character went "I hate all of these quest-givers, why would I lift a finger to help them.") I hadn't realised about the famine, and of course now new sub-plots are growing at the back of my mind as we speak /o\

No worries about the side-track - that's a lovely, if sad, story about your grandfather. In fact, have a side-track in return:

There's no one among my grandparents I can nominate for "hero" position. This is one of those consequences of being German: you grow up with this awareness that the people you know and love in that generation were almost certainly complicit in something terrible, that people can be kind and loving and to all appearances good and then still look away from - or take part in - atrocities. It's left me with a real appreciation for the strength it takes to stand up and go "No, this is wrong," even when it is dangerous and there is no one to support you. You may see traces of that as this story progresses.

Er, apologies for the heavy stuff! Onwards to the next section...

Last chapter, Adryn discovered that she'd run into her own ancestral tomb in the Grazelands. She herself was rather ambivalent about that fact, but on discussing this with friends, she was talked into starting the Tribunal Temple pilgrimages with an aim at becoming a lay member and gaining access to the Temple's kinfinding services. That said, matters took an unexpected turn when her attempt at doing the Vivec pilgrimages was interrupted by the announcement that Vvardenfell had been put under quarantine due to the danger of the Blight. This was followed by a riot, which brought Vivec out into the open. Adryn collapses at the sight of him.

Now, we could check up on how she's doing after that! But a quarantine is a huge, island-spanning thing, and it'll be hard for Adryn to get a full picture. Let's look at how some people other than her are dealing with the consequences...



The corridors beneath the Grand Council Chambers looked unchanged from the last time Caius had seen them, the grey stoneworks in the Imperial style hidden by rich tapestries so much like the ones in Castle Bravil they never failed to make him feel homesick. An unobservant man might take this as proof that nothing else had changed in the month since he'd visited.

Of course, no unobservant man would ever make it into the covert arm of the Blades, much less rise to Caius' position. Even here in the seat of Imperial power, tension hung thick in the air, like the air before a thunderstorm as the world waited for the first strike of lightning.

He could only hope it would not strike here, today.

The tension was such that Caius had to fight relief when he made it to his destination with nothing untoward occurring. The door was near the end of the corridor and adorned with a small bronze plate: Asciene Rane.

He knocked once, then a second time, to no answer. Caius was just wondering whether he'd have to resort to his lockpicks – a definite risk, given the servants that occasionally scurried by – when the door opened and he found himself dragged bodily into the small chamber.

"Have you lost your mind," Asciene hissed the instant the door was shut behind them.

Apparently he could worry about lightning in the literal sense in addition to the metaphorical one, because the Breton mage – usually so calm and collected – was furious to the point where she was throwing small sparks. Caius carefully freed himself from her grasp and rubbed his stinging wrist.

"What on Nirn possessed you to come here now?"

Caius gave her his best quelling look. Honed to a fine edge in his years as optio in the Eighth Legion, it had cut many a raw recruit down to size. Even in his waning years, even with the skooma's unyielding grip on him, it was still enough to quell the brats he was now forced to deal with. Despite her rage, Asciene blanched and grew silent when faced with its full force.

"The reason I'm here," he said evenly, "is because I need to go to Mournhold."

A ragged laugh escaped the woman.

"You and half of Vvardenfell! I- I swore, afterwards, that the connection to the mainland had been broken. I was worried they'd tear me apart if not. Do you realise what sort of a mob you'll call down on me if even a hint that I can still offer that escape should get out?"

Another trick Caius had picked up in the Legion: resisting the urge to fill silence. He simply waited expectantly, eyes fixed on the mage, as it lengthened and stretched into awkwardness. She held strong for a while, but eventually it got the better of her. She shifted from foot to foot, rubbed her arms, then finally spoke.

"I- shouldn't you have prepared for this, anyway? After all, it's you people who are to blame for this mess."

An attempt at changing the subject. Caius decided he could be generous for a little while.

"We raised the possibility of a quarantine, yes. But we weren't the ones who panicked and botched the implementation." True, Caius hadn't been in touch with the leadership in a while, but he still felt he could speak with confidence. This mess had Vantinius' grasping fingers written all over it.

And that was enough generosity for now.

"Which brings me back to my original point," he continued. "If we're to salvage anything from this mess, I must get to Mournhold." He paused, just long enough to be ominous. "Unless you're rethinking your service to the Emperor?"

"I hope you fall into a ditch on the way back and break your neck," Asciene snapped. But even as she spoke, light gathered around her hands at her sides and Caius knew he'd won. "At least try to come up with a decent cover story for me, will you? The walls have eyes around here, and," she eyed him with distaste, "as a secret lover you leave a little to be desired."

Twenty years ago, that assessment would have cut his pride to the quick. Of no illusions about his own appeal – what the advancing years hadn't stripped away, the skooma had done for – the Caius of the present day simply snorted dismissively.

"I'm your poor addled uncle, of course. Huge shame to your family, me being hooked on skooma and all, so you've never mentioned me before. But we're still in occasional contact, and when I panicked because of the quarantine I ran to you for help. Hardly difficult. But less believable the longer I stay, so I'm not sure what the hold up here is-"

The last thing Caius heard before the world dissolved into blue light was Asciene's wordless snarl.

On the other side, Effe-Tei was far calmer about Caius' illicit arrival, reacting with only a long glance. Caius wondered if they'd ever considered recruiting the Argonian as an operative. Anyone capable of keeping their cool to such a degree would be an asset.

Although perhaps it was simply that the quarantine was felt differently on the mainland. True, Caius still felt tension in the air as he made his way through the streets, but it was a far cry from the air that had hung over Vvardenfell ever since the news had come down. Here, the storm was building on the horizon instead of poised to break directly overhead, with the merchants he passed relaxed enough to both gossip and cast a disapproving glance at him. It took Caius a moment to realise it was due to his trembling hands.

The chaos that had engulfed the island had affected the underworld as badly as anyone else – Caius' usual supplier had only made it back to Balmora a day ago, with no wares. By now, the withdrawal had reached the point where the characteristic shakes were strong enough to be visible to those he passed. The looks he garnered were contemptuous... dismissive, in fact. Not a single one of them looked at him twice.

Skooma addiction was truly the best cover Caius had ever had. He'd recommend it to the juniors if it weren't for the obvious downsides.

As if on cue, the need for a pipe rolled over him like a wave. The trembling grew even stronger, sweat gathered on his neck, his head began to pound. Caius gritted his teeth as he fought against the cravings; experience had taught him it was a battle he would always lose in the end, but he could at least prolong the defeat.

The fight against withdrawal occupied him all the way along a long, circuitous route to the outskirts of the Great Bazaar, behind a smithy, then – after glancing around to make sure no one was in sight – through a trapdoor. At that point, he was very effectively distracted from the cravings by the smell. Thankfully, he didn't have to enter the sewers proper – not many yards in, he stopped and felt along the wall until he found the latch for the hidden door.

The room behind it was small but blessedly clean, tiny glowing runes on the wall keeping out even the stink from outside. An enchanted magelight set into the ceiling cast a steady glow, illuminating crates piled around the room. Someone had laid a board across some of the larger crates and pulled up two of the smaller ones to make a makeshift table and chairs. The woman thus seated looked up when he entered. "Oh, good. You made it."

Habit made Caius take in the newcomer with a spy's eye.

Redguard, looking perhaps mid-forties, wiry dark hair cropped close to her head showing the first strands of grey, broad nose that looked to have been broken at several points during her life, wide-set dark eyes, plump mouth currently pressed in a thin line, scar running from her chin over her left cheek to her notched ear. Solidly built and muscular, she was wearing battered leather armour with no maker's mark. The blade at her side was another story – the sheath was plain, but the winding decorations on the hilt showed it was no ordinary weapon. The shape, of course, was proof in its own right as well. There weren't many people who owned an Akaviri katana.

Caius himself was not one, and found himself eyeing the weapon hungrily. Although he knew he wasn't suited for the other arm of the Blades – although he knew that chances were they wouldn't take him anyway, given the skooma – some childish part of him still dreamed of the halls at Cloud Ruler Temple. Of protecting the Emperor through honest combat instead of trickery and spycraft, of standing side by side with his brothers and sisters in arms... of being granted his own blade as a symbol of their approval.

Of course, if anyone deserved such an honour it was the woman before him.

"Well, Agent?" she prompted him now, with an air saying that although she was not impatient yet it would be best not to rely on that fact. "Take a seat and tell me. How is the situation?"

There was enough of the Legion left in Caius Cosades that he wouldn't have sat without the explicit invitation, but his aching bones meant he wasn't going to protest the offer. He sank onto the other crate with a groan. "Not sure if my last report got in, Champion, but-"

The woman cut him off with a raised hand. "No identifiers, please."

Long years of training let Caius suppress a snort, but the restriction seemed remarkably pointless to him all the same. Time was that what felt like a quarter of Tamriel would have been able to identify the Eternal Champion on sight, thanks to her crossing the length and breadth of the continent in search of the Staff of Chaos. Even immunis Cosades, as he'd been then, had met her briefly – and the young warrior who'd come to Corinth had aged far better than he had. No, to Caius she was still instantly recognisable.

But it was true that the young ones these days didn't know their history... and besides, Caius wasn't going to argue with his commanding officer.

"Spymaster, then," he corrected himself. "And as for Vvardenfell..." He clicked his tongue. "Ever seen a mine after someone's hit a gas pocket – when they have to send in the surveyors with mage-lights because torches are too dangerous? Vvardenfell's like that. Looks the same if you're not paying attention, but anyone with any sense is terrified out of their wits because they know with the right spark, the whole place could go up."

He'd struggled to keep his voice free of censure, but judging by the Champion's fierce frown he wasn't entirely sure he'd succeeded. Luckily, the expression didn't seem to be directed at him.

"Trust me, the way this whole thing was handled was not my idea. Sometimes I could strangle Vanus and his short-sighted reliance on his Hlaalu cronies..." The Champion's breath hissed out between gritted teeth. After a moment, she shook her head, as though dislodging a pesky fly. "Well, the dice have been thrown, now we have to make the best of where they've fallen. Speaking of – I'll need to debrief you properly later, but the main reason I asked you here today wasn't actually to speak about Vvardenfell." A pause. "How are our... special projects?"

Caius sighed. "We've lost more, I'm afraid. I haven't heard anything about Hefhed in weeks – I think he was killed in the wilds. Oht proved... recalcitrant, and I was forced to dispose of her. Jeb got mixed up in Larrius Varo's fool plot to take down the Camonna Tong, and now his ashes are in the Temple pit." And oh, Caius could murder Varo for his interference. If the Legionnaire wanted to send people on suicide missions, he could damn well use his own subordinates.

"At the moment," he laid out, "the only assets I'd call even remotely viable are Cess, Iya, Neht and Payem – and that's stretching the definition for a few of them."

Afraid the flicker in his superior's eyes was a look of censure, he spread his arms to indicate his helplessness. "Look – I can't work miracles," he said, achingly aware the woman he was speaking to had, in effect, done just that almost thirty years ago. "The assets are untrained, untrustworthy, sometimes half feral. Ordinarily I'd never dream of letting any of them anywhere near a delicate operation like this. I do what I can, but-"

"-No, I understand. Honestly, four potential assets are more than I was expecting, given how we had to select them." The Champion grimaced. "I assume nothing has changed regarding Cess since your last update. What of the other three?"

"Well..." Caius let the words come slowly as he gathered his thoughts. "Too early to say yet for Payem – she barely got in before the quarantine. But she didn't refuse my orders, and didn't go running off to tell someone about a Blades agent, so that's better than some right there. Iya, now – I think she has real potential. Strong-minded, true, with a streak of idealism I'd usually try to break a recruit of, but it might not be a bad thing in this context. Competent for a change, thank the Nine," he had not forgotten the mess that had been Geth, "and capable of being reasonable. Currently she's my recommendation, and unless Payem outdoes herself I don't see that changing."

"Good to know," the Champion said. "And... Neht?"

Thinking on that particular asset, Caius couldn't help letting out a loud groan. "Oh, don't even get me started."

His superior frowned. "What? Is she rebellious as well?"

Caius had to take a moment to think that over. "No," he eventually settled on. "She complains, but I don't believe there's much backbone behind it. Which actually makes her even more worrying. I can get a reluctant asset in line, believe me... but I have never seen anyone as capable of turning even the smallest task into an absolute spectacle, and at this point I'm forced to believe she's doing it by accident."

Fingers tapped on the makeshift table as the Champion's frown deepened. "I'm not sure I'm following."

Her expression did not lighten any as Caius explained just how one Neht – better known outside the room as Adryn – had completely and utterly failed to keep her head down and avoid attention since her arrival on the island.

"Word from Ald'ruhn has it that one of the Temple big-wigs is sniffing around her now," he finished. "I don't know how she even finds these people."

"That does sound like a liability, I admit. Perhaps it'd be best to... cut her loose?"

Caius paused. It had been tiny, almost unnoticeable... but there had been a moment of hesitation there. And in the past, his orders had always been in favour of silencing failed assets permanently, with Caius being the one to argue in favour of letting the more harmless ones be. This was a distinct departure from the norm.

It was almost as though the Champion were interested in Neht beyond simply a potential asset.

If he'd been younger, he'd have pursued that thought, but Caius liked to think all the bad of the last decade had brought some wisdom with it. In this case, the wisdom to know when something was none of his business.

Besides, he had a job to do.

"I'm considering it, but I'd prefer to try out some other options first. I'm guessing the quarantine means an end to the prospectives?"

The question was mostly rhetorical, but the Champion nodded anyway. "It'd be too hard to smuggle them in."

"Then I can't afford to waste any of the ones I have left." Caius shrugged. "I'm doubtful, don't get me wrong, but I'd like to try her one more time. Besides, there must be a way to make an ability to attract huge amounts of trouble useful. Maybe she can be a distraction for Iya."

"I suppose you're right," the Champion said, but her voice was thoughtful and although she was looking in his direction, Caius didn't think those unfocused eyes were actually seeing him.

The moment passed quickly, the Champion's demeanour becoming businesslike once more. "Tell me more about Iya, then, if you think she's the most promising. What's her current status on the island, and how did her 'minor mission' go?"

"Well..."

As Caius settled in to give his report, he did his best to stamp on the sparks of his curiosity. Nothing good, he reminded himself, could come of sticking his nose into the Eternal Champion's business.



Notes: Code names taken from the Daedric alphabet. Curious to see how many readers will put together, or already have put together, some pieces here...

I wonder if Caius put on a shirt for his visit to the castle?

Oh cool, he's going to meet the player character from Arena! That was a neat touch. The Eternal Champion title makes me think of Elric though...

I was guessing that the asset who turns the simplest things into a spectacle must be Adryn!

Brilliant decision to use code names based on the Daedric Alphabet. I had no idea.

As soon as Caius started describing Neht, I thought Adryn! Of course.

Before that, though, I quite enjoyed your description of the Eternal Champion. For obvious reasons . . .

So much woven into this one post! Loved the meeting with the Eternal Champion, as well as getting a deeper look into Caius.

And the references to Vantinus and Varro- both of whom DO manage to complicate things beyond belief. (Trey really was tempted to shove Vantinus off the wall at Ebonheart).



I could just hear the exasperated disbelief in his voice. And the EC is aware of something that she is not willing to share.... hmmmm.

Most excellent!

I like this reason that the protagonist is not doing every one of the available quests, not that she ever does them the way the developers intended.

And everyone else already noted everything else.

@SubRosa - Now we know why Asciene was so annoyed and the people in Mournhold were staring at him! Clearly Caius was still wandering around shirtless. And I've always found "Eternal Champion" a bit weird - c'mon, they're not even immortal like the Nerevarine - but hey, it's canon.

@haute ecole rider - At first I wasn't even going to spell out that Neht was Adryn, I figured it would be redundant the main reason I decided to do it was that I wasn't sure the code name thing would come across. And I'm glad you like my EC! I may have a weakness for female Redguard hero types, it's possible Julian is to blame...

@treydog - I'm glad you enjoyed! And glad you appreciate my jabs at two very annoying NPCs... Larrius Varro's "a little story" always got to me, like, what do you want me to do again?! Adryn was never ever taking that quest, so another unlucky soul got it... and as video game logic does not apply, the logical consequence of one person deciding to attack five followed. And I didn't do the Imperial Legion questline much, but it was enough to develop a serious dislike for Varus Vantinius. (Let's face it, once was enough.)

@ghastley - yeah, something I do try to keep in mind writing is that Adryn isn't special. (Well, except for in the sense of being Nerevar reborn, but outside some very high Temple ranks nobody knows about that part.) She is not the only person in the world capable of doing quests, and NPCs are not waiting around for her! They're handing their quests off to anyone likely passing through, others *are* the likely people passing through... and, of course, the Blades are not putting all their eggs in one basket.

And of course, as you've noticed Adryn has a very particular approach to quests. It's fun to bend some to try and find a non-combat solutions, but others are just too difficult to do that for or don't fit into my plot - so some poor anonymous guy gets Larrius Varro's "a little story".

Last installment, we looked in on Caius Cosades meeting up with the head of the Blades on Vvardenfell... also known as the Eternal Champion. Adryn would probably be surprised to hear this, since Caius introduced himself to her as the head of the Blades! And who knows what she'd make of the Eternal Champion But we've learned what we wanted to know from those two. What are other groups in Vvardenfell up to now that the quarantine has hit?



Vos hadn't changed much since the last time Beyte had seen it. The behaviour of its people, on the other hand, seemed to have altered dramatically. True, t was an insular community, but she'd visited it reasonably often and had made inroads. The last time she'd been here – three months ago? four? - she'd been greeted with smiles by the docks. This time, nobody seemed to want to meet her eyes.

Beyte suspected she knew what was to blame.

"Could you please try to be a little less intimidating, Father?" She didn't bother trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice. "I wanted to talk to the townsfolk – I can't get any news if you scare them off."

Behind her, her father huffed. "Intimidating? I don't know what you're talking about."

You are wearing full Daedric armour, Father, what are you expecting? More to the point, who on Nirn would attack you?

But Father continued before she could assemble her response. "You forget I've been here fairly frequently of late. The people haven't hidden from me before – this is new." Out of the corner of her eye, Beyte could see his brows draw together in a frown. Then his forehead smoothed. "Ah, well. It's young Aryon's business. He's a good enough manager, all things considered. Has to make up for that terrible taste in architecture somehow."

Beyte, who had quite liked Tel Vos the one time she'd been there, prudently kept silent. She'd learned from Alfe and Father's example that there were times honesty had to take second place to familial harmony – her elder sister, of course, serving as an example of what not to do.

At the Vos Temple, they found the first person who greeted them properly.

"Master Fyr! And young Beyte, too. I trust you're well, my girl?"

Beyte couldn't stop the broad smile that spread across her face when she saw the white-haired figure in the entranceway, arms open in welcome. She accepted the offered embrace, kissing the healer on one whiskered cheek.

"Very well, Kena Bael, thank you. And yourself?"

Beyte had been sickly during her childhood (well, the equivalent thereof), something that had caused Father no end of worry at the time. The process used to create her and her sisters had been beyond experimental, the long-term effects more guesswork than well-founded science, and every cough and fever had made Father fear it was the start of a complete breakdown. The result had been frequent trips to Vos to see the greatest healer of Vvardenfell. The way he'd taken her entirely seriously even considering her physical and mental age at the time, along with (Beyte was forced to admit) his habit of sneaking boiled sugar-drops into her small palm, had cemented his position as one of her favorite people.

"Oh, I'm keeping well enough." Bael patted her cheek before he pulled back. "Although this quarantine has caused no end of work for me."

Beyte and Father traded glances. He looked as puzzled as she felt.

"Quarantine?" she ventured after a moment.

Bael looked between the both of them, eyebrows raised. "I suppose I shouldn't really be surprised." He pressed his lips together. "The Empire, in all their great wisdom, has decided that the threat of the Blight justifies quarantining the island of Vvardenfell. Nobody is to leave. Necessary supplies will be brought in by Hlaalu ships subject to the usual procedures."

A pause, dragging on, as Beyte attempted to digest that notion. It proved rather difficult.

"But... how can they possibly enforce that?"

"Oh, I'd imagine patrols around the coasts, long-range life detection spells-"

This didn't make matters any clearer. "But surely you could just teleport? Or go via Oblivion – I mean, anyone reasonably skilled at magic-"

Father cleared his throat. "I am beginning to think that I've given you a rather skewed view of typical mage capabilities, my dear." There was suppressed laughter in his voice. Beyte shot him a glare. He was the one who'd forbidden it when she'd asked to travel, it was hardly her fault if she was sheltered!

"Although you do bring up a good point, Beyte. They surely can't imagine the higher-ranking Telvanni will find a few ships much of an obstacle."

"Master Fyr, I'm afraid you'll have to ask someone else what our Imperial governors are thinking. All I can say is that I hope said Telvanni will respect the quarantine no matter how it is enforced." Bael gave the two of them a serious look.

"You think it's the correct decision, then?"

"It would certainly have been nice if I was consulted on the matter, but... yes. I do."

Yakin Bael had been a fixture in her life for as long as Beyte could remember. Now, for the first time, it struck her that he looked old. Old, and tired, and defeated. The thought made something unpleasant curl in her gut.

"The tests you suggested last time worked," the priest continued in a low tone. "And they showed Dagoth residue in the blood of the infected."

Understanding felt like ice water spreading through Beyte's veins. Beside her, Father stilled.

"You're sure."

"I ran the tests three times. Yes."

"And it couldn't have been contamination by the ambient-"

"Do I look like an amateur? Of course I isolated the samples beforehand."

Father blinked, clearly thrown off his stride. He was, Beyte suspected, not used to being interrupted. Apart from Alfe, she didn't know anyone who dared.

Beyte herself preferred making use of openings that arose naturally.

"Was it active?"

This, she felt, was the most important question of all. Bad enough the Blight was of no natural origin. If Dagoth Ur had direct influence on the course of the disease... perhaps even mental influence, like Father feared they would one day find in corprus...

Bael tilted his hand in a so-so gesture. "I don't think so. But the findings were... a little odd. I was going to run the tests again just now – I'd be very grateful for your assistance interpreting the results, if you'd care to give it."

Most people would have addressed that to her Father alone, but Bael knew the sort of work Beyte and her sisters did. His gaze made clear the request encompassed them both.

"We'd be glad to assist," Father, of course, answered for the two of them. It was a fair answer, as well – matters were clearly serious, and Beyte might be invaluable as a second pair of eyes with an in-depth knowledge of the effects of Dagoth influence on living organisms. Still, quietly, some part of her mourned the afternoon in town she'd been hoping for. Hairan would probably be wintering in Vos by now-

"Depending on the progress we make and the questions we uncover, you might still be able to visit town later today, Beyte."

He'd sworn it a failure, but sometimes Beyte really wondered if Father's experiments in acquired telepathy hadn't borne fruit after all. Especially when he winked at her. "You could stop by to meet that scout friend of yours in the tradehouse. Provided you promise not to do anything I wouldn't do, of course."

How was it possible that her face was on fire? Shouldn't being a Dunmer give you resistance to that sort of thing?

"Yes, Father! Thank you, Father! Let's go look at Kena Bael's labwork!"

Bael laughed as they made their way towards the Temple. There was something urgent, almost desperate about the sound, Beyte thought. As though he was latching onto any chance to be light-hearted he saw, out of worry there would be none to follow.

She shook the dark thought off. For now, they had samples to test. Beyte's flights of fancy, just as her hoped-for interlude with Hairan, would simply have to wait.



Notes: So writing this section was... odd, and in a way depressing? I was planning to have a Telvanni interlude for reasons (one of which will become obvious in part 2 of Beyte's point of view next week) and when I started thinking about it Beyte basically started jumping up and down in my head going "pick me! pick me!" OK, fine-

And the instant I started writing her I realised I'd have to change her relationship with Divayth. Up until then I'd been going with the wink-wink nudge-nudge "daughters... and maybe wives?" thing that canon does, which I just sort of... skimmed over at the time, and skimmed over again when Adryn met Alfe Fyr. But writing from Beyte's pov I realised - holy hell, if she *is* actually Divayth's lover and he also made her and raised her and she's never lived anywhere else that is... such a horrible flagrant abuse of power I can't let it go past unchallenged? And I need Divayth Fyr as a benevolent, at most morally ambiguous character? And I don't actually want to write Beyte Fyr's escape from a quasi-incestuous abusive relationship in this story?!

So I have thrown canon's insinuations out the window, Divayth genuinely views Beyte and co. as his daughters and nothing else, maybe there are rumours they're more but there is zero truth to that!

The depressing part is that I didn't realise this until I started writing Beyte's point of view. :/

At first I thought the people of Vos were suspicious of strangers because Adryn had recently visited... But wearing a full suit of Daedric Armor? Of course that is going to terrify people!

This was a good interlude showing us the progress of corprus, something which Adryn cannot really see from her own point of view, at least not yet. Divayth Fyr was the perfect nexus point for this. Though I love seeing the scene from Beyte's point of view rather than his.

Like you, I find the idea of Divayth and his harem of daughter-wife clones to be extremely creepy. I prefer the change to a genuinely parental role, rather than predatory one.

As one who is not familiar at all with TESIII canon I had no idea Divath Fyr had a bunch of women working? living? sleeping? with him, and found your version of the relationship between him and Beyte (and Alfe in mention) quite normal. After all, some men have nothing but daughters, and have good relations with some, if not most of them. My Dad had three of us girls and it looked like no son, until my brother came along late in mom's childbearing life (she was 37). He was close to all of us, and proud of each of us in his own way.

I quite enjoyed the interplay between Beyte, healer Bael, and Divath Fyr himself as they discussed their research and the quarantine. I found myself wanting to hear more of said research and the disease (that's the medical professional talking), so I'm glad you said there is a Part 2 of this interlude coming up!

And this cracked me up. I loved this poke at the game's sometimes stilted race perks.

Another vote for your version of the Divath/daughters relationship. I mean- cloning them was... odd. But then if he raised them in order to... yeah... just too creepy for me also. So THIS telling is much better- as well as making the hinted relationship a matter of Telvanni-bashing. Probably a Hlaalu invention? (Although- yeah, actually some of Divath's own dialogue suggests it).

And also a vote for the quote haute pulled. Made me laugh (as a pale-skinned Northern European sort, that blush reflex was the bane of my adolescence).

A wonderful Interlude, giving life to important characters- and done beautifully.

Glad to hear everyone is on the same page as me insofar de-creepifying Divayth + daughters a little!

@SubRosa - admittedly, this would also have been a good reason to be afraid of strangers! But I think neither the Daedric armour nor the announcement of quarantine helped.

@haute ecole rider - yeah, TESIII canon is like SubRosa mentioned - harem of daughter/wife clones he created himself by magic. Which, ew. I kept the daughter part and the clones part, but let's just keep this relationship familiar, shall we?

And I'm glad the magical medical research works for you! I find science super interesting and have Opinions on the use of scientific approaches in fantasy so it's probably not the last you'll see of it. In fact... if I can ask a favour? My own educational and professional background is really on the T and M side of STEM, so I'd be super grateful if you let me know if anything doesn't ring true from a medical perspective.

@treydog - oh, I like the Hlaalu invention idea! If you don't mind, I'll steal that (or the general concept, it developed as an anti-Telvanni rumour), in large part because I can already see the scene where Beyte is confronted with it in my mind and let me tell you, it is glorious. You're right that canon is fairly explicit here, but... canon? what is canon? we're writing fanfic here!

Anyway...

Last installment, we dropped in on Beyte Fyr, daughter (for a value of daughter that involves "magical cloning") of Divayth Fyr, as she and her father visited Vos. Beyte's plans got a little derailed by Yakin Bael, who asked them to help him in his Blight research. Let's have a look at how that's gone...



Hours later, the sun had already fallen behind Red Mountain by the time Beyte left Bael's workshop. She was alone, the two men so deep into discussing the findings of the afternoon that she wasn't entirely sure they'd heard it when she told them where she was going. But even if Father was irritated when he noticed her absence, Beyte would hold firm. They didn't need her anymore, while she in turn desperately needed to clear her head.

The findings had been worrying, to say the least. Their worst fears had not been borne out, but the danger was there. The Blight essence they'd isolated hadn't been as merciless – as irreversible – in its effects as corprus, true. But it had proved just as resistant to the standard healing spells, and with a mutation rate that turned Bael's mouth into a grim line.

And unlike corprus, it was genuinely contagious.

Yet as she walked through Vos, Beyte's somber mood began to lighten under force of her usual sunny nature. After all, no one here was sick or dying, none of the Dagoth residue they'd isolated had been truly active, and even with the Restoration resistance Bael had professed himself optimistic he'd be able to develop a treatment for the latest strains. As for Beyte, the tradehouse would be open and selling mazte, and perhaps she'd still be able to catch up with Hairan there. There was no point ruining the remainder of the day by fretting over storm clouds on the horizon.

Besides, Father would fix it. It was what he did.

Lost in thought, stepping through the familiar streets of Vos, Beyte stopped paying attention to where she was going. This proved a problem when she rounded a corner into a side-street to find it already occupied.

"Sorry!" Beyte gasped out as she stumbled back.

Luckily, the man she'd just run into seemed to have weathered the collision with no harm other than a shock. Now he shot her a contemptuous look, lip curled. "Watch where you're going, girl." His voice was a hoarse rasp, as though he'd been ill. Perhaps that was the reason for his bad temper?

She bit down on a cutting retort, reminding herself that in this particular area, Alfe was not a role model to aspire to. "My apologies, I didn't see you there-"

"Wait a moment," the man's companion broke in. "You can't possibly be- Beyte? Is that you?"

Someone she knew? Beyte blinked, looking at the other man more closely. He was young and dark-haired, with a rakish goatee and golden rings gleaming with enchantment winding their way up one ear...

...she remembered those rings. It had taken him six attempts to get them right, and by the fourth he'd given up on keeping Beyte out of the workroom, telling her she could sit and watch as long as she stopped distracting him at a critical point, please Beyte, I know you've had Master Fyr's lectures on lab safety. She'd been much younger then... but, of course, so had he, a skinny teenager still hoping to put on a few inches, trying for a beard even then although at the time it would have more accurately been described as a few hairs with delusions of grandeur.

"...Aryon?" As soon as the last syllable left her mouth, she hastily corrected herself. "Master Aryon?" She might remember him as her father's gangly apprentice, but she'd heard enough to know he was a Council mage now – one who might not be amused by her lack of respect.

Thankfully, Aryon didn't seem offended by her slip. Instead, a wide smile spread across his face.

"It is you! I've heard people mention they've seen you around Vos, but we always seem to miss each other. You're looking very well." A considering pause. "Is your father around?"

"Yes, Master Aryon – he's with Kena Bael at the Temple. The Blight, you know."

Aryon frowned. "Ah... I'd hoped to catch him, ask him about a few things, but that sounds like something we really shouldn't disturb. Perhaps..." He snapped his fingers. "Actually, you might be able to help me, Beyte. Tiram, would you fill her in-"

The hoarse-voiced man had been standing to the side watching Beyte and Aryon converse with a grim look on his face. Now, his brows drew together.

"Master! You can't possibly expect me to tell such matters to some- some slip of a girl, a gossip no doubt-"

Aryon's expression stayed the same. Only his eyes changed, growing hard and flinty. Beyte, who remembered the temper he'd had when he was younger, watched in fascination.

"I haven't introduced you, have I?" His voice was still mild. "Beyte, Tiram Gadar. He works for me in... delicate matters, ones that require his presence here not to be spread around. But, of course, I trust your discretion. Tiram, Beyte Fyr."

Tiram Gadar did not have the control over his emotions Aryon had clearly learned, his expression growing steadily more thunderous with every word until the last. At that one, he paled.

"Fyr? As in... as in Divayth Fyr?"

"My father." Beyte shot the man a sunny smile.

In truth, watching people quiver in terror when they realised who she was related to had grown old by the time Aryon finished his apprenticeship if not before. Part of Beyte wished that one day she'd have made enough of a name for herself that someone would meet her and be in awe of her, not her family. But for the most part, Beyte prided herself on being optimistic but realistic, and she knew the shadow of Divayth Fyr was far too large for her to ever truly escape.

"I... see. You have my sincere apologies if I caused any offense, sera... Fyr."

Alfe and Delte would have let him stew for a while, but Beyte liked to think of herself as more merciful.

"No offense whatsoever."

"I see you're as kind as ever, Beyte." Aryon smiled at her. It froze on his face when he turned to Tiram Gadar. "Luckily for you, Tiram. For the record? I generally have reasons for the things I ask you to do, reasons you may not be privy to. Therefore, when I ask you to do something, I expect you to listen."

"Of- of course, Master Aryon. I- I beg pardon for my disobedience."

Aryon, Beyte noted, did not immediately grant that pardon. As mercy went, she remembered him as far more similar to her sisters than herself.

"As I was saying before we found ourselves sidetracked," Aryon went on serenely, "Tiram works for me in the realm of... covert information acquisition. And he stumbled across a tale involving Tel Fyr. Now, you understand that the last thing I want to do is pry into your family's affairs, but I am a member of the Council and I am simply forced to make inquiries when I hear about..."

He trailed off, giving Tiram Gadar a significant look.

"According to my sources," the man picked up the thread, "two weeks ago a small group including two Mages' Guild members rescued a member of House Redoran who was being held captive in Tel Fyr?"

The professional demeanour was offset by the way he couldn't help but make it into a question at the end.

"Oh," Beyte said with feeling. "That mess."

A pause.

"I wasn't aware your father was in the habit of abducting members of other Houses." Aryon's voice was exquisitely polite. "I mean, apparently Neloth also had a Redoran captive, but from him one expects that sort of thing... anyway! I found myself forced to wonder whether your father might..." he licked his lips, "be developing political interests."

Beyte could feel undercurrents swirling beneath her in this conversation, ready to drag her into the depths. Sadly, she had no idea what they were. For a moment, she wished fiercly that Delte were here.

Well, absent her more politically minded sister, she'd just have to be honest and hope it would be enough.

"Nothing like that – she came to us, in fact. Uupse found her sniffing around, and we decided to stick her in a cell for a few days as a lesson. I mean, you know we're open to the public, but only within reason! She was actually at the entrance to the Corprusarium. We wanted to drive the lesson home. Then..."

Beyte rubbed the back of her head in embarrassment as she remembered. "Well, there was that riot among the new intake, and then Father accidentally stranded half the tower in the Coloured Rooms, and... between one thing another, to be honest I plain forgot. It's a good thing the food, water and waste disposal enchantments work automatically! So really, the ones who rescued her did us a bit of a favour... aha... ha..."

Her sheepish laugh trailed off into silence.

Aryon heaved a sigh. "If you were anyone else, I'd be skeptical... but that does all sound fairly typical for Tel Fyr. Well, then. If that's how it is, there's no point in wasting your time." He looked disappointed. Beyte, who had absolutely no idea why that should be the case, once more found herself wishing frantically for Delte's presence. "Although... one last thing?"

"Of course, Master Aryon."

"Tiram, you mentioned something about an artifact stolen from Tel Fyr?"

The man jerked to attention. "Ah – yes, sir. A propylon index, which the- the culprits used to escape."

"I believe," Aryon said with a smile, "I remember the item in question. An inscribed crystal, on the shelf in the third storage room, correct?"

Beyte nodded, wary. Rare magical artifacts were something Tel Fyr had in abundance, but she and Delte together had tried to keep something of a catalog going ever since the incident involving Dawnbreaker and the Necromancer's Amulet which had led to not just the loss of both items but also the need to regrow the entire southeastern tower-pod. Besides, the index had caught her attention even before, from the time she'd walked in one day to find Father holding the thing with something achingly far away in his gaze.

Why Aryon was familiar with it, of course, was another question altogether.

"Tiram is in a position to be able to retrieve it, and punish the thief." Tiram made a protesting noise, which cut off rapidly when Aryon shot him a look. "You only need to tell me if you think your father would desire it. Call it a favour on my part."

Beyte considered this.

It would only be fair, she knew. Stealing from Tel Fyr was –

Well, really, stealing from Tel Fyr wasn't forbidden per se. After all, Father found adventurers amusing and had expressed several times that he felt a particularly good performance deserved a reward. But those were always – unimportant things, not ones her father had a clear sentimental attachment to. It would only be right to make an example. Alfe or Delte wouldn't even hesitate.

But it was Beyte standing here now, Beyte who led lost scribs back to their nest and still cried when reading Mystery of Talara. And Beyte didn't like the cold look in Aryon's eyes. Didn't like the thought of this Mages' Guild girl, whoever she was – this girl Beyte arguably owed a favour – being subject to whatever he decided was suitable punishment.

Alfe would call her unbearably soft-hearted. Beyte had given up protesting. In truth, she didn't think it was such a bad thing.

"No," Beyte said after a long moment of silence. "No, I don't think that will be necessary, Master Aryon, but thank you very much for the offer."

Aryon's eyebrows rose fractionally. "As you wish, Beyte. The offer remains open – please do let me know if you change your mind." Hidden behind the words: if your father disagrees.

Beyte felt her smile sharpen. From the corner of her eye, she saw Gadar blanch. He'd met her father, then – Beyte had seen this expression in her mirror before, knew it threw their resemblance into sharp relief.

"I assure you that I will not." You are speaking to me, not Father.

Though the resemblance must have struck him as strongly as his spy, Aryon kept his composure. After a beat, he dipped his head in a nod – one deeper and more respectful than any he'd ever given her before.

"My apologies for the presumption, Beyte. I did not mean to give offence."

Beyte's hidden dreams of making a name for herself in her own right rose once again. Suddenly, they no longer seemed quite so far out of reach. "None taken."

"I must say, Beyte, it's been a true pleasure to speak to you and see who you've become. I hope it won't be a singular occurrence. Might I see you around Vos more often, in the future?"

And the undercurrents were back, opaque to her as always. Perhaps, Beyte thought, if she were to truly pursue that dream she'd need to take some lessons from Delte. For now, all she could do was answer honestly.

"Perhaps later, but not in the near future. I will be travelling." She couldn't keep a touch of relish out of her voice at the words. The circumstances might not be what she had hoped for, but still – Father had relented.

"All the best on your journeys, then, and I shall hope we meet again once they are concluded," Aryon responded. "Do give my regards to your father and sisters before you leave. The doors of Vos, and of course of Tel Vos, are always open to any of you."

"I'll do that. Thank you very much, Master Aryon." The smile she gave him this time was more typical of her, sunny and warm with no edge of threat.

Beyte remained where she was even as Aryon and Gadar continued on their way. Despite herself, her eyes drifted up to Red Mountain, a hulking shadow against sunset's last rays.

The day had brought a cloudless blue sky, and even in the evening the air was clear enough that she could make out the glimmer of the Ghostfence in the distance. For a moment, she simply gazed towards the white-blue glow, let her eyes drift upwards from there to the dark clouds that always hid the mountain's peak no matter how good the weather. Idly, she imagined that if only she stared long and hard enough she might be able to pierce that veil and see all the way into that blighted region. Might be able to see the being whose power lay at the heart of each and every one of the Blight essences she'd spent the afternoon so carefully extracting... was threaded through every single person who dwelled in the Corprusarium.

Whose influence, this afternoon had proven beyond doubt, was slowly but certainly spreading beyond the barrier meant to keep it in.

Then she shook her head firmly to dismiss her flight of fancy and turned to make her way to the tradehouse.



Notes: So I know a lot of my readers haven't actually played Morrowind themselves. I'm delighted that my story has such widespread appeal and it's generally not a problem to explain things as I go along, especially since Adryn herself started the fic completely ignorant. That said, one of the reasons for the interlude was that I looked back on what I'd written and went "......you know, I should probably let the people who haven't played the Mages' Guild questline in on the fact that Tiram Gadar is a Telvanni spy."

The generally unexpected side-effect being that Beyte is now making a bid to become a recurring character - she came out with all that stuff about travelling and wanting to make a name for herself all on her own as I stood by going "but... none of that is in my notes..."

His voice was a hoarse rasp
Isn't every male Dunmer's voice a hoarse rasp?

I loved the little trip down memory lane with now Master Aryon, then gangly slip of an apprentice with dreams of beardy grandeur.

Ah, so it is circling back to Adryn's misadventures at Tel Fyr.

How kind of Adryn to steal a propylon index to escape!

Now I really want to see more of Beyte in the future. I really enjoyed how you described these last two episodes from her point of view.




nit?
and... between one thing another
This sounds a little odd. Perhaps you meant one thing and another?

I only have to look back some... (number larger than 30 but smaller than 60) years to recall my own laughable attempt at a mustache...

And more excellent Morrowindian factional background, as Lord Fyr investigates the causes and impacts of Blight diseases... With the additional seasoning of Telvanni infighting, plus the battles between the other Houses and the Guilds....

Adryn seems to have an ability to cause people to decide on mercy- of course, Beyte's own personality has a lot to do with that....

When a character for whom you have planned a "cameo" or "bit part" takes over the page, the best thing you can do is listen to her.... Beyte's story promises to be most interesting.

As to making use of the "Hlaalu Misinformation" concept, please do.

I have to admit that of all your secondary characters so far, I am in love with Beyte. A smart girl, humble but with dreams of her own . . . I can relate to that! I really enjoyed her interaction with Master Aryon and Tiram the Spy. This holds promise as a story of its own - be careful there!

Now I want to see you follow this rabbit hole!

@all - glad to know Beyte has captured people's hearts! This feedback will be taken into account in further planning

@SubRosa - yeah, I couldn't resist showing the Telvanni viewpoint on Adryn's most recent misadventures! And thank you for pointing out the typo, will fix

@treydog - who could say no to more Telvanni infighting, after all! And re: Beyte, this is really more of her own character shining through - Adryn got really lucky regarding which sister Aryon intercepted. (Although I actually suspect Divayth Fyr himself might have reacted the same way.)

@haute ecole rider - super glad to hear you like Beyte, she's also really grown on me! Honestly, if I could write more quickly, the temptation to create a few spin-offs would be nearly irresistible - next to Beyte, Jamie is also up to interesting things on the island, and although I suck at getting Varvur back on page I think he's undergoing some fast-paced character development right now. Alas, Adryn's tale is long enough that that's where it'll stay... but I think she and Beyte may yet find themselves crossing paths.

Last section, we got to see Beyte Fyr chat with Master Aryon of the Telvanni Council (although Beyte herself knew him as a not nearly so impressive figure) as well as one Tiram Gadar, Telvanni working in the realm of covert information acquisition and definitely not someone we'd met before in this fic. Let's see if we see Beyte again. For now, there's one person we haven't looked in on in a while who is very interested in how Adryn is doing...



"Here – that's all I could make."

"Thank you, Sosia." Methal smiled at the Imperial as she showed him the stack of bottles. "You've been a great help. Now, would you put those into the small storeroom and start on cure disease potions? We should have more than enough willow anther and chokeweed in stock, but Danoso will be able to help you if anything is running low."

"Of course, Brother. Almsivi's blessings on you."

Sosia was very respectful for someone who was not just unaligned, but an outlander, Methal thought as he looked after her. The Temple could use more like her, especially in current times.

But speaking of current times, he had somewhere to be.

Methal nodded to young Danoso and Ureso as he passed them, making sure to project calm and reassurance with the gesture. The announcement of the quarantine had shocked all of Ald'ruhn, and especially the novices were still out of sorts. Methal, whose long life had taught him that panicking was the worst thing one could do in this sort of situation, was doing his best to offer them some stability. Ordinarily, he would spend the whole afternoon in the common areas, doing his best to be a rock in the storm for the highly-strung young ones. Today he had other plans.

Methal's quarters were spare, a cot with a simple nightstand in a room so narrow he could stretch out his hands and touch the walls to either side. Once upon a time, he remembered, he'd laid claim to a building nearly as large as Ald'ruhn Temple itself. His closet alone had almost been larger than this space, his sheets silk and velvet as opposed to scratchy wool.

He didn't miss those times. Now, privileges of rank gave him all he needed: a room of his own, with a door that locked.

He made use of the second property now, jiggling the rusty key until it turned, then reached beneath the bed. A small wooden box emerged, one that only opened after Methal stroked the top with fingers glowing purple. He was very, very careful when withdrawing the crystal within. It was one of the only ones of its kind left, Methal knew, and the one who'd made them had been either unwilling or unable to create replacements for quite some time.

Of course, perhaps that would change soon.

Methal set the crystal on the nightstand, then – gently – reached out to it with a spark of his magicka. He closed his eyes as the world swirled around him, fighting down rising queasiness. This form of teleportation had never quite agreed with him.

When he opened his eyes, he was in a round chamber larger than the one he had left, one bare of all furnishings except the model – if one could call it that – of Vvardenfell hovering in the air near its center. Two figures awaited him, one standing at the side, the other hovering cross-legged over the dais in the middle.

Methal knelt before his god.

Vivec did not react. His eyes were closed, and Methal could sense that almost all of His attention was fixed elsewhere – on Baar Dau, on the Ghostfence, on the people of Vvardenfell – with only a sliver remaining here.

That was all right, of course. Methal was no longer so arrogant as to demand a response.

"Blessings of Almsivi be on you, Methal," the other figure in the room spoke. "How are things in Ald'ruhn?"

"Tholer." Methal gave his friend a welcoming nod. "As well as can be expected. House Redoran declared martial law after the news broke – a prudent response, in my opinion, when one hears about what almost happened here. Or did happen in Balmora."

Tholer's mouth twisted. "Feldrelo informed us, yes. Did you know part of the mob even set foot in the Temple courtyard? None gained entry to the Temple itself, but there was damage done to the exterior and they were forced to disable the Intervention point for a time."

Methal frowned. "I hadn't heard that. It's worryingly disrespectful, if you ask me. Tempers are high, true, but none of the pious should let that stand as an excuse for blasphemy."

"Exactly my view! I told Feldrelo to demand harsh punishments, but-"

The air around them grew heavy. Tholer's voice cut off mid-sentence as the two priests made their obeisance to their waking god.

On the dais, Vivec's eyes opened.

"How is Nerevar?"

Methal raised his head from the flagstones as he gathered his thoughts. It only took a moment – after all, this was the true reason he had come.

"I believe the plan is starting to work. She appears increasingly positively inclined towards us, and as of recently has been convinced to join the Temple as a lay member. Last I heard, she was going to start on the pilgrimages." He did not try to keep the satisfaction out of his voice. The whole thing was, after all, quite a coup.

However, Methal could not stop worry replacing triumph in his next words. "That said... I'm not entirely certain what became of her after the quarantine was announced. She's not in Ald'ruhn."

He prayed she had not been on the mainland. The girl had never seemed interested in leaving the island – Methal suspected she was running from something, although their investigations had not yet turned up what – but something as simple as a day trip by guild guide to Almalexia could be the ruin of their plans.

His prayers were answered. "He is here," Vivec spoke.

"In the city?" Blessed relief swirled through him, washing away tension he hadn't even realised he was carrying.

Vivec did not respond to the impertinent question, his eyes sliding shut again. The energy in the air remained, however, his attention like a physical force.

"She was at the High Fane when the quarantine was announced," Tholer responded in the god's place. "I didn't intervene directly, as you recommended. From the reports, she was doing the pilgrimages."

Methal couldn't stop a smile at this independent confirmation of what he'd heard from young Ervesa. Tholer, however, was looking pensive. "In the last report you sent, you said she was still very reluctant to commit to the Temple. What changed?"

"An encounter with her ancestors, from the sounds of it. She chanced across her ancestral tomb and would like to know her family."

This was an explanation any Dunmer could respect, and indeed Tholer nodded to hear it. But there was still a faint crease between his brows, and he asked, "Isn't that dangerous for us? If she should discover herself a member of a strong clan, one eager to take her in..."

He trailed off, but the implication was clear: it suited none of them for this new Nerevar to have any other sources of support. The Sarethi connection was already unfortunate, one Methal was frustrated to say that he could think of no way to negate without unduly drastic measures. Tholer was correct that blood kin could pose an even bigger problem, especially if they proved unfriendly towards the Temple.

Except that Tholer did not have all the facts.

Methal closed his eyes. He had always had an excellent memory for faces, and one now swam before him against the red of his eyelids. The woman was older than young Adryn, with straight crimson hair cropped close to her ears in place of Adryn's coppery mess and bearing a confident grin that he had never seen on the girl... but all the same, the resemblance could not be denied.

"I'd had a fair idea of her heritage already. The tomb only served to confirm it. You are right in that it is not one that would serve our interests... but I am certain I can divert her."

He opened his eyes to find Tholer looking at him consideringly. Passing unspoken between them: deliberately keeping a seeker from their ancestors was blasphemy of the highest order.

But, of course, it was not the worst thing either of them had done for their god.

"If you say so." Tholer still sounded skeptical. It was refreshing – to Methal's eternal annoyance, most of those who knew his past were afraid to openly disagree with him. "Although I must admit I still have misgivings about this plan of yours. We know Nerevar can become hugely dangerous to us once the memories come, no matter how harmless his appearance now. With the Sharmat gaining strength, we cannot afford a war on two fronts. It would be so much safer to deal with the potential threat in a more... direct fashion."

The face in Methal's mind changed, became even clearer, the force of twenty years' nightmares giving depth and detail to the visage he saw now. This woman bore no physical resemblance to Adryn, with darker skin, a broader build, and wavy brown-black hair tied back in a single braid. Said braid was threaded with carved beads, tribal tattoos on cheeks and forehead completing the image of an Urshilaku Ashlander. The eyes, too, were different, round and surrounded by thick lashes, the irises a red almost dark enough to be black. Yet somehow, something in them reminded him unerringly of the girl he'd met on the back of a strider.

Well. It was hardly surprising, was it.

"We've learned that, even with the memories, Nerevar's early experiences can strongly influence his later actions," Methal said, trying to push that accusing gaze back down into his subconscious. Peakstar's presence in his dreams was acceptable – her memory (his guilt) intruding on his waking life was not. "I would simply like to see whether we can make that work to our advantage for once, instead of our detriment."

"But the risk-"

"You will proceed as agreed. Watch him, but take no action against Nerevar without my word."

Vivec's words ended the argument, Tholer bowing his head in submission and apology. Despite the fact that he had intervened in the conversation, the god's eyes did not open, and the heavy atmosphere lightened if anything – as though his attention were wavering, shifting to a far distant place and time.

"I love Nerevar."

Methal could not stop himself from shooting an alarmed glance at Tholer, who spent far more time with their god. They were not owed any explanation, so why was Vivec was providing one? And more, doing so as if Vivec were speaking to himself? It did not bode well.

"I wish him nothing but the best. It grieves me deeply to be forced to kill him. And yet..."

Tholer met Methal's gaze, expressionless. Behind him, Vivec's eyes opened again, brilliant gold and glaring red, their light stripping Methal down to his stained and battered soul.

"It grows easier every time."

ooooh!

And the plot thickens!

Poor Adryn! One almost feels sorry for her. However, I've read enough of this story to know that she will get out of it with her usual aplomb! In fact, should we start feeling sorry for Methal, Tholer and even Lord Vivec for daring to tangle with our favorite Dunmer heroine?

Vivec. This cannot be good. Oh boy is Adryn in it now. This really puts a new perspective on things. At least at this point they are still thinking they can manipulate Adryn, rather than jumping straight to killing her, like all the other Nerevarines. At this point.

Hopefully one day Adryn will wreak a terrible vengeance upon them all...

@haute ecole rider - let's hope so! Fingers crossed for Adryn, who's definitely managed to weasel her way out of bad situations before... although this is a whole new level.

@SubRosa - yeah, the Temple and the Nerevarines have had a long, tangled history! Involving murder. Lots of murder. Let's all hope that part of it doesn't repeat, at least not on Adryn's side.

(Honestly, I might go back and adjust this installment a bit, because it's actually not *entirely* accurate that all previous Nerevarines have been immediately killed out of hand - it's mainly the more recent ones where that's been the case.)

Last installment, we got to see Vivec and two of his loyal priests considering what to do about Adrynerevar. They decided to not kill her out of hand and instead continue seeing if she couldn't be brought around to be an ally for now, which Adryn would probably find reassuring if not for the way that every single part of that conversation would probably have made her run away screaming if she'd known about it. Next up, we revisit two people Adryn met back in Maar Gan...



"Hey. Pilgrim."

There was a song, barely on the edge of hearing. The most beautiful song in the world, he knew it to be, but the more he strained to hear it the quieter it became.

"You deaf, pilgrim?" Something prodded his shoulder.

The whispering notes faded away, reality rushing back in to replace them. Above him, a woman stood with a spear in her hand. She wore netch leather and an Ashlander's face-mask, the scarf pulled down just enough to give a glimpse of facial tattoos trailing over her cheeks.

Familiar tattoos. He'd seen them during those endless terrified days of captivity, listened as that mouth framed the words but why don't we just kill him?

"...Rasamsi?" Beden asked. It came out more like a croak, as though he hadn't spoken in weeks and his voice were protesting the exhertion. "What are you doing here?"

The inked lines shifted as Rasamsi frowned. "Please don't steal my question, pilgrim. I thought I made it very clear that both you and the girl should stay away! Especially as by now even Manat has managed to work out he was deceived."

Slowly, the rest of the world began to come into focus around the woman. Grey skies over a grey landscape, the colour only broken by the occasional dead black tree clawing its way towards the sky... and, in the distance, a fortress brooding on a hilltop.

The Ashlands.

Everything felt muted, as though someone had packed his mind in wool, but even so that sight drove a jolt of surprise through it.

"But... I was near Gnisis, how did I get back here?"

"Walked, from the looks of it," Rasamsi said as Beden levered himself upright. The process was more difficult than it should have been, left him out of breath by the time it was complete.

Rasamsi was still talking. "-can walk yourself straight back, city-dweller. My cousins will be most unhappy to see you. So am I, for that matter, given that it seems you did not adhere to our bargain."

Something in those words should worry him, Beden know, but the idea felt very far away. Instead, he ignored her in favour of wracking his memory for any clue about how he got here. He'd finally been making good progress towards Gnisis, after having to backtrack almost all the way to Ald'ruhn in order to get over the hills to the West Gash. It had started raining, he'd ducked into a nearby cave to take shelter and let the shower pass, then-

Nothing. Only scattered impressions: a pair of red eyes glowing in the dark, stone warm beneath his hand-

A song, achingly beautiful, drawing him further and further into the depths.

"Are you listening to me, pilgrim?"

Beden found himself jolted out of his recollections by Rasamsi's angry tone. Her fingers had tightened on her spear, the blade now tilted forward instead of held upwards at rest. Even in his scattered state, he could identify that as a sign of danger.

"I'm sorry. I'm not... well."

The last word escaped him without his consciously choosing it, as though bubbling up from somewhere deep within him.

As though, the thought struck him suddenly, some small near-buried part of him was screaming for help.

If so, Rasamsi didn't pick up on these subtleties. Her spear shifted back again, but her annoyance did not fade. "And you are surprised? I would also not be well, if I walked through the Ashlands without supplies." Her expression turned thoughtful. "Although... from the looks of that pack, you do have supplies. If you are too stupid to use them, pilgrim, I will take them off your hands."

"Supplies?" Beden asked blankly. He'd lost most of his in his first encounter with Rasamsi and her kin, and although he'd been able to restock a little after his rescue he'd known he'd need to rely on the pilgrimage waystations on his way to Gnisis. Last he remembered, his pack had been light...

Had been, but wasn't now. When he glanced down at it, his pack was clearly full, the flap bulging upwards. For all the world, it looked as though he'd come across a long, oblong object and done his best to cram it in, but he didn't have the faintest recollection of how that happened or what it might be.

"What's this?" Beden pushed back the flap-

As his fingers touched the statue, the song roared back into his mind, eerily beautiful, drowning all else.

How could he have forgotten? The gift of the Lord's statue in the depths of Mamaea, the holy goal he was pursuing. Retracing the miles, step by step, as he grew steadily weaker for lack of true sustenance.

The woman's annoyance turned into fright as he drew out the sacred idol from its wrappings. "That's – Ancestors' fury, pilgrim, put that thing down! Do you know what it is?"

"It is the sign that our Lord awakes," the dreamer answered her, and struck.

The spell caught her unawares, red light splashing across her chest to twine around her limbs. She dropped like a stone. The dreamer bent to pick up her spear, looked at her unconscious form, and considered.

No. She was of Resdayn, she might yet come to understand... or be gifted, as the dreamer had been. He could sadly not yet share the gift himself, but she might meet one more blessed. He had no right to take that chance away from her.

The dreamer left the woman sprawled in the ash as he turned east. Dimly, he was aware that exhaustion had turned his limbs to lead and his stomach was shrivelled in on itself from hunger, but such sensations were faint and unimportant beside the song that called him ever onwards. For a moment, he thought it was coming from the fortress above, but-

No. The heretics had come with fire and sword, desecrated the sacred ground and butchered its priests. One day they might regain it, but for now Falasmaryon was lost to them.

But there was a greater shrine that remained hidden.

The dreamer turned and began to make his slow, shuffling way towards Kogoruhn.

It sounds like Beden took shelter in one of the ancestral tombs. Not very sheltering... He's lucky to be alive.

Or maybe not. Perhaps that was a Sixth House base? Something about him smells like a Dreamer.

Sometimes I hate to guess right. Yikes! Rasamsi was lucky to survive that.

@SubRosa - yeah, Beden made... a very bad choice of shelter Rasamsi was definitely far luckier than him in this section.

Last chapter, we zoomed out a bit and had a look at various reactions to both the quarantine and Adryn's antics across factions - ranging from the Blades to Telvanni to the Temple. But let's face it, Adryn is still our primary character and it's time to check on how she's doing after collapsing at the High Fane.



"Well, then."

Ranis Athrys sounded distinctly unimpressed. I tried to shrink against the wall in hopes of escaping her gaze, but it was a difficult task. Not only was I, after all, incapable of turning invisible at will, but I couldn't even vanish in the crowds. Although everyone at the Ald'ruhn guild was gathered in its main hall, that number was distinctly smaller than it had been a week ago.

No small wonder, given the chaos that had followed the announcement of the quarantine. It had taken me most of the week just to make my way back to Ald'ruhn; although I'd quickly recovered from the strange fit that took me in Vivec, the city had been in such an uproar that I'd still ended up spending the night on a hastily-erected cot in one of the Temple corridors, unable to make it back to the guild. I'd managed that the next day, only to make the unpleasant discovery that in adherence to the quarantine order, all guild guide services were cancelled until they managed to separate the Vvardenfell network from the mainland. The silt strider service, still recovering from the recent ash storm, had been completely overwhelmed and I'd ended up spending several nights on the floor in the Vivec Mages' Guild before I finally managed to beg a spot on a strider north. The other guild members who'd been out of town when the quarantine hit had similar stories to tell, and for many of the missing we didn't even know if they were trapped on the mainland or stranded somewhere else on the island.

For others, everyone was well aware of their status.

"As you all know," Ranis said, "Edwinna Elbert is currently in Narsis. Given the current... unpleasantness..." I had to bite my lip not to laugh at the understatement, "we do not know when she will be able to return. As such, I am temporarily assuming charge of the Ald'ruhn guild."

I could see a few of my fellow members exchange glances, but no one spoke.

Ranis nodded to herself, as if she was satisfied by the complete silence.

"I am aware recent events have been distressing. However, we of the guild leadership have been doing our utmost to alleviate them, including finding alternate supply chains to replace those interrupted by the quarantine. We want to do whatever is necessary for a quick return to normality, and it is crucial that each and every one of you do your part to aid in that."

"Alternate supply chains." The whisper came from my left, where our enchanter Tanar Llervu was standing. "Hlaalu supply chains, more like."

Ranis stared in our direction. Tanar shut up, but when I glanced her way I saw she was wearing a fierce scowl.

To my great surprise, most of the people I knew had fixated on one particular aspect of the quarantine: the fact that the Empire had given House Hlaalu, and only House Hlaalu, permission to keep running goods to and from the island. A complete blockade, we were told, would be impossible for humanitarian reasons as Vvardenfell imported food. ("Because it would be so terrible if the outlanders had to eat kwama eggs," had been Tanar's scoffing response when that filtered through. "More to the point, they want our ebony.") However, in order to ensure the Blight remained contained on the island, all trade should be funneled through a single organization which was capable of enforcing the new strict hygiene requirements.

So went the official reasoning. Literally every single person I'd spoken to, however, found it laughable. No, any inhabitant of Ald'ruhn would tell you, this was a Hlaalu coup. They couldn't achieve their desired trade monopoly by honest means, so they used dirty tricks to knock out their competition – and spent not a second of thought on the island full of people who would suffer for their ambition.

Personally, I agreed that the political and economic implications were serious, but the fact that nobody seemed worried about the contagious, untreatable disease spreading on the island – the one which was so dangerous that it justified quarantining the whole of Vvardenfell – had made me spend a few days wondering if I was living in a different reality from everyone else.

I'd slowly come to realise that the issue was the Empire.

To me, the Empire had always been much like the weather. One might complain when it was being particularly bothersome, but there was no point really getting upset about it – or questioning why it existed at all. The Empire simply was, unchangeable and eternal as the rain, as winter storms, as the moons in the sky.

Not so in Morrowind. I'd noticed stand-offishness and dislike of outlanders – I could hardly pat myself on the back for my observational skills there, since I'd have had to be deaf and blind to miss it – but what had passed me by until now was that those attitudes grew in the soil of a deep, unspoken resentment of the Empire. Many Morrowind natives still viewed it and what it brought – the Legions, the laws, the government, even the language - as an unwanted imposition into their lives. And so, when the Imperials announced quarantine, it was all too easy for them to fit into that picture. Oh, there couldn't really be any danger. The Temple had it all under control. The Imperials were just making things hard for good hard-working god-fearing Dunmer for no reason... again. I, who'd spent my formative years in the human heartlands of High Rock and Skyrim, was inclined to think the Empire wouldn't cut off an entire island without cause. I was very obviously the minority.

I'd say that I liked to think I was the one with the right of things, but that wasn't exactly accurate seeing as I didn't like thinking it at all. Thinking it made dread pool in my stomach, made me lie awake at night remembering the Blighted guar Gelduin and I had put out of its misery in the West Gash and quietly imagining its weeping sores and inflamed eyes on people. No, I would have loved to believe that the whole thing had been cooked up between the Hlaalu and some crooked Imperial governor, that I and the rest of the population of Vvardenfell had not in fact been deemed an acceptable loss to keep a plague from reaching the mainland. It seemed like it would be a very comforting worldview, and given that so many of my companions subscribed to it I was honestly a little bitter to be left out in the cold.

"You may return to your duties now. I expect you to give them your full attention," Ranis said, and I realised with a start that I'd drifted into thought and missed the entirety of her pep talk. Luckily, no one seemed to have noticed my daydreaming – Ranis especially – but it was still embarrassing. I'd have to ask Tanar later if I'd missed anything important.

People began to file out of the room, low murmurs rising in the air as they discussed this new turn of events. I was just about to follow suit with an internal sigh of relief, when-

"Apprentice Adryn. A word, if you please."

I supposed an easy escape would have been too much to hope for. Had she noticed my distraction after all?

Or- no. Return to your duties, she'd said. And although I'd been very satisfied with the work given me by Edwinna, Ranis' suggested duties had been entirely different.

She couldn't possibly mean to...

"Yes, guildmistress?" I pasted an expression on my face that I hoped very strongly made me look like an earnest, dutiful apprentice, with none of the sudden dread I was feeling shining through.

Ranis didn't respond in words. Instead, she simply jerked her head for me to follow. By the time we reached Edwinna's office, my stomach felt like it had fallen in on itself and I was almost certain my demeanour was no longer helpful and obedient but instead broadcasting please don't make me a guild guide, please.

When Ranis took a seat behind Edwinna's desk, the dissonance broke me out of my terrified imaginings. I'd spent a fair amount of time in this room, discussing some report I'd written, the findings of one of Edwinna's ruin excavations or the latest article from the Cyrodiil Dwemer journals. No matter what the topic, Edwinna was never anything but helpful and encouraging, and her domain seemed to emanate warmth and friendliness. Ranis fit in roughly as well as I had at the Sarethis; I felt oddly indignant on the room's behalf, to be forced to put up with her.

"I'm aware that you were working as an aide for Edwinna's research," she said now. "I'm afraid that you won't be able to continue in that role while she is absent."

I frowned. I wasn't sure either I or Edwinna would have described me that way, especially because...

"I was doing a fair amount of independent work as well. Couldn't I just continue that way until she gets back?"

"Entirely out of the question," Ranis ruthlessly crushed my poor fledgling hope before it even had a chance to grow. "Of course we're not going to let an Apprentice run wild, and there's nobody left at the guild with the rank and knowledge to supervise Dwemer research."

Really? Because our spellmaker Heem-La was a Conjurer, and not only was he a fixture at the weekly Dwemer discussion group, he'd joined mine and Edwinna's meetings a time or two. I'd been quite impressed by his encyclopedic knowledge of Dwemer ruins. I opened my mouth to ask what made him unsuitable-

"Although, didn't I hear something about you working on propylon indices? Folms Mirel would be quite suitable as a supervisor."

That suggestion drove Heem-La so far out of my head he'd probably breached quarantine and left Vvardenfell. I spent a moment simply gaping at the Balmora guildmistress, who didn't seem to see anything wrong with her suggestion.

I'd thought that at this point even the newest guild associate, even Edwinna's ruin divers who might only spend one week in ten in anything one could term 'civilization', knew about the state of affairs between me and Blowfish. Was she completely cut off from the guild gossip vine? But in that case, how had she even heard about my research?

"Apprentice?"

Impatience seeped into Ranis' tone. I swallowed.

"Er. Sorry. I... don't think it would be a good idea."

Ranis' expression indicated that I'd managed to fall short of already low expectations. I had to suppress the urge to fidget beneath her withering gaze, never to mention the two words guild guide I could feel looming over the conversation.

I decided that I wanted to lodge a complaint with the universe. Why, exactly, couldn't Ranis have been the one stranded on the mainland, and Edwinna left in Ald'ruhn where she belonged?

"Well, in that case there's nothing for it," Ranis said. "You'll have to be my agent."

Wait.

What?

"Agent?" I repeated.

"I don't have any academic work suitable for you, and the guild guide role I'd planned for you is now impossible given the quarantine." Right, I'd almost forgotten the guild in question was on the mainland. It was a very strange sensation to suddenly feel grateful for being trapped on the island. "However, I do have the odd task I need handled, and the person who usually takes care of such things for me thought last week was the perfect time to visit his family in Stonefalls." Ranis rolled her eyes, as though in contempt at the man's failure to predict the completely unprecedented travel interdict. "I've heard you might be minimally competent in such things."

"What sort of tasks are we talking about here?" I asked warily.

"Oh, the odd errand. Running messages, procuring information, perhaps the occasional stint as a bodyguard-"

I must not scream at my guildmistress. It was unlikely to make things any better. "You... do realise that I'm an alchemist, right? And Dwemer researcher, I suppose, but in any case not trained in combat. I really can't-"

"Don't play me for a fool, apprentice." Ranis' voice was cold. "I do hear things, you know. Anybody who can infiltrate both Tel Naga and Tel Fyr to retrieve Telvanni hostages is more than capable of handling my small requests."

I opened my mouth. Closed it again. Desperately tried to work out how I could possibly explain that although that was technically close to the truth, for all practical intents and purposes she'd gotten things terribly wrong-

Alas, Ranis didn't care to give me the chance. "Unless you only care to use your skills to aid House Redoran... but in that case, I fail to see why the Mages' Guild should keep you as a member." I'd always thought of crimson as a warm colour, but her eyes were like two chips of ice in her face. "Well, apprentice?"

The thought suddenly struck me that Ranis had known Blowfish would never willingly work with me. Of course she had. She'd simply been making a point about my lack of other options.

My thoughts whirled frantically as Ranis' gaze bored into me. Sadly, as the seconds dragged on it became clear that this time, she had me thoroughly trapped. With Blowfish's enmity, Edwinna's absence, Trebonius'... Trebonius, and the fact that I really shouldn't show my face in Sadrith Mora for a while, I'd run out of other guild heads to hide behind. I could do as she said, or I could leave the guild – and, as I'd realised not so long ago in Maar Gan, I wasn't ready to take that step yet.

"All right," I finally said. "I'll do it."

Ranis' ice glare of death warmed until her expression could be described as merely frosty. She didn't smile; I was beginning to suspect her face would crack in half if she ever did.

Although really now – I hadn't paid attention, but I didn't think she'd acted this like this with the other Balmora guild members. Haughty, unfriendly and very full of her own authority, yes... but not as utterly unwilling to listen as she was with me. I was beginning to get the impression she disliked me personally – but why? I hadn't done anything...

I considered the events that had transpired since I'd joined.

All right, so it was possible I'd become involved in a few things that might, theoretically, harm the reputation of the guild or gain it enemies if more widely known. I was of the firm opinion that all these transpirings were entirely involuntary on my part and therefore not in fact my fault, but thinking about it Ranis Athrys might have missed that part.

"Very good," Ranis said, and I decided to put the question of how to convince my guildmistress that I wasn't a reckless renegade aside for later. "Now, the first thing I want you to do..."

As I listened, I hoped desperately this would go better than I feared.

Yikes! Talk about a Downward Transition! *Dressage folks speak of downward transitions and upward transitions as the changes between gaits: a downward transition refers to a change from a canter to a slower gait, say a trot or even a walk, for example - and we often jokingly use that term to describe that sinking feeling one gets when one sees the caca about to hit the oscillating blades*

I really enjoyed the perspective of the native Dunmeri towards the Empire - it really explains a lot of what one feels in that game (also in TESV, I've noticed, and on a smaller, more sporadic scale, in ESO). It certainly feels like Adryn experienced what I call a light bulb moment. The quarantine certainly puts the Empire in a different light, and really plays up the way folks see House Hlaalu. Personally, I've always preferred House Redoran, even though they're often quite stodgy in their ways. Funny enough, I've never played TESIII, but I picked up a fair bit about the Houses from the lore, fan fictions like this one, and ESO. And my first exposure to a member of House Hlaalu is actually the Count of Cheydinhal, when people refer to his connection with House Hlaalu . . . a more shady character I find it hard to think of.

As for Guild business, on the one hand Adryn doesn't have to be guild guide, so that's the one silver lining in this whole quarantine business. Unfortunately, it's more a frayed silver thread, as the other options aren't much better . . .

Poor Adryn! I look forward to how she gets along with Acting Guildmistress Ranis . . .

Alternate supply chains sounds like where Han Solo and the Falcon come into the story...

but the fact that nobody seemed worried about the contagious, untreatable disease spreading on the island – the one which was so dangerous that it justified quarantining the whole of Vvardenfell – had made me spend a few days wondering if I was living in a different reality from everyone else.
No Adryn, you are living in the same reality I am at this moment...

I liked how you showed how the grievances of the Dunmer - real and imagine - festered into their beliefs. That is another nice touch of reality.

It seems like Adryn can look forward to a long and fruitful career working side by side with Ranis. Not! I suspect antics will shortly ensue.

@haute ecole rider - thanks for the explanation! Downward transition - I'll have to remember that, especially as there are... more than a few in this story.

I had fun with the Dunmer and the Empire! Er... insert GIANT DIGRESSION about my own conflicted feelings about the Empire as presented in TES here (summed up with "but colonialism is bad??"). It's safe to say that I think it's understandable the Dunmer are bitter and jumping to bad conclusions re: this new turn of events - even if, in this case, it does mean they're dismissing a real and present danger.

I also appreciate Redoran a lot, for what it's worth, and adore Athyn Sarethi (...somehow I don't think any of my readers are surprised.) I'll admit I have a soft spot for the Telvanni too, although they're obviously a lot more problematic. Hlaalu... eh, do we really need them. Especially since - you might not know this if you haven't played TESIII, but the Hlaalu patron is a horrible sleazeball and there's a nasty bit of sexual harrassment you're forced to accept if you want to finish the questline. Didn't exactly endear me to the House, let's just say.

@SubRosa - I hope you realised I am now wrestling with the temptation to include Hanus Solo, his Senche friend Khuba-qa and their trading ship the Century Falcon! More seriously, I may go into this a little more later but I absolutely want to use the quarantine to explain the absurd amount of smugglers Morrowind seems to have. There's a lot of impetus for all the small-time traders between Vvardenfell and the mainland to just sneakily continue on, and for local fishers to turn their hand to transporting wares as well.

And yeah, this chapter was weird to write given current events. Speaking of parallels I really did NOT plan to have in my work!


Last installment, we found Adryn back in the Ald'ruhn Mages' Guild, having taken some time to make her way back from Vivec after the announcement of quarantine threw all the transport networks into chaos. Alas for her budding career as a Dwemer scholar, the quarantine also left Edwinna, Ald'ruhn guildmistress and Adryn's mentor in such things, stranded on the mainland... to be replaced by Ranis Athrys, last seen attempting to send Adryn to be a guild guide. This time, Adryn narrowly avoided such a fate, but she did wind up agreeing to be Ranis' "agent" who would run "errands" for her.

Let's see what the first one is...



The first I learned of how Balmora had changed since my last visit was the cold voice that greeted me when I came out of the teleport.

"Step away from the platform, hands at your sides."

"It's all right, she's a guild member!"

The second voice was more familiar, and when I blinked the world back into focus I saw Masalinie. She looked rather pale and drawn compared to the last time we'd spoken. A week ago, I'd have assumed it was something to do with the two armoured figures flanking her, their hands on their weapons.

A week ago, Vvardenfell had been a very different place.

"Adryn!" Masalinie looked as though she wanted to hug me but – with a glance at the guards at her side – refrained. "You're safe! Last we heard nobody knew where you were-"

"I was in Vivec when the quarantine hit, didn't manage to get back to Ald'ruhn until recently. The network going down really threw everyone for a loop." I studied Masalinie's face more closely. Up close, I could tell she was trembling faintly and there was a dark patch on one cheek I'd taken for a shadow but was actually a bruise. "But what about you? You don't look well."

"Some people thought I could still send them over to the mainland after we shut down the network. They didn't want to take no for an answer." Masalinie's smile was a sickly thing. "Thankfully, the Fighter's Guild has been kind enough to lend us some support."

"It's our pleasure to help our neighbours," said the Redguard who'd threatened me on my arrival, his tone now noticeably warmer.

"Particularly as it's in our interest to have the Vvardenfell network back up and running again, too," his Breton colleague chipped in. She looked familiar, bringing back vague memories of chatting with a Fighter's Guild scout on the way back from Suran in my first days on the island – half a lifetime ago, it seemed now. "And that's not going to happen as long as you mages have to worry about people who think beating you up is their path off the island."

Masalinie touched her cheek. I decided very rapidly that I would never, ever be mentioning the fact that I also knew the guild guide spells to anyone as long as the quarantine lasted.

"But what are you doing here, Adryn?" she asked. "I know you're part of the Ald'ruhn guild now." Something bitter flashed over her expression. "Sounds like a better place to be right now, too."

I couldn't argue that. I'd come back to grim expressions, a strict curfew and Redoran guards at nearly every corner, but to my knowledge nobody had accosted Erranil, and we didn't need fighters stationed within the guild itself.

"Trust me, I'd rather be staying there," especially after getting back had been such an ordeal, "but I have some things to do here in Balmora."

I refrained from going into detail, as Ranis had asked me to keep the details of our new arrangement between us. Although that was of course not going to stop me from sharing them with my friends – if she wanted actual loyalty from me, her current approach was not the way to get it – it was enough to stop me from doing so in the middle of the guild, with two strange Fighter's Guild members listening in.

"Ajira is fine, just so you know," Masalinie said. "Not in Balmora, though. She went up to Fort Moonmoth the other day and isn't back yet."

Disappointment sat heavy in my stomach. I'd heard that Ajira had come through recent events all right, but had hoped to look in on her myself to reassure myself of that fact.

Still... the quarantine had been announced on a Fredas, which meant young Ma'Zajirr would still have been at Fort Moonmoth when chaos engulfed the island. It was hardly a surprise if Ajira had gone after him, even considering her fear of travelling outside of town.

"Thanks for telling me," I said. "I'll have to catch up with her some other time. But that wasn't the only reason I came to Balmora. Do you happen to know an Argonian by the name of Only-He-Stands-Here? I have a message for him, and I've been told he's still in town."

A message, indeed. Controlling my face, not letting any of my fear or distaste show, took a real effort of will. I was not happy about my first task as Ranis' 'agent'.

Masalinie frowned, clearly searching her memory. Before she could respond, however, the Redguard cleared his throat.

"Believe I do. Healer, isn't he? Lives down the alley near the river, but spends a lot of time in the South Wall Cornerclub."

I decided that, in addition to my apocethary business, I could look into making some money through weight-loss remedies (something rich nobles were always interested in). The way my appetite had fled within moments, the faint sensation of hunger that had been so-insistently informing me breakfast had been a long time ago replaced by queasiness, was downright magical. It must be possible to bottle it somehow.

Focus, Adryn.

"...the South Wall Cornerclub, you say?"

"Yes. They've actually reopened already, believe it or not – all the other taverns are still shut until things quiet down. You could try there."

"Thanks for the information," I told him, trying not to let my abject despair show.

Of course the man I was looking for was associated with the Thieves' Guild. As if I needed more proof that the universe had it out for me.

"You say you have a message for him?" In fact, more proof might be materialising right now, seeing as the Breton scout had an unfriendly look in her eyes. "What sort of message might that be?"

Oh, apparently he's offering illicit Restoration training, and our most honourable guildmistress wants me to get him to stop. You know, threaten him a little and all that.

Having more intelligence than a kwama (or its equivalent, a Varvur), I did not say any of that out loud. Especially as I suspected this might be exactly what she was hoping not to hear.

After all, Only-He-Stands-Here would hardly be an illicit trainer if he didn't have customers, and the Redguard had known where he lived. I imagined the Fighter's Guild found it quite handy, to have a healer and teacher who wasn't charging guild prices. I couldn't even blame them – Nine knew I'd made use of non-guild-approved mages in the past – but it meant that honesty was definitely not called for.

"Oh, I'm acquainted with some of the healers who work at Ald'ruhn Temple," I said. "Sometimes I run messages for them – and they're really trying to pull together all knowledge on diagnosing the Blight right now."

Each individual part of that sentence had the advantage of being true, although the implied inference – that I'd been asked to get information from Only-He-Stands-Here about Blight diagnosis – was definitely false. In fact, I hadn't actually spoken to any of them directly since returning to Ald'ruhn, although I'd been hoping to change that today.

Although everyone in Vivec had treated my fainting fit as a benign, even positive thing – being overwhelmed by Vivec's divine power was nothing to be ashamed of, I'd been told more than once – it sat badly with me nonetheless. I wasn't exactly prone to religious fervour to the point of losing consciousness, and although remembering the time immediately preceding said fainting fit was strangely difficult, the few fragments I could piece together indicated my new headaches might have played a role. All in all, it added up to a worrying picture, and I'd been hoping Sosia – who helped at the Temple as an independent, and professed only a vague belief in the Nine – might be willing to take the time out of her day to perform a health check. Sadly, my most esteemed guildmistress (substitute edition) didn't believe in asking apprentices what their plans were before sending them off on completely unsuitable missions.

Speaking of completely unsuitable missions, it seemed my dissembling had been successful, because the Redguard was nodding. "Makes sense, I heard him mention he's been looking into the Blight. Greet him for me, will you?"

"I'll do that," I responded, and went to quickly make my escape.

Not quickly enough, it turned out, because as I was leaving the guild common area someone caught my arm. I froze.

"Excuse me?"

"Ah, Adryn." Estirdalin let go of my arm with no sign of guilt. I could feel myself tensing up. I mainly associated the Altmer with her telling me all about my newfound learning disability in front of an audience. The resulting dislike was possibly unfair – it wasn't as if she'd given me Ledd's Syndrome – but hard to shake, and I'd been quietly content to not see her around much after moving to the Ald'ruhn guild.

The dislike was apparently not mutual, because Estirdalin looked happy to see me. "It's good to know you're on the island still. Such confusion these last few days, really, we still don't know where Marayn is – well! What brings you to Balmora?"

"Oh, I'm taking a message to someone. Only-He-Stands-Here - healer, lives near the river?"

Estirdalin's smile widened, taking on an almost triumphant cast. "Well, finally! It's about time Ranis sent someone to have a word-"

Alduin's breath, did she have no sense of discretion at all? The woman hadn't even lowered her voice! I could feel the guards' eyes burning into my back from where they stood beside Masalinie.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about," I said loudly. "It's an errand I'm running for the Temple, nothing to do with the guildmistress at all."

"Of course, of course," Estirdalin said, but judging by the way her smile didn't slip I didn't think she believed me. "Whatever you say, my dear. All that aside, I've been meaning to have a word with you."

Oh, I'm so sorry, I'm afraid I'm in a hurry-

Alas, the Altmer wasn't going to give me time to weasel out of this. "I don't like to give too much credence to guild gossip," she went on without giving me the chance to get a word in edgewise, "but I've heard you were investigating propylon indices with Tiram Gadar?"

I frowned. "With is something of an exaggeration. I've been working on them on my own, he showed interest, we met once to discuss them."

The man had been pleasant enough, but either he was somewhat dim or Ledd's syndrome had struck again, because he hadn't seemed to understand my theories about how they worked at all. All in all, the meeting had been a disappointment, and when he suggested repeating it I'd immediately started looking for excuses. The quarantine served that purpose nicely – especially given that I hadn't seen him in the Vivec guild at all afterwards, and I'd spent enough time there that I should have if he'd been around. With any luck, the man was stuck on the mainland.

"Ah. I suppose that makes sense."

"What does?" I asked, feeling wary.

Estirdalin hesitated. "Well... it's speculation, and I wouldn't want to gossip..."

As one might imagine, this only served to heighten my curiosity. "I promise I won't spread whatever it is any further."

"...I suppose that would be all right," Estirdalin answered after a moment of hesitation. She darted a glance at the Masalinie and the Fighter's Guild members. "If you'd join me in the kitchen?"

How nice to know that the Altmer was capable of discretion when it was something she wanted to keep secret. "Of course."

"Not long after he joined the guild," Estirdalin began in a low voice once we were esconced in the private area, "Gadar began to work closely on novel uses of the water-walking spell with another apprentice. He later published a paper on the subject in the Crystal Tower Annals, in which he thanked her for her assistance in the acknowledgements. But... when it appeared, the apprentice in question was furious. She said it had been her work primarily, with Gadar's part being incidental at most, and he had no right to claim it as his own."

I frowned. I'd thought I was more or less up-to-date on guild gossip, but I hadn't heard this before. "Which apprentice?"

"You wouldn't know her, I'm afraid. She left the guild afterwards, when despite her lodging a complaint the paper was not retracted. She was very angry... people don't like talking about it. Ranis Athrys said it was a clear case of an apprentice overestimating their own contribution and being too greedy for their own good, but I always wondered." Estirdalin paused. Very delicately, as though picking her way past pressure plates, she said, "Gadar did seem quite clear when he talked about the two of you collaborating. In fact, at one point he may have framed it as you helping him."

The surge of indignation took me by surprise. The me of a few months ago, who'd joined the guild looking for stability and a roof over her head more than anything else, wouldn't have cared. Pointless academic posturing, she'd have called it. Who cared about some long article that would be read by perhaps a dozen people, or about whose name stood on the byline? Some of us had real problems to be concerned with.

But apparently my time in the guild had changed me more than I'd thought, because now I cared. That was my research, my work, me hiding from ash monsters at Falasmaryon or trudging through the swamps near Hlormaren, me running the risk of having Blowfish lose his temper and actually try to set me on fire one of these days. I'd be damned if I'd let Throat-Ailment take any of the credit for it.

"Well," my voice was frosty as the Pale in midwinter, "now you know better. It's my work, Thr- Gadar had nothing to do with it."

"I'll keep it in mind, Apprentice." Estirdalin sounded satisfied that I was taking her seriously. Perhaps, I decided, she wasn't all that bad. She hadn't had to warn me, after all. "Do give my regards to Only-He-Stands-Here."

Or perhaps she was that bad. Our conversation had made me forget all about of what had brought me to Balmora, which frankly was a happy state of affairs. Why did she have to go about reminding me?

"I'll do that," I told her, and went to face my doom.

TBH I think the reason for all the smuggling is right there in the game. The East Empire Company has a monopoly on practically all trade coming out of Morrowind (I can't remember if it also includes Imperial goods going into the country as well). Walk into any ebony or glass mine, and the Imperial soldiers will tell you the ore is the property of the Emperor, and they will kill you if you try to take any.

So yeah, fetch the Emperor, let's smuggle.

I so want to see the Century Falcon now, and maybe its former owner, L'hando Calr'sien. I hear he runs a mining outpost in the Sea of Ghosts now...

Looks like things are getting ugly in Balmora. At least the Fighters Guild is stepping up. Though now it looks like they might be a complication.

Oh boy, Gadar is a stealing other people's work, and now Adryn is his next target. Looks like she's got her dander up. Maybe she can get him out to one of those Dunmer strongholds. It would be a shame if something were to... happen to him there...

@SubRosa - very good point! I still think there are very many smugglers (seriously, it's like every second cave) to all be smuggling ebony and glass... but yeah, there's a lot of control of Morrowind's economy that could also explain it. Dwemer artifacts are another one where they just belong to the Empire automatically. (Dumac wishes to object to this state of affairs.)

Adryn is still very much against things "happening" to people, but she might be tempted to make an exception for Tiram Gadar. Might.


Last installment, Adryn returned to the Balmora Mages' Guild - in a state of alert and with new Fighter's Guild guards due to the quarantine. The whole thing, along with a discussion with Estirdalin where the Altmer warned her that Tiram Gadar has been known to steal work and credit, made her forget the reason she'd come for a while. But in the end, Adryn does have to set out on her mission for Ranis Athrys - making an Argonian called Only-He-Stands-Here stop offering illicit Restoration training.

Let's see how that goes.



Outside the guild, the differences between how Balmora and Ald'ruhn had handled the quarantine became even more apparent. Ald'ruhn hadn't been a comfortable place to return to, true – House Redoran was out in force, with guards glaring at you suspiciously at every corner, and the strict curfew along with the ban on public gatherings left most of us feeling stifled. All the same, the harsh measures had succeeded in their aim: channeling the residents' understandable anger away from pointless destruction.

The same could not be said for the Hlaalu, it seemed. The streets, eerily empty of people, were instead littered with debris. Scattered shards mingled with spoiled food showed that many of the large pots people kept outside their home had been smashed, and boards covered many windows and doorways. Here and there I made out actual scorch marks.

Although really, the scale of the destruction shouldn't surprise me. Hlaalu was less military than Redoran, and the anger at them had been far greater after their arrangement with the Imperials became common knowledge. The other Houses and the Temple had had the quarantine forced upon them, so people thought, while Hlaalu was not just complicit but exploiting it for its own gain. The effects were obvious.

Really, I should probably be glad I'd been stuck in Vivec so long. The mood had been dire, true, but there'd been no violence. Not after-

A pair of mismatched, glowing eyes, radiating power-

My mind skittered away from the memory like a drop of water on hot stone.

What was I doing, anyway? One only had to take a single look around to realise that I shouldn't linger on the streets.

Only-He-Stands-Here lived in the lower floor of a small house near the river. It seemed to have been spared some of the destruction, with several crates still intact beside his door and his window whole and unbroken. Well, I supposed it made sense. Even when tempers were high, nobody wanted to annoy the neighbourhood healer.

I rapped on the door. Nothing happened. Nothing continued to happen for a long enough amount of time that I started to daydream about heading back to Ald'ruhn unsuccessful. So sorry, guildmistress. I couldn't find him – are you sure he's not stuck on the mainland? What a pity, really. But don't put yourself out thinking up something else for me to do, I'll just occupy myself with these books, stay out of your hair...

"What is it, smooth-skin?"

Lost in thought, I hadn't noticed the door creak open. A slit-pupilled green eye stared out from the crack.

"Only-He-Stands-Here? I'm-" not going to introduce myself to someone with Thieves' Guild ties- "from the Mages' Guild. I'd like a word."

Absolute silence. The eye stayed focused on me, unblinking. I got the impression its owner was thinking very rapidly.

"I'm unarmed and not a combat mage." I could be helpful, right? "I only want to talk."

Slowly, the door opened. The hinges squealed, as though expressing their owner's reluctance.

"Come in, then. And quickly."



Inside, I found a small, well-appointed home. Like Ajira, Only-He-Stands-Here had managed to fit his whole life into the single room he had available. In one corner, a kettle sat on a low hearth, in another, reed dividers almost hid a fur-laden bed from view. (I gave the thing a jealous look; the lack of privacy in Ald'ruhn dorms was wearing on me.) A low sideboard held a full set of journeyman-quality alchemy apparatus which I also eyed enviously. Pride of place, though, was given to a Dwemer table which was apparently experiencing a second life as a healer's workstation. A young Khajiit sat perched on it, staring at me curiously.

"Tsahbani, please go to your aunt," the Argonian told her.

"But-"

"Now, please. Let her know I have a- guest-" I could hear another word hiding behind that pause, "and will not be able to teach you this afternoon."

"Really? All right." After a last look at me, the kit scampered.

"I didn't mean to interrupt your time with a patient. Or student," I told him. "I could have waited."

Only-He-Stands-Here gave me a long glance. "You are very polite. I must admit it is unexpected." His head-frill jerked. "It behooves me to be polite in turn. Tea?"

Nobody could call themselves an alchemist and not feel a frisson of alarm when an Argonian offered them tea. "Er-"

"Hackle-lo." Only-He-Stands-Here gave the impression that although he was too polite to roll his eyes, I should understand the temptation was great and refraining took a significant expenditure of will on his part. "I have lived in Morrowind many years, I do understand smoothskin physiology. And poisoning you would not be..." his chin-tendrils twitched, "proper, here and now."

Despite the situation – in particular, my distinct and pressing desire not to be in it – something in me relaxed at that. I could see the guild ties, now, and although they were of course extremely dangerous to me it was still so nice to be in the presence of someone who understood how things worked.

"In that case, I'd love a cup. Thank you very much," I said sincerely.

A short time later found us seated on stools in front of the tiny hearth, clay mugs held in our hands. (The tea was indeed not poisoned, I had been pleased to discover.) My back was to the door, which I didn't much like, but there had been no way to rearrange our seating without being extremely rude. I consoled myself that judging by my experience on entry, an intruder would deafen me long before they managed to get the door open.

Our conversation thus far had been polite, superficial – how did I find Vvardenfell, how long had Only-He-Stands-Here lived in Balmora, and of course the unavoidable topic of what a shock the quarantine had been. Now, the formalities dealt with, we turned to the heart of things.

"It is a great surprise, seeing a member of the Mages' Guild cross my humble threshold. He wonders what he can do for you."

The body language wasn't giving anything away – not that I had a lot of experience with Argonians, anyway – but I thought the slip into third person might signal nervousness.

If so, he was still probably less nervous than I was, given how much I didn't want to do this.

"Ranis Athrys sent me," I said, doing my best to shift the blame for this whole situation where it belonged. "It came to her attention that you've been offering Restoration training without Guild approval."

A beat of silence. Then the Argonian let out a long hiss. It sounded remarkably like an overheated kettle – I even shot a quick glance at the hearth before I realised where the noise was coming from.

"Is the smooth-skin serious? The island under quarantine, dangerous illnesses seeping out from Red Mountain, society on the brink of collapse, Hlaalu being given a trade monopoly-" I got the impression that once again the last point was the most offensive to Only-He-Stands-Here- "and this is what the guildmistress chooses to focus on? A poor humble healer, passing along a few tricks he picked up along the way?"

I was fairly certain the Argonian was nothing of the sort. But other than that, I had no rebuttal.

So I went for agreement instead.

"I know! Her priorities are absolutely out of order. We only got the guild guide network up and running again two days ago, at least one guild head is stuck on the mainland, there are so many things she should be focusing on right now. What does she do? Twist my arm into going off to harass innocent healers."

It wasn't even as if I was in favour of the guild monopoly on paid magical teaching of more than the simplest spells. Why shouldn't a skilled healer be able to pass down their knowledge for a fee even if he wasn't registered with the guild?

"I am... glad you understand my position, mage." Only-He-Stands-Here seemed calmer, or at least unlikely to resume making noises that were better suited to angry kitchenware.

"Tell you what," I offered. "How about a deal? You try to be a bit less conspicuous about your training, tell people something about how the Mages' Guild found out and forced you to stop. I go back to Ranis and tell her you've agreed to stop, you continue training people on the down-low, we're both happy."

The Argonian tilted his head, eyes staring over my shoulder, his chin-tendrils winding back and forth. After a long moment, they stilled. Only-He-Stands-Here nodded, as though he'd come to a decision.

"Yes. Yes, this is a solution it can work with. Thank you, Adryn."

It was always so nice when people could find a mutually acceptable compromise. "Glad to be of-"

Wait.

My smile froze on my face as I realised there was something very, very wrong about what he had just said.

"I... didn't... tell you my name."

"You didn't have to," said-

a voice-

from behind me.

Tea sloshed over my hand as I sprang to my feet, whirling around.

"Hello," the Khajiit said. The green light sparkling around her fingers explained how she'd entered without my noticing – it also made me flinch back as the memories started to well up from where I'd suppressed them.

It isn't wise to stand against the Thief-King-

This was absolutely not the time to start having a flashback! I wrenched my thoughts back to the present with the force of pure desperation.

"This one is Sugar-Lips Habasi," the Khajiit went on. Her eyes were a gleaming merciless yellow where they rested on me. "Mastermind of the Thieves' Guild in Balmora. And you are Adryn, once joint leader of the Windhelm guild." She didn't even have the decency to make it a question. "Habasi has wanted to speak with you for a long time now."



Notes: ...

I must admit to finding some eerie similarities between your portrayal of Vvardenfell on lockdown and the real world. Though some of the specific reasons are different, the same sense of grievance is there, and the need to invent someone to blame. Okay, not wanting to annoy the neighborhood healer is different. Your fictional Vvardenfellians are more intelligent than Americans.

I wonder if there is a law that states that Only-He-Stands-Here cannot stand in the company of other people?

I have been wondering though, why should anyone need Guild approval to offer training? Do the Mages Guild really have a legal monopoly on it? *That* sounds sketchy.

Uh oh, it looks like Adryn's past from Skyrim is catching up with her!

Well, that IS a plot twist! And this time it’s NOT Adryn’s fault! Isn’t it? Isn’t it?

I quite enjoyed how you captured the feel of people being under island wide quarantine. And like Sage Rose said, it’s an eerie correlation to the real world. However, I will argue that you followed basic quarantine protocol in your writing, and the medical professional in me is nodding her head over everything you’ve described. Right down to the mob behavior evident in Hlaalu territory . . .

So am I right in thinking that Habasi might be the source of Adryn's issues with green?

And just when this "quest" was going according the regular game's script...

Does anyone resolve this any other way than Adryn was trying to?

@SubRosa - yeah, writing this chapter was... weird. My timing, people! Although the parallels are probably not *quite* so strong for me because I live in Germany and I think we've had more widespread acceptance of the measures taken etc. Re: the Mages' Guild - it certainly does seem that way, this quest is canon and there's also a Telvanni one where you have to convince Redoran to agree to overturn the monopoly. I've always found it dodgy myself.

@haute ecole rider - yeah, as said to SubRosa, my timing, it is a thing. (I've had this bit of the plot planned for years!) At least I'm getting close personal experience so I can write pandemics and quarantines more accurately?! And re: whether we can blame Adryn for Habasi showing up... possibly not? But on the other hand, she's really not done a very good job at keeping her head down and avoiding attention for a fugitive, has she?

@ghastley - I'd actually forgot there _was_ another way to resolve this one, although since it's Ranis Athrys I'm guessing you could also just kill the guy. And... hmm, I thought Adryn's issues with green would be a little clearer by now, we've had a bunch of the puzzle pieces already. There are a few more coming this section, but in general I might have to see if I can explain the thing in its entirety at some point to make sure no one's missed it.

Green is the colour of Illusion magic in TESIII, and it's been strongly implied (via flashbacks and Adryn's reaction to Varvur, among others) that Adryn ran afoul of a Command spell back in Skyrim with terrible consequences. She was seriously traumatized by the experience. Habasi wasn't involved - she's an in-game Morrowind character - but Adryn's reacting badly to her because she has problems with the Illusion school in general now and because, well, what an introduction.


Last installment, Adryn met with the Argonian healer Only-He-Stands-Here to get him to stop offering unsanctioned Restoration training. Or at least pretend to stop. Sadly, their meeting was crashed by one Habasi, Mastermind of the Balmora Thieves' Guild, who is very curious to meet Adryn...



I had to admit, in all my imaginings of what the guild might do if it caught up to me-

Well, to be truthful, there had been no such imaginings. Thinking too closely on what the guild might do meant thinking about why it was after me, which brought me invariably back to green light stealing my will away and a bloody dagger in my hands. Even over a year later, the horror of that day was such that I could not bear to face it straight on. Better to teach my thoughts to go around, in the same way a traveller in the wilds might give a wide berth to a sleeping snow bear.

But if I had at any point imagined what the guild's reaction would be, offering me more tea would not have been anywhere on the list.

"The former Mastermind is shaking. Is she ill? Habasi has no use for a former Mastermind who is sick. Especially not these days."

"It is shock, I believe," Only-He-Stands-Here answered. "Some people are taken badly by sudden surprises. More tea will help."

And so I found myself nursing a second cup of tea as we all waited for my trembling to ease. It was taking its time. Matters were probably not helped by the fact that every few seconds the fear that Habasi might have readied another Illusion spell stabbed through me.

Eventually, Habasi seemed to give up on me calming down. She propped her hands (not glittering with green, not-) on her hips and began to speak.

"Habasi must thank you for coming here. She has been wanting to speak with you for quite some time now! Ever since she heard the former guild leader was on the island, in fact. But this way, you have made it easy for Habasi, no need to arrange a meeting or travel to Ald'ruhn. It is very gracious of you."

"Great. Wonderful. So happy I could spare you the effort," I heard myself saying – which was surprising, seeing as my actual brain was still stuck on panicking and had definitely not given any instructions to my vocal cords. Well, it was good to know that my mouth was capable of independently producing sarcasm in extreme situations. I'd just rather have found out in any other way.

Judging by the low purring rumble in her throat, Habasi did not take my response as a reflexive unthinking reaction of someone half out of her mind, but instead thought it meant I was recovered enough for conversation. I'd always known my habit of ill-advised snappy comebacks would come back to bite me one day.

"Habasi was surprised, to hear the one called Adryn was here. Surprised and a little afraid, she must admit." A pause, as though she was taking the time to carefully aim her shot before letting it fly. "After all, who would not be concerned about someone who murdered her fellow leaders in cold blood?"

The words fell into the silence of the room like a stone into a pool, ripples gathering force as they spread from the center.

A dagger, hilt pressed into my palm-

Cold sweat beaded my trembling hands.

Habasi tilted her head, questioning, quizzical. Behind her, Only-He-Stands-Here was a hulking shadow.

"But then the reports began to come in, and Habasi thought that perhaps the story is not so simple, yes? After all, the so-called Thief-King-" she wrinkled her nose in clear distaste at the ostentatious title, "he says this Adryn is dangerous, a ruthless killer. But that does not match the tales Habasi hears of her actions on Vvardenfell. And of course, if he is truly only concerned for her victims, why does he want the girl brought back to him alive?" She shook her head. "No, no. Habasi was not born yesterday. Adryn was framed, was she not? The killer was someone else."

Someone else.

Oh, how desperately I wished that had been the case. That I'd been out all day, come home late and opened the door to find-

Ingerte had always had such a presence about her, turning herself into the center of every room she entered. She'd been so impossibly small in death, her slumped body reminding me horribly of a discarded rag-doll.

Charon's face, dark eyes wide and horrified as he tried to fend me off bare-handed. "Snap out of it, Adryn!" he'd yelled.

He should have saved his breath. Maybe then he'd have been able to dodge.

A crash returned me to reality. My mug had slipped from nerveless fingers, and now lay in shards on the ground. The spreading pool of tea looked-

Not like blood, I told myself sternly, trying to wrench my thoughts back to the present once more. That terrible day lay over a year in the past and a whole province away, and there was nothing I could do to change it now. The situation was bad enough it would behoove me to pay attention and not get...

Distracted.

"What," despite the tea my voice was a rasp, "do you want?"

Habasi's eyes flickered between the shards and me. The pure calculation in that gaze was oddly steadying. If I'd seen any pity, it would probably have broken me.

"Habasi must beg a thousand apologies! She is being so very rude, prying into the former guildmaster's past like this. Let us speak of the present instead, no?" The smile was close-lipped, friendly, far too perfect to be real. "Habasi thinks that it would be so very nice for us to be friends. She takes good care of her friends, the former guildmaster should know. She would never betray a friend to one who..." her whiskers twitched, "hurt her."

Note to self, try to avoid falling to pieces in front of an enemy next time. Habasi had definitely gleaned more from my minor breakdown than I'd have liked.

"After all, friends help each other, do they not?"

The underlying meaning was obvious. It really shouldn't have come as a surprise, but then I'd been focused on other things.

I got the impression that whatever reaction Habasi had expected, it wasn't for me to burst out laughing.

The Khajiit frowned, turned her head to murmur to the Argonian behind her. "Is the healer certain she is entirely well in the mind?"

"I did mention the shock, did I not? Please do stop riling her up, I only have so many mugs."

Slowly, I got myself under control, my chest shuddering as though I were fighting sobs.

"Of course. You're blackmailing me. I don't know how I didn't see it from the start."

I decided not to explain how horribly, horribly ironic the situation was. It was none of her business, for one... and besides, thinking on it further it really wasn't funny at all.

"Blackmail is such an unpleasant word," Habasi chided me. "Habasi prefers to think of it as... a few favours."

"Between friends." My voice was drier than the Alik'r.

"Habasi is glad you understand! She would so like to be friends."

And I, the implication hung unspoken in the air, should very, very much want to be friends with Habasi as well, as anything else would be very bad for my health. I appreciated the fact that she didn't spell that part out. I liked to think it was out of professional respect.

I considered.

In truth, I really had no options here. Habasi held all the cards, had collected them before I even realised we were playing.

"What... favour... were you thinking of?"

Habasi smiled.

Afterwards, I walked blindly away from the healer's house as fast as my feet could carry me. I didn't make for the Mage's Guild – there was a storm brewing inside me, and I didn't want to be around anyone I knew when it broke.

I finally stopped at the low rail over the river where, on a happier day, Ajira and I had sat together and had lunch. My right foot hurt; I thought something was wrong with my boot. On inspection, I realised that I'd stepped on one of the shards of the broken cup on my way out, and it had driven itself deep into the sole.

The spilled tea had really looked nothing like blood at all.

The streets were still deserted, the inhabitants of Balmora still wary of leaving their homes. As such, there was no one to see when I burst into tears.

Oh dear, that is quite the plot twist, indeed.

So we see more of Adryn's past, and what drove her from what was once her home. It's interesting to imagine what someone under a Command spell must experience, even while they are compelled to perform acts totally alien to their nature. It's one thing to compel monsters and undead to turn on each other, but living, breathing, feeling beings? As bad as necromancy, if you ask me!

Now I wonder what favor Habasi has asked! I'm sure it's quite unpleasant, and not much better than that Command spell, to cause our Adryn so much emotional turmoil.

I like how you work in Adryn's dread of illusion magic, and its tell-tale green light, into events here. She is clearly having a visceral reaction to what happened back in Skyrim. You gave us just enough breadcrumbs here to show what happened, without having to tell us directly. That was well done.

And Adryn still struggles under the weight of the mental torture from it all. I suspect that if she is the Neveraine, she is going to have to face her guilt and make peace with it somehow, before she can really move forward with Nevering.

Well, it was good to know that my mouth was capable of independently producing sarcasm in extreme situations.
But even under duress, Adryn is still Adryn.

Wow, first her new guild leader is basically blackmailing her. Now the Thieves Guild is blackmailing her. Talk about getting trapped into corners!

I got the green/illusion part, but was thinking Habasi might have been more involved in the earlier trauma. She's certainly getting involved now.

@haute ecole rider - agreed! I think Command spells and their ilk are one of those things we breeze past for the most part, but when you actually look at what it entails in detail it's absolutely horrifying. As bad as necromancy, as you say. I knew from when I started writing that there was some major trauma in Adryn's past that she was running from, and ending up on the wrong end of mind control seemed like a very good fit which let me explore the horror of it in depth. As for Habasi's favour, we'll soon see...

@SubRosa - thanks! And I'd like to give you a prize for your observation that Adryn is going to have to face her past before she can actually be the Nerevarine, because that's 100% correct and in large part what the current metaplot/character development arc is about. Adryn's actually already recovered some compared to Chapter 1 - when she was going all-in on repression and would probably have frozen entirely if faced with Habasi - but she's still in no shape to be a legendary hero or deal with any of the issues reincarnation brings with it. She's going to have to stand her ground and stop running from her past before that can happen.

*cough* sorry, you hit onto probably THE big underpinning of this part of the story and I can't resist babbling.

@ghastley - ah, sorry! That makes more sense. But yeah, Habasi wasn't involved in any of the Skyrim stuff - it's just that the Thieves' Guilds talk, so Habasi knows about her, and Adryn has been waiting for the other shoe to fall there for a while. Suddenly getting ambushed by a Khajiit who knows her name when she's talking with a guy with Thieves' Guild connections is likely to mean only one thing; the Illusion magic was just the cherry on top.


Last installment, Adryn got to talk with Habasi, leader of the Balmora Thieves' Guild. The talk ended in Adryn getting blackmailed with the threat of Habasi letting the Thief-King of Skyrim in on her location.

Now, we could have a look at what, exactly, Habasi wants Adryn to do. However, before setting off, the exhausted and traumatised Adryn might have stumbled back to the Mages' Guild to sleep off the post-flashback crash. And while she sleeps, she dreams...



The sun had still not risen by the time I reached the top of the hill, but the sky had lightened considerably. Azura's hour, in other words, and I found myself saying a reflexive prayer as I stared upwards. In the east a rosy glow heralded the imminent arrival of dawn, but in the west the last constellations were still visible, faint shining pinpricks against the dark. The Serpent in particular caught my eye. I could almost imagine its bared fangs dripping poison.

I whispered an apology to my goddess. I owed her better than my distraction, but right now there was no serene contemplation within me.

"Are you sure it's wise to be outside camp, Nerevar?"

Apparently my attempt at prayer was doomed for more reasons than one. I would have sworn that nobody but the watchman was awake when I left, but apparently Voryn had risen and followed me.

"Given the reports we've had from the coast, I'd in fact call it downright foolish."

I'd already opened my mouth to argue, which left me feeling remarkably stupid when no arguments actually came to mind. The fact of the matter was that Voryn was right. We hadn't heard of enemy movement nearby, but with the extra forces the Nords had brought in to suppress our rebellion that could change at any point. All in all, it definitely wasn't safe to be wandering around alone.

It was just...

"I'm sorry, Voryn. I needed to clear my mind."

"If one of their scouts shot you, your mind would definitely be empty afterwards," came the caustic reply, making me wince. But then Azura must have decided to bless me despite my lackluster piety, because his voice softened. "Whatever is weighing you down, Nerevar, I'd be happy to talk it through with you. There's no need to go make a target of yourself."

I considered. It wasn't such a bad idea, in truth. More and more of my own clan were looking to me for leadership, which meant I couldn't burden any of them... but Voryn was of Dagoth. An ally, like Dumac, but without the misunderstandings coming from our very different cultures that still occasionally shadowed my dealings with the Dwemer.

"Let's talk as we go back to camp?"

"Of course," Voryn responded, generous in his victory.

"It was the battle yesterday," I explained a little later as we picked our way down the slope. "I'm not sure if you saw – there was the one archer, killed two of ours before I managed to... neutralise her."

"I do remember that. You hit her with a Command spell, didn't you? Very neatly done." Voryn sounded approving. At the start of our rebellion, I would have basked in that – in the validation I'd been so desperate for at the time, coming from a respected clan leader at that.

Sometimes, the start of the rebellion felt impossibly long ago.

"I can't get her face out of my mind," I admitted, voice low. "After she saw what she'd done."

Like any Chimer worth the name, I'd learned a decent amount of illusion magic as I grew up. For our lifestyle, the spell school was invaluable. Muffle and Chameleon spells could help you sneak up on even the most alert prey, Calm keep your guar from stampeding, Fear drive predators away. And if all else failed, there was always Command, to dominate the creature's mind entirely. Versatile and powerful, I wasn't sure if I'd have survived my trial of adulthood without it – I'd stumbled across a full nix-hound pack on my third day, and it was only by turning one of them against the rest that I'd managed to buy time to escape.

Yesterday was the first time I'd ever used it on a person.

Tactically, the spell had been brilliant. Stripped of her free will, the archer had slain three of her own allies before they even realised what was happening, including one of the dreaded berserkers who I'd worried would cut a swathe through our lightly-armoured forces. And after the spell had worn off, she hadn't returned to her cool sniping. No, she'd thrown her bow aside, drawn her belt-knife and charged straight at me. Unarmoured, with no proper weapon, it had been little more than suicide – one of the Dagoth had gutted her before she'd even come near me. But judging by the look in her eyes, that had been the idea.

After, gathering bodies for the pyre, I saw the berserker she'd slain up close. Even for Nords, the resemblance had been uncanny, his face a younger version of hers. Mother and son, they must have been.

Beside me, Voryn made an aborted motion as though he was going to pat me on the back but then thought better of it.

"War is not a kind place, Nerevar."

"Trust me, I know that by now." It came out more snappishly than I'd meant, but really. Did Voryn think this was somehow news to me? "But there's killing an enemy quickly and there's... that."

The sheer depth of despair in those eyes. As though she'd watched her world go up in flames before her, and I'd forced her to throw the torch.

"I'm not sure it will do us any good to win if we turn into monsters along the way." The words escaped me in barely more than a whisper.

Voryn heaved a sigh.

"Come. Sit."

"I thought it wasn't safe to be outside camp?" I couldn't resist the retort even as I settled on the boulder he'd indicated.

"Safer than letting you go back with these ideas in your head." Voryn sat himself on a neighbouring rock, managing to make the movement look as stately and elegant as if he were taking his place in the chieftain's yurt for Boethiah's feasting day. I had to suppress a pang of jealousy – I still spent most ceremonies half-expecting the Wise Woman to come drag me out by the ear, yelling at me for stealing the chieftain's clothes.

"Have I ever told you why Dagoth joined the rebellion?"

I tilted my head quizzically at the change of topic, but went with it. "No, you haven't."

"We winter in the Ayvith plains. It's a good place for it – rich grazing, plenty of wild guar, caves to shelter from the cold. We have been coming and going since the days of Veloth."

This, I suspected, would be the location of the Dagoth ancestral tombs as well. Voryn was apparently still leery of telling me so directly even after being allied for over a year, but I could hear the truth in the silences between his words. Indoril had a similar heartland in the Deshaan.

"About ten years ago, the Nords built a village in their heart." His mouth twisted. "A farming village."

"Ah," I breathed.

Nordic villages had been the bane of more than one Chimer tribe. Sometimes, they simply drove us away by force. Others, they claimed to want coexistence... a lie laughably transparent as their very presence brought destruction. They chopped down forests to make their strange wooden buildings, tore up vital grazing area to plant their crops. On the few fields they left, they would bring out the strange animals they called cows or goats. The furred beasts were not well-adapted to Morrowind, often fell prey to nix-hound packs or were starved out by guar. As a result, the Nords usually culled most native animals in an area when they began to build... with devastating consequences to the tribes that relied on them.

"We discovered this when we returned, late in the year. Our herds had been struck by sickness in the summer, and we had been relying on the rich life of our winter grounds to feed us and strengthen them. Imagine our surprise when we saw what they had become."

I winced. I could imagine the scene all too well.

"I have four younger brothers, and was forced to watch them grow thinner every day. When Vemyn grew too weak to leave the camp, I prayed to Mephala for guidance. The next day, I packed away my pride – something I am sure you realise was not easy for me – and went to the Nords to beg. They shut their door in my face." Voryn's smile was a vicious thing. "So the day after, I returned... but this time I took my best hunters, bearing torches. We feasted on cows that night, and clan Dagoth was declared outlaw."

I liked to think Voryn a friend, but first and foremost he was an ally. Diplomacy wasn't my strong point, but I was fairly sure a story like that should be met with something appropriately solemn and weighty – perhaps the offering of my own. Therefore, I was horrified when the words that escaped me were, "How do those taste, anyway? I've never had the chance to try."

Luckily, Voryn didn't take offense. Or at least that was my conclusion when he threw back his head and laughed.

"How about this? I shall let you form your own opinion. Once everything is over, we shall feast together in Blacklight with all our allies."

I let myself imagine it. Myself, Sotha Sil and Alandro Sul, Voryn and his brothers, Dumac and Kagrenac, the Redoran and the Erabenimsun, future allies yet to come – all sitting triumphant in the Nordic capital, our voices raised together in victory as a cow roasted on a spit.

"I'd like that."

I was brought out of my fantasies by Voryn dropping a hand onto my shoulder. He gave it a squeeze I almost wanted to call paternal.

"You see, Nerevar," his voice was very quiet, "they are the ones I fight for. I fight for Vemyn, Odras, Uthol and Endus, who the Nords would have starve. I fight for my clan and my people. For them, I will let myself become a monster. And for them, I will return to myself when all is said and done."

Instead of answering, I stared wordlessly into the distance. The sun was rising now, a strip of molten gold peering above the eastern horizon and bringing Azura's holy hour to an end. I imagined I could feel her eye wandering from us as her power waned, leaving me naked and bereft.

Voryn was completely right, of course. We were at such a disadvantage in this fight, and the consequences for us would be terrible if we lost. We couldn't allow ourselves the luxury of squeamishness.

And yet...

The Nord archer's face floated across my vision.

All the same, I didn't think I'd use that spell again.

I love calling that time in the gloaming as Azura's Hour.

It took a moment for me to figure out that we were going back in time to Never 1.0's memories. Ahh, now I see a really strong tie you built here, with Never's misgivings about using Command spells. That works in very nicely with what Adryn is feeling right now, and creates a good bridge between the two.

I liked Voryn Dagoth's story of how the Nords insidiously - and probably even ignorantly - drove his clan to the breaking point. Not though direct battle, but by destroying their means of living. That is how colonialism works, whether in South Africa or the American West. Then when finally the colonized fight back in order to survive, they are the ones whose actions are branded as criminal.

This episode has got me contemplating what initiates "Nerevarinity". Is one born with it, or does it get triggered by events, such as Adryn's prior encounter with the spell?

It's quite understandable why that dream comes now, but is there more to the past incident than meets the page?

@SubRosa - I admit the very abrupt POV switch between Nerevar and Adryn up to inducing confusion regarding who's currently telling the story is intentional, although I question myself about it. The reason is because I do really want to drive home that they are the same person and this is what it looks like in Adryn's head right now, with Nerevar's memories not feeling any different from her own. And I do like playing the parallels, in this case involving Command spells.

I'm glad you like my Nordic colonialism! Because yeah, this *is* how it works and I've always wanted to explore some of the colonialism we see in canon. Especially because (after throwing out basically all of ESO Chimer lore and a good chunk of the earlier lore because I found it boring) my Chimer are in fact low-tech nomads at the point of the Nordic occupation, and as you say we have seen how this goes in RL and it isn't pretty.

@ghastley - we're going to see more investigation into the nature of being Nerevar and (especially) past Nerevarines at some point, although probably not too soon. However, it's fair to say that one of the ideas that spurred SitC was looking at the whole Nerevarine thing with a more traditional, soul-based take on reincarnation.

re: the past incident... not sure what you mean by more to it, but I'll admit one of the other things I was hoping to highlight was the first steps on the path that led from Voryn Dagoth, head of Clan Dagoth, to Dagoth Ur. The different attitudes they show - Nerevar's unwillingness to compromise his moral standards vs Voryn's "I will let myself become a monster to save my people" - will have... repercussions, shall we say, down the line.


Last installment, Nerevar and Voryn Dagoth talked about Command spells, Nordic farming villages, and morality in times of war. Now, Adryn still has to do that favour for Habasi...



I eyed the rooftop entrance cautiously.

In truth, it was probably overcautiously. From everything I'd seen, the shop was empty – Nalcarya having closed up earlier and left for her home – and although this district was theoretically patrolled by guards, in practice the rampaging mob must have left its mark, seeing as they were huddled together near the entrance to Tyravel manor. There was nothing to stop me from leaving my position in the shadows, taking out my lockpicks and letting myself in. It was the sort of task I'd have given a new footpad back in Solitude to break them in, which was probably why Habasi had passed it on to me.

"Habasi likes diamonds so very much, but she owns none. It is a sad thing, very sad. Nalcarya the alchemist, now, she owns many diamonds, many she does not care for properly. Is the world not an unfair place? A true friend, Habasi thinks, would remedy such an injustice."

I really didn't want to do this. I'd stayed away from my old ways since my first day on the island, and – much though I hated to admit it – it had done me good. My criminal career had taken root in pure necessity at first, when in Markarth I realised that the options were steal or starve. It had born fruit beyond anything I'd imagined eventually, but by that time I was far enough in that other choices had seemed impossibly distant. Besides, Ingerte had thrived on the whole thing, Charon had also been content enough, and so for my friends I told myself this was what I wanted. The Mages' Guild had opened my eyes to just how much of that had been a lie, and now I didn't want to return.

I also didn't want to return to crime for a practical reason: I was still sadly lacking in backup, which did not mesh well with my fatal flaw of recklessness. Given that, it was best to refrain from activities that could land me back in prison if I wan't sufficiently careful.

And I wasn't even at the top of my game. I'd planned to wait in the guild until dusk, but too many nights spent on the floor of the Vivec guild made themselves known and I dozed off despite myself. Masalinie woke me just before she went home, a worried crease between her eyebrows as she told me I'd been muttering in another language. It was good to know my Dunmeris had advanced to the point where it followed me into my dreams, but it apparently hadn't done the quality of my sleep any good. I felt if anything more exhausted than before I fell asleep, and Ingerte's face kept flickering before my eyes... sometimes. Other times, she shifted to an older Nord woman with a dreadfully blank gaze, one I'd have sworn I'd never seen before except that for some reason part of me quailed at the sight of her. My dreams must really have been quite something – not that I could say for sure, since I still couldn't remember them. All in all, though, I was exhausted and distracted. In Solitude, I'd have called the burglary off and waited for the next night.

Sadly, although these were all very compelling points, arguments I thought could be advanced in any debate without shame, they were nonetheless outweighed by one simple fact: Habasi had asked me to do it. Unfortunately, it looked as though the only thing worse than being one of Habasi's 'friends' would be not being one of them, and as such I no longer had any choice in the matter.

I sighed, silently cursed overly curious guildmasters who couldn't keep their noses in their own business, and crept forward.

At first, things went as smoothly as hoped. Nalcarya had made the mistake of having a Sacculo lock in her rooftop door, proving she had more money than sense. True, the brothers talked a good game – good enough they'd exported their wares all over Tamriel, for very high prices – and yes, their locks could stump thieves not familiar with them, but once you learned the trick they all gave way easily enough. Inside, the shop was indeed empty, and although the lock on the upstairs safe wasn't a Sacculo... that would have been an improvement.

"Really," I muttered to myself as the tumblers fell into position, "this is just pathetic. I should write Nalcarya an anonymous note, get her to improve her locks, actually make this a halfway meaningful test-"

"I entirely agree," said a voice from the doorway.

I stopped.

Looked upwards.

"Akatosh," I told the wooden ceiling, "I'm aware you're very attached to the linearity of time, but would you consider making an exception just once? Because today has frankly been unfair, and I think I deserve a second attempt."

Having successfully unburdened myself of my divinity-related complaints, I turned around to see who had managed to sneak up on me.

The light was low enough that I could only just about make out the woman was Dunmer. More important was the cowl she'd tugged around her head, which in combination with the dark leathers she wore and the soft mottled grey-blue cloak told a very clear story. This was no guard – I was looking at a fellow professional.

"Very nice technique on the lock," she said approvingly, confirming my deduction. "Couldn't have done it better myself. But you could really look behind you a bit more often."

"Trust me, I realise that now."

What was the likelihood that an independent would be trying for Nalcarya's lockbox at the exact same time that I was sent on my mission? Slim to none. No, the more I thought about this unexpected appearance of a competitor, the more I was led to one inescapable conclusion.

"Is this Habasi's idea of a joke?"

"If so, I'm not laughing." The woman's voice was crisp. "I know inductions are what they are, but if she's going to play games with people I'll make my own way. I hate not being given full information."

A brief pang of jealousy surged through me. I wished I had the option of walking away. "I take it you're here after a diamond too?"

"Exactly." The woman stretched out a hand. "Dralsi, late of the Imperial City guild. I arrived on the island last week."

It said something about what said island had done to me that my immediate reaction was confusion and mild indignation at the lack of a surname. An instant later, when the rest of my mind caught up with events, I scolded myself for being the worst sort of hypocrite.

"Adryn," I responded and shook her hand.

The next moment, two things occurred. First, the woman's eyebrows went up almost to her hairline. Second, I remembered why exactly I shouldn't be introducing myself to anyone with Guild ties.

"If you are who I think you are," she said after a moment, "I don't think I'd be using my real name in your shoes."

"Any moment now, Akatosh."

The woman stepped back, her eyes raking over my form. I crossed my arms defensively. Something about that critical gaze left me feeling naked.

Finally, she nodded to herself as though I'd confirmed a suspicion of hers. "Well, it's not like I want to do his Imperial Majesty up there in Riften any favours. Are there two diamonds in that safe, kid?"

I bristled at the appellation, but given the circumstances I didn't think I'd have much luck protesting. Instead, I glanced into the safe.

My fingers twitched. There were indeed two diamonds, in fact there was a rainbow in gemstones spilled inside. That wasn't what drew my attention, though. What drew my attention was the small collection of bottles on the shelf above.

Frost, fire and void salts. Daedra skin. Ground pearl. Some ice wraith teeth stacked neatly beside a bottle of glow dust – she must have had both imported. A small vial of... was that actually vampire dust?

I very firmly reminded myself that I was happy in my new, non-criminal life and only here under duress.

"Kid?"

"Here you go," I said, and tossed one of the diamonds in Dralsi's direction. She snagged it out of the air even as I tucked the second one into my boot.

"Let's go get these to Habasi. I'd like to have some words with her."



Ranis Athrys raised an eyebrow when she saw me standing in front of her office the next morning. "Well! You are punctual. And here I thought you'd go laze about at the Eight Plates with the rest of the crowd and no one would see you until mid-morning."

"Somehow, I'm not really hungry," I told her, trying very hard to keep the bitterness out of my voice. "Besides, I wanted to ask you something."

Outside the gloom of Nalcarya's shop, with her cowl pushed back, Dralsi had proven to have black hair braided back from a strikingly attractive face. More importantly, said face bore the agelessness of a mer in her prime – she could have been thirty or two hundred, must in any case be quite a bit older than me. This turned getting her to stop calling me 'kid' into an uphill battle, one which had not led to victory so far although I was also not ready to admit defeat.

The confidence of age also showed in that she had been as good as her word and berated Habasi for the set-up, something I doubted I'd have dared (at least not using that vocabulary) even if there weren't the issue of the blackmail.

Habasi had apologised profusely, blaming the whole thing on a slip of the mind. Dralsi made extremely, unmistakeably clear she did not find this explanation convincing. I silently agreed, but didn't think her tirade had had much effect. Oh, Habasi had promised not to do it again, but her eyes hadn't moved from the diamonds the whole time. I had misliked the avaricious gleam in them. I had especially misliked the fact that it stayed when her eyes shifted to land on me.

It is so nice to be friends, Habasi thinks, friends who do favours for one another. And of course Habasi would never let anyone harm such a good friend of hers. A friend who would gladly help Habasi if she is ever in need again, no?

Those words had echoed in my head when I tried to catch a few hours of sleep in the Balmora dorms, stolen my appetite this morning.

"Ask me something, Apprentice?" Ranis was saying now, eyes narrowed.

I fought down a swell of affection for the guild mistress. It was amazing how comforting overt dislike could be after dealing with Habasi.

"I've spoken to Only-He-Stands-Here and he's assured me he won't be offering unsanctioned training anymore." That you can hear about. "I was wondering if, given that, you had anything for me to do outside Balmora? Outside town entirely would be good, in fact. Several-day trek into the pathless wilderness, that sort of thing."

Oh, I knew Habasi wouldn't forget about me just because I vanished for a week or so. But I could pretend.

"Well. Now that you mention it..."



Notes: gee I wonder who this Dralsi character could be. she doesn't seem to be a Morrowind NPC. MYSTERIES.

Also, for the non-Morrowind players: stealing a diamond from Nalcarya is, in fact, the first quest in the Balmora Thieves' Guild questline.

Finally! We all know the drill but for once I can actually give warning before disappearing-

The next chapter is unfortunately going to be a while. It's still a really big mess at the moment, and my writing brain has been thoroughly stuck on non-Morrowind topics of late. I'm hoping going off and writing other things for a few months will help me view chapter 23 with fresh eyes and move past my stupid block on it when I get back to Morrowind, but it does mean you shouldn't expect to see the next update soon.

For now, thanks everyone for reading, and I hope you all stay safe and healthy in these troubled times!

I enjoyed the little walk down memory lane with Adryn and her old pals.

Understanding that being reckless without someone to bail you out is bad, shows a lot of awareness. Some might say that it shows one is not reckless in the first place, but instead simply more confident when you know someone is there who has your back.

The Sacculo lock - and the little bit of world-building you included about its construction was a good touch. It showed some real thief tradecraft, in that professional burglars would know the difference between one lock and the next, and how to defeat each one.

That was a not-funny joke on Habasi's part to send Dralsi there too on the same mission. TBH, I keep thinking that if this was one of my characters, like Persephone/Phereinon, she would have started out by killing Habasi and everyone she knew. Then maybe expanded it to everyone in the same city. I am still hoping Adryn will go on a similar killing spree and slaughter everyone in the Thieves Guild. Including the King in Riften.

Still, I am suspecting that Dralsi might be a kindred spirit, and a possible friend and ally of Adryn in the future. Maybe they could team up, pull out the laser miniguns, and kill everyone on Vvardenfell?

Forgot to mention. If you are working on some other writing, post it here at Chorrol as well!

Good to see Dralsi getting some spotlight. I added her to my Evergloam mod for Oblivion, and wrote it up here, which all led to Clark being Karliah's father in my Skyrim tales. Since Dralsi's story mainly takes place between TES IV and V, it gets overlooked, and she doesn't even get an entry on UESP's Lore pages.

*waves hi* The usual hellos and the usual apologies! 2020/2021 threw my writing routine all into disarray and this chapter has been an absolute bear to write. I'm even starting to post it before I've finished completely editing it, which I don't usually do, just so I get some momentum to get past it.

@SubRosa - thanks for the detailed comment! And as an FYI - my writing in other fandoms is generally fairly obscure, consisting mainly of Silmarillion fanfic with a sudden sidestep last year into SWTOR. I figured there wouldn't be much of a prospective audience for it here! However, in case you're interested I do post all my polished works on AO3.

@ghastley - I'm glad I'm not the only one who thinks Dralsi was criminally underutilised! I did some calculations and realised that hey, there is absolutely nothing *preventing* an adult Dralsi who's still trying to figure out her family ending up on Vvardenfell during TESIII...

Last chapter, Adryn had a no-good, terribly bad day which involved getting strong-armed by Ranis Athrys into being her errand girl, discovered by Habasi of the Thieves' Guild, and immediately blackmailed by Habasi into being her errand girl. After running into a stranger by the name of Dralsi on her first Thieves' Guild task, she attempted to play Ranis against Habasi in the form of asking to be sent out into the wilderness out of sheer desperation. Let's see how that's working out for her.

Important note: I don't usually do content warnings here, but this chapter - and this section especially - touches on some heavy subject matter. Warnings are under the spoiler tag for those who feel they might need them.





When Almalexia returned she was no longer naked, a sleeping robe wrapped around her body. The candlelight still showed two spots of colour high on her cheeks, but her lips were thin, her face blank.

"Right. Tell me. Who is it?"

"Who is what?" I responded, wary, from where I sat up in our bed. I misliked the look on Almalexia's face. Something about that frozen expression reminded me of a trap-spider, ready to leap the instant something touched its web.

"Is it Sotha Sil? Vivec? Alandro Sul?" She hurled the names of some of my dearest friends as if they were javelins. "Please don't say Dumac. Necessity makes me willing to contemplate another man in our bed, but I draw the line at Dwemer."

It took a few moments for me to understand what she was implying. "Wait, you think I want to- Vivec's barely more than a child!"

Almalexia snorted. "Forty years old, and with a new lover every week. Some child." I was saved from having to work out a response to that when she continued. "But all right. Not Vivec, then. Sotha Sil? If you want men in that way, he's a fine specimen of one."

There was an admiring tone to those words. I was fairly sure I should be having some reaction to that, but in all honesty it was buried beneath all my other problems with what she was saying.

"Almalexia, I don't- don't want men in that way."

"That's a surprise." My wife's voice was as cold as Sheogorad waters. "Because it's very clear you don't want me."

I let myself fall on my side, drew my arm up so it covered my eyes.

Five years ago, I remembered, my upcoming wedding had been the talk of Resdayn. So many congratulations, so many toasts... so many teasing remarks, as well. I still remembered Dumac's, half my assistants have already laid bets on how long it will take her to kill you. His, of course, had been tame. Others were delivered with a wink and a nudge, the ribald implications clear to all.

Azura must be smiling on you, that the Erabenimsun's daughter looks like that . It's good that you argue – fire outside the bed means fire in it as well. Who wants to bet on how long it'll take until we see them again after the wedding? I say a week, ha ha.

And I'd laughed along and not thought much of any of it. True, I'd never before done any of the things they were alluding to – had never wanted to – but that wasn't important. I was a man in my prime marrying a young, beautiful woman. I wasn't Mephala-touched, wanting to lie with men. I'd never once doubted that when we came together on the wedding night, the desire would rise within me.

Until it hadn't.

"Is it me, then?" Almalexia continued, merciless. "If it is not simply that I am not male, is it specifically my body that disgusts you?"

"I'm not disgusted-" The retort was weak. Worse, despite wishing otherwise with every fiber of my being, it was a lie.

Almalexia knew it too. She didn't dignify it with any response other than a contemptuous snort.

"When you close your eyes," she went on, "do you imagine another woman in my place?"

No. I imagine a stone in mine.

A stone which had watched ages come and go, unchanged and uncaring. A stone to which the doings of us fleeting beings of flesh were of no import. Which would not be disgusted, not want to recoil, not so much as notice when it-

When someone-

-I couldn't possibly tell Almalexia that. The shame of this deficiency, this flaw I had spent five years failing to hammer out, was hard enough to admit to myself. I couldn't even imagine how I could put it into words that would do anything other than fan the flames of my wife's anger.

Anger she had a perfect right to.

"Almalexia," I said, voice wretched, "I'm sorry." How many times had I apologised for this by now? It must be beyond counting. "I'll try harder-"

Judging by the hiss she let out, this wasn't the right thing to say.

"Maybe, just maybe, I don't want a lover who has to try not to flinch when I touch him." I jerked back as her hand trailed over my chest. Was the demonstration really necessary? "Who has to try not to look as though he is being tortured when touching me in return. Maybe I want a lover who actually desires me without needing to try, Nerevar. Can you be that man?"

I didn't bother responding. We both knew the answer to that question.

The silence stretched out between us like a chasm. It was only broken by Almalexia's breaths, shallow and quick, as though we were in combat.

"Right," she finally said. "Right. This is what we're going to do." She straightened as she spoke, straight-backed with burning eyes, queenly in her rumpled nightclothes. In my opinion, Almalexia had always made for a more likely leader than me. "I will not have you in my bed until you can convince me that you want to be there. But you are still my husband, and I do not share. If I hear of you taking any other lovers, man or woman, I will be very displeased." She sucked in air, nostrils flaring. "Myself, however. I do not see why I should be doomed to lonely nights because my husband is failing in his duties. I reserve the right to discreetly take lovers who will treat me well."

A roaring filled my ears. It felt as though the world had shrunk until it consisted of Almalexia alone.

"All right," I heard myself say. "If that's what you think is best."

So focused on her, I saw immediately when Almalexia's face began to crumple. Realised – too late, always too late – that she hadn't, truly, wanted me to acquiesce. This had been her last gamble, hoping to finally rouse my lust through jealousy if nothing else. And now it had failed.

I could see tears start to gather in those dark-gold eyes. "Almalexia-"

I didn't know what I was going to say, but it didn't matter. Almalexia dashed the tears away with an angry swipe, her mouth twisting.

"Fine," she snarled, and was gone.

I fell back to lie on the bed as I listened to her footsteps recede. Despite myself, I could feel my mind drifting back to the first time I'd ever met Almalexia. Spear upraised, red hair escaping in wisps from under her helm, mouth open in a battle-cry as she directed her tribe to fall into our besiegers' backs – Sul had joked after that given the context I'd have found Namira lovely, but I'd thought her the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

Beautiful like a stooping hawk, or a poisonous flower, or Red Mountain in the light of dawn – wild, untamed, and dangerous. Beauty to be admired from afar, not...

I still didn't understand why touching had to come into it at all.

Now I lay alone in a bed made for two, the empty half growing steadily colder. And cold it would remain. After five years enduring me struggle and fail to hold up my side of our marriage, Almalexia had finally given up.

As I could feel my own tears build, I tried so very hard to convince myself the emotion welling up with them wasn't relief.



Notes: Writing is a funny thing. Sometimes you just zoom along with funny dialogue and banter, sometimes you try to go in-depth on bringing fantastical situations like mind control or regaining memories from a past incarnation to life...

And sometimes you set down your fingers on the keyboard and do the literary equivalent of vomiting up a decade-old ball of anger and bitterness onto the screen.

I very much hope this was compelling for a reader who didn't have the experience of growing up ace in a society that didn't consider that an option. Nerevar's situation here hits so close to home for me that it's hard to judge.

Last installment, Nerevar and Almalexia had an argument about sex, desire and spousal duties. Neither of them were particularly happy about it.

Now? Well, last we saw Adryn, she'd asked Ranis to be sent out into the trackless wilderness. Let's see how that worked out for her.



"Are we-"

"So help me, if the next words out of your mouth are 'there yet', I will not be responsible for my actions."

The Daedra poorly disguised as a pilgrim glared at me. "I've told you, I must be at Ghostgate within the next day!"

I wanted to grind my teeth so much, but refrained. If I gave in, I doubted I'd have any teeth left by the time we reached Ghostgate.

"Well, that sounds like quite the problem you have there." I did my best to keep my voice level. Screaming at the woman, although also tempting, was beneath me. "Dare I suggest that if it was truly so important, you should have hired an actual scout instead of accosting random strangers?"

The fiend who had come from Oblivion solely to drive innocent alchemists to despair looked thoughtful. For a brief, shining moment, I thought maybe that this time my words had had an impact. Then the scowl returned. "I have had enough of your dawdling!"

In one ear and out the other. "Seriously, what do I have to do to send you back to Coldharbour where you clearly belong..."

"What did you just say?"

Another point in favour of the already rock-solid Daedra theory: my voice had been barely more than a murmur, but she'd clearly heard me anyway. Inhuman hearing, it must be.

I didn't dignify Miss Probably-Secretly-A-Dremora with a response, instead making my way forward in the ash. Although part of me wanted to see what she'd do once her two-day deadline passed, ultimately sanity prevailed: the sooner we got to Ghostgate, the sooner she'd be some place well away from me.

...and the sooner I'd be able to figure out how to get back to civilization. In retrospect, I hadn't quite thought plan "hide from Habasi in the wilderness" through.

It had started off fairly well. Ranis had asked me to speak to one guild member delinquent on their guild dues and talk a mage who'd recently left the Telvanni into joining the guild. They both lived in the same region, something where I hadn't been sure whether it was lucky or unlucky. On the one hand, the fact that they were effectively neighbours meant I could visit both mer in a single trip. On the other hand, neighbours had the unpleasant tendency to talk. Complaints about the outrageously high membership dues probably weren't the best advertisement, and being right next door to an independent might make someone already annoyed with the guild wonder if they, too, might not do better unaffiliated. Add that to the fact that the places they both lived were old Velothi buildings in the ash-ridden, cliff racer-infested Molag Amur wilderness north of Lake Nabia, and I'd almost been tempted to try to back out somehow.

But there had been Ranis Athrys, and there had also been Habasi, and so I'd set out on the road to Lake Amaya with a pack full of potions and not a single word of protest.

Miraculously, I'd managed to find Sulipund and Punabi all right – the fact that I asked the Fighter's Guild scout guarding Masalinie for directions had probably helped, as well as the way I took to travelling with a cautious eye towards the sky. Even more miraculously, I'd succeeded in both my tasks. Apparently I still had a ways to go to properly understand the research mage mindset, because from all appearances the neighbours did not, in fact, talk.

Serjo Ex-Telvanni's initial annoyance at my intrusion had turned into growing interest as I explained the guild setup. Although his clarifying questions had left me rather disturbed (really, in how many different ways did he want me to explain that assassination was not an accepted method of advancement?) he'd seemed happy enough with my answers and said he'd look in on the guild the next time he was in Balmora. I figured that should be good enough for Ranis.

The dues dodger had been a harder sell, but here my past experience came into play. Quite a few members of the Windhelm guild had had a tendency to... forget... to pay their fence fees (I don't really know what else we were expecting, Charon had said drily) and all three of us had learned to deal with the problem.

In this case, I'd quickly worked out that my victim was all bark: oh, he'd blustered and threatened, but he had no intention of actually attacking a fellow guild member. In addition, the lock on his front door could really be considered more along the lines of an open invitation. This meant that there was nothing to stop me from explaining to him, at length, the ethical problems inherent in taking advantage of guild resources and training but then refusing to pay your share once you were successful. In order to make sure the man gave me his full attention, I'd picked my times wisely: just as he was entering the most delicate phase of his experiment... right when he needed to take the soup off the fire... in the middle of the night.

"Fine! Take the money! I'll even give you an extra fifty drakes if you promise never to come here again!"

I was sure I had no idea why he might feel that way.

All in all, I'd had a spring in my step as I left Punabi with the missing guild dues stowed safely beside my purse. I still was, to put it mildly, not keen on this new life as Ranis' dogsbody, but I had to admit it was a nice feeling to finally finish a task like this without... complications. Maybe it would make Ranis thaw a little towards me. With luck, enough that she'd listen to me when I suggested alternate employment options. And who knew, maybe Habasi would be occupied with other things by the time I got back? All in all, I thought, things were looking up.

This of course had been when the cliff-racer swarm attacked.

Which I might have been able to weather better if not for the berserk kagouti.

Or the Daedric ruin.

Or the tomb decidedly not occupied by my ancestors.

Or-

By the time I stumbled across the Imperial woman looking rather lost in the middle of the foyada, I was so happy to see a friendly face that I agreed to help her find her way to Ghostgate before my sense of caution could catch up. Alas, it turned out that my definition of "friendly face" had been a little too generous... that of "woman" as well, for that matter... but at that point it was too late.

"How much farther?" the fiend barked from behind.

"If you met with a mysterious accident out here, no judge could fault me," I muttered.

Not that I'd do something like that to someone whose only crime was being supernaturally obnoxious. Even if I was starting to grow nostalgic for that cliff racer swarm.

"I must reach Ghostgate within-"

All right, that was it.

I whirled around. "Would you just shut up already? You've been doing nothing but complain all day, and I'm sick of it! It's not like you're making the distance shrink any by whining about it!" My shout echoed off the walls of the foyada.

The woman-shaped being stared at me. For a long moment, I thought this offense would be enough for her to drop her unconvincing Imperial disguise. In the end, though, all she did was sniff.

"Well, I never."

For a moment, I just stood there frozen, my breath coming in pants. I'd been braced for resistance, more abuse, reactions all the way up to and including her turning into a dremora and moving forward to slaughter me. Having her simply fold like that left me off balance.

"Right," I said, then again, "right. Let's keep going, shall we?"

And so we continued on our way in silence. I'd have felt happier about it if not for the guilt now squirming in my stomach.

It wasn't like me to lose my temper like that. Oh, I'd been provoked, but all the same – I liked to think I was capable of voicing my displeasure in reasonable ways. Sarcasm. Witty comments. Cutting asides. Just shouting someone into submission was the last resort of those incapable of such tools, and should therefore be beneath me. Having done it now left me feeling oddly like a bully, which was quite something since I was fairly certain the only person being bullied in this situation was me.

The whole thing could probably be blamed on the fact that I'd once again woken badly out of sorts. I'd had the sneaking suspicion the pilgrim had tried to go through my belongings during the night. Oh, everything had still been where I'd left it, but it was the only explanation I could think of for how oddly, for lack of a better word, violated I'd felt on waking this morning. Clearly, while I was sleeping someone must have ruthlessly invaded my precious personal space, and there was only one contender around. I'd been left snappish, snarling, and generally an inch away from running away to High Hrothgar to become a Greybeard so I'd never have to speak to people again. The badly disguised Daedra's serious attempt at being the most annoying person in the universe certainly hadn't helped, but in the mood I'd woken up I might even have blown up at Ajira.

Damn it all, did I actually owe the fiend an apology? Every fiber of my body rebelled at the very idea.

Weren't there some rules about not showing weakness to Daedra, anyway?

It was with some amount of relief that when I next paused to consult my map, I realised we were actually nearing Ghostgate by now. Actually bringing her to her destination in the stated time limit would, I figured, serve as apology enough without me actually having to utter the terrifying words I'm sorry. It was nice to be able to arrange things to everyone's benefit like that.

Never to mention that the end of the fiend's complaining appeared to have left a vacuum that nature hastened to fill – in this case, via my legs. I did have full sympathy for them in that they had, in fact, been overworked to the point of abuse over the last few days. However, just as I'd told the pilgrim before, there was nothing to be done about it so there was really no point in moaning. Alas, judging by the sensations coming from my lower half my legs did not agree with this assessment. I'd have tried to bribe them into keeping their dissatisfaction to themselves through a longer break, but that would have set my Daedric companion off again. Really, Ghostgate couldn't come soon enough.

We should be able to see it over this next rise, if I was reading the height-lines correctly. I ignored my legs' protests and hastened my steps-

Stopped.

I'd noticed the strange double lines on my map before. Encircling the center of the island entirely, the symbol didn't appear anywhere else. Some form of road, I'd thought, but then again Ghostgate was the only settlement that lay on it.

I certainly hadn't imagined the sight that greeted me now.

Ahead of us was a wall of glowing, ever-shifting blue-white broken every hundred or so feet by stone pillars. The whole thing rose dozens of feet into the air – high enough I couldn't even make out the landscape behind it – and continued off to either side as far as I could see.

Did it actually go the entire way around Red Mountain? That was absolutely monumental-

To my side, I noted that my unwelcome companion was not looking fazed in any way, as though she saw giant glowing barrier-things hundreds of miles long every day. Well, perhaps she did – I certainly didn't have inside knowledge on the sort of architecture present in Oblivion. Still, it was enough to make my mouth snap shut and my legs start moving again. I refused to look like some- some easily impressed yokel in front of anyone, disguised Daedra or not.

Ahead, three buildings that reminded me very strongly of the ones in Vivec rose against the barrier. As we moved closer, I realised that although the domes to the left and right were built just in front of it, the tower in the middle actually extended into the glowing surface. An arched doorway leading to a heavy iron gate made me suspect I'd just found the only way through the thing.

Ghostgate.

And, of course, the Ghostfence. I'd heard the name before and wondered what it might be. Now able to compare my ideas to reality, I'd clearly been giving the native Dunmer too much credit for creativity as far as names were concerned – a fence made of ghosts had not in fact been my leading theory.

I couldn't help but notice that as we got closer to the barrier, a low resonating hum began to grow. The source must have been the Ghostfence – what else could it possibly be? – but you wouldn't know it from the feel; it felt directionless, as though it originated from my bones themselves. Accompanying it was the strangest sense of being watched.

Ghostfence. If I was any judge, I was looking at the greatest work of necromancy the world had ever seen – quite impressive for a land where the school was under the death penalty. More to the point, I had no idea how anyone in Ghostgate ever slept.

In addition to the large gate in the center of the tower, both domes had doors. I considered, then picked the left one because it was closer. At first, the false pilgrim followed me obediently, but when it became clear that I was not, in fact, heading for the passage through the Ghostfence she stopped.

"Where do you think you're going?"

I shot her a quelling look. "Ghostgate. As you requested."

Alas for me, she remained unquelled. "I must reach the Shrine of Pride by tomorrow-"

"Now hold on a moment here! You said Ghostgate. There was absolutely no mention of shrines whatsoever."

The Daedra glared. I glared back, all my earlier feelings of guilt buried under indignation. I hated people who tried to renege on the terms of a deal partway through. It was annoying. It was rude. It was unprofessional.

Judging by the way she wasn't backing down, my companion did not agree. "I would have thought it went without saying. What other reason would someone have to visit Ghostgate, after all?"

"I don't know, sightseeing?" Trying to understand the minds of Daedra could only lead to madness. I just barely had enough tact not to say that out loud. "I took you to the place which you asked, in actual words, to go to. If you wanted someone who could read your mind, you have the wrong mer. You also, incidentally, have the wrong mer if you wanted a guide to the Shrine of Pride, seeing as for that you need someone with an actual weapon and combat skills."

Ervesa had mentioned that the shrine was in the Red Mountain area inside the Ghostfence, and even if I hadn't already heard stories about the region, the mere fact that the inhabitants of the island had seen fit to seal it off with the Ghostfence in the first place was enough to give you pause. Suffice it to say that there was no way I was setting foot in there without backup.

The pilgrim's face twisted in rage. Was this the point where she would drop her unconvincing human disguise and go for my throat? It really said something about how much I'd suffered the past few days that I was almost looking forward to it.

"You-"

"She's right, you know," a voice interrupted us. "Seeing as we're not permitting any unaccompanied expeditions into the Red Mountain area right now."

I really needed to work on my situational awareness. True, the Daedra might have reached new pinnacles in the art of being incredibly obnoxious, but that was no excuse for completely missing the tower door opening, someone wandering out and leaning against the building listening to us argue. If he'd seen this, Charon would have disowned me.

The Dunmer in question was – I was pleased to note – currently occupied giving my companion a very unimpressed look. "Doing the Seven Graces, I take it? No one will authorize a trip today, but we do a check on the area every morning. Pilgrims are allowed to tag along, provided they behave." Apparently sensing danger brewing in my least favourite Daedra's expression, he added, "That's the only offer you're getting. Take it or walk back home, outlander."

The outlander in question hissed angrily (definitely not a human sort of noise – her disguise was so shoddy I was almost embarrassed for her), but miraculously subsided. None of the backtalk, arguing, or screeching I'd had to contend with was in evidence. In order not to get eaten alive by jealousy I quickly decided that clearly, the only reason she was giving way so easily now was that I'd managed to argue her into exhaustion over the course of the day.

"Can we stay the night, then?" I asked before this coveted but highly unusual and therefore not to be relied on period of silence from the Oblivion denizens among us could come to an end.

The man rolled his eyes as if the question was entirely ridiculous, which smarted. "No, we're planning to force you to sleep in the ash in front of the door. Of course you can stay the night! We're one of the main waystations for pilgrimages, and this is off-season in a bad year. You can probably each get a whole dorm to yourself."

I decided that if he could really make it so I didn't have to share with the Daedra again, I'd forgive him the condescension.

"Throw in food, and you have a deal," I told him.

Whoa, I just started Sleeper In The Cave This is good stuff. Give me time to

I remember doing that quest. Once. I don't think any of my other Morrowind characters ever started it, after the first time.

And like Adryn's case, they were on the way to somewhere else, and it was a relief from cliffracers.

Brings back so many memories of "sticking foot in mouth" and immediately regretting it. The emotions are screaming at me.

Ok, I am caught up again. Wow, that was an excellent, gut-wrenching scene between Never and Almy. No one is really wrong. It is just that no one can really put to words to asexuality, or even comprehend it as a reality. It is hard to be something that your culture does not even acknowledge exists.

And I must say, it is wonderful to see a protagonist who is ace for a change. Most writers are not willing to acknowledge that such a thing exists either.


travelling with a cautious eye towards the sky
All Morrowind players know that that means!

So nice of Adryn to finish a task without complications. Except of course for all the... complications!

What a lovely experience she is having with that Pilgrim, who does not really seem to be a Daedra. But might as well be, given that she appears to have been placed in the world to vex Adryn.

@Renee - oh wow, you're reading the whole thing from the start? Um, good luck! I hope you enjoy! See you on the other side!

@ghastley - yes, I also took a special pleasure in walking past that woman on all future occasions. Adryn is funny when she's suffering, so she does not get to learn from my mistakes.

@macole - I assume this refers to the Nerevar-Almalexia scene? Not sure I'd view it as "foot in mouth" so much as "what's even worse than being married to someone with an incompatible sexual orientation is not understand that that's the case", but yeah - that was not a pleasant conversation for either of the two parties involved.

@SubRosa - thanks! That is really what I was going for with that scene - nobody is really in the wrong but everybody is hurting and there's no good outcome. If their cultural context were different they'd be able to have an honest conversation about what each party wants and figure out where to go from there (or, even better, have that conversation before they get married), but since they don't have a concept for asexuality they just don't have the tools they'd need for it. And so Almalexia and Nerevar find themselves on planet Everything Is Awful instead. (So much agreement re: how hard it is to be something your culture doesn't acknowledge. Although I thankfully never ended up in Nerevar's situation, I still had a hard time as an ace teenager and twenty-something because of exactly that. Awareness and visibility is a thousand times better now than it was back then, which I'm infinitely grateful for.)

I admit making Adryn+Nerevar ace was an easy choice for me since I'm ace myself... up until now I've mainly gone the self-indulgent route where Adryn happily adventures through the lands ignoring the existence of sex completely, but in this chapter I decided to actually delve into the subject a little. There's a (thankfully less depressing) ace "plot" coming up with Adryn, too.

Last installment, we checked in on Adryn... who has found herself escorting a pilgrim to Ghostgate. At least, it looks like a pilgrim. Adryn is fairly convinced this is a Daedra in disguise, a claim she will support via choking noises, furious gestures and occasional shouts of "HER PERSONALITY!" We'll have to see if her theory is correct... but last we saw she'd been invited into Ghostgate, so the final reckoning might be delayed.



My mood improved when I stepped through the doorway into Ghostgate and the sensation of being watched died down to the slightest prickle. It got another boost when I discovered that yes, I would be able to spend the night blessedly, gloriously free of the more annoying Oblivion denizens amongst us. At that point, even my guide's warning that I might find myself having strange dreams – we are very close to the spirits of the Ghostgate here, sometimes the ancestors bless us with their presence – was easy to wave away. (It wasn't as if I remembered my dreams at all, these days – I was probably due for an odd one or two.) No, by the time I was esconced in the common area of the Tower of Dusk, off my feet, halfway through a bowl of stewed bittergreen and ash yam, I felt almost friendly towards the world.

Not least because the Daedra had made herself scarce soon after we entered. Maybe she was trying to break into the Red Mountain region on her own. I didn't care. I luxuriated in not caring. As far as I was concerned, the Armigers had taken over responsibility for her when we'd passed the threshold, and never had I so enjoyed the feeling of a person being someone else's problem.

Not that I'd wish her on the Armigers. It turned out that Ghostgate was one of their main headquarters, and so I'd finally gotten to meet others from Ervesa's order. Apparently her attitude was, in fact, typical. Everyone had been welcoming, friendly even, and not a single person had called me outlander so far. Given how my experiences with native Morrowind Dunmer usually went, I spent a few moments wondering whether I was hallucinating.

Perhaps it was a matter of the universe balancing itself out. If you took the average of an Armiger and an Ordinator, you probably ended up with a perfectly normal Dunmer.

In any case, I wasn't complaining. After days spent with an escapee from Oblivion as my only company, I was starved for pleasant conversation with real, actual people. It definitely helped that some of them were willing to spend time listening to me relate the woes of this latest involuntary adventure, oohing and aahing and making sympathetic noises at all the right moments.

Given the situation, it was hard not to let one's guard down. At least, that was my defense for how I'd somehow allowed myself to be talked into accompanying the expedition to the shrine the next morning.

I'd had no intention of doing so when I'd entered Ghostgate. Spending time in the common area had not, initially changed this – quite the contrary. I still had no idea what was inside the Ghostfence, but my evidence for it being something I had no desire to ever meet had increased. On top of the rumours and the existence of the Ghostfence in the first place which had led me to the conclusion originally, I could now lay the following fact: Ghostgate was not just heavily manned but clearly saw active combat on a regular basis. Over there a woman was repairing dents in her chitin armour, over here a man had his arm in a sling, the jagged gashes on his neighbour's face couldn't be older than a week, and – oh yes – the bar included not just mazte and sujamma but enough quality healing potions to put a hospital to shame. Given that Ghostgate was, in fact, an outpost in the furthest depths of the Ashlands far away from civilization of any sort, one had to wonder who – or, to be more precise, what – they were fighting.

Those gashes looked a lot like claw marks.

No, I'd decided, none of that for me. I'd spend the night here, but when the expedition set out come morning I'd be heading the opposite way.

Except that this resolution didn't survive long after I mentioned it. I remembered, distantly, Ervesa explaining how skill with words was considered one of the cornerstones of her order. At the time, I'd been focused on the poetry part, but clearly I should have paid more attention to the persuasiveness aspect. Maybe if I had, I'd have been better prepared to resist. As it was, somewhere between the exhortations of how much effort the forces at Ghostgate expended to keep the path clear and the explanations of how crucial making one's obeisance at the Shrine of Pride was to understanding the protection of Almsivi my resistance melted away like snow in summer. The critical argument had been that the Shrine of Pride was part of the Pilgrimage of the Seven Graces – in other words, the pilgrimage I'd told Ervesa I'd complete.

Well, I thought as I gave way, at least-

"Ervesa will be so happy to hear it!" the Armiger I'd privately dubbed Tattoos exclaimed, in a strange unknowing echo of my thoughts.

Wait a moment.

I hadn't mentioned Ervesa, had I?

"Ervesa?" It was almost certainly too late to pretend ignorance, but I wanted to leave my options open here.

The geometric patterns on Tattoos' forehead shifted as her eyebrows went up. "You are Adryn, aren't you? Ervesa's Adryn? The description was pretty unmistakeable."

A cough was trapped in my throat. I let it out with force as I tried to figure out what part to object to first – the fact that Ervesa was talking about me, in enough detail that I could be identified from it, or the description of me as Ervesa's. I'd never heard a possessive in front of my name before and I wasn't sure how to feel about it.

At Tattoos' side, her fellow Armiger Spikes (chosen over How On Nirn Does One Do That To Their Hair for the sake of brevity) nodded. "Girl new to the island who attracts more trouble than the next dozen combined, it all checks out." As I was opening my mouth in outrage, he added, "And there's the hair too. Don't see that shade of red often, especially not east of the Grazelands."

My mouth snapped shut. Ervesa's stories had gone to the level of physical description?

For some reason, I felt heat rise in my cheeks. Something in my stomach was fluttering strangely.

I wanted, I decided abruptly, for them to stop talking.

"I- yes, fine, you're right. I'm Ervesa's Adryn." The squirming sensation grew stronger at the sound of those words coming out my mouth. "Is she around, by the way? I remember her mentioning she'd be staying at Ghostgate for a while the last time I saw her."

"She is. She was on patrol this afternoon, should be back soon." Tattoos sighed. "It's a real shame. Normally, she'd spend all her wandering-years away from our strongholds – it's the whole point, learning to act independently – but we're stretched so thin at Ghostgate by now we've had to call even the juniors in to do rotations." The lines on her forehead shifted again, this time into a scowl. "Imagine how different things might be if, with all their military, the Imperials actually bothered to help. Instead of, you know, panicking and sealing off the whole damn island."

The scowl deepened, Tattoos' hand tightening on her mug of mazte. Very cautiously, I drew away. She'd emptied several as the afternoon wore into evening, and although the Dunmer could clearly hold her alcohol I'd noticed her loosening up. It hadn't been an issue so far, not with her in a good mood... but now said mood was turning, and that wasn't a good combination with lowered inhibitions.

I was just wondering whether it was time to make myself scarce when Spikes shoved at Tattoos' shoulder with a laugh. "What are you even saying, Drelyne? If the Legion turned up at Ghostgate saying they wanted to bunk down with us, you'd be the first to start the mutiny!"

Tattoos' forehead smoothed. "I... can't actually argue with that."

"It's for the best, I tell you. And Ervesa being around is lucky for Adryn here, too." Spike grinned at me. "Luckier there's hardly any other pilgrims staying, so we got you a room all to yourself. Not that Drelyne here wouldn't clear out if Ervesa asked, but it's nicer this way, isn't it?"

Being who I was, it took me a second to understand the implication. I wasn't sure if I would have, if Spikes hadn't winked at me.

My cheeks began to blaze, and this time I definitely knew why.

"'Wait, that's not what we're-"

"Oh, there's no need to be shy about it," Tattoos interrupted. "I know other places might make it out to be shameful, but it's the most natural thing in the world. You can be open about it here." Her tone was almost motherly, which – given the topic of conversation – was just too wrong for words.

"No, there's- there's definitely been a misunderstanding here!" My voice was getting desperate.

"Really?" That degree of skepticism was downright uncalled for. The hint of a smug smile I saw tugging at Spikes' lips doubly so. "That's not how your girlfriend's been telling it."

Everything stopped.

"What?"

Distantly, I noted that my voice appeared to have grown several octaves. Well, now I knew what to do if I ever needed to shatter glass – simply have someone claim...

It couldn't be true. It just couldn't.

Spikes was still smiling. I'd never wanted to remove an expression from someone's face through the medium of excessive violence quite so much before. "Oh? If you think differently, why don't you tell her that?"

I looked up, and indeed – as if summoned by us talking about her, Ervesa was standing in the doorway. She must've only just got back, because her shirt was rumpled, her bangs plastered to her forehead with sweat, and she hadn't put her earrings back in yet. Her eyes were wide as they rested on me.

"Adryn! What are you doing here, I hadn't expected to see... you..."

Coming closer, she must have been able to better make out the expression on my face. At least, that was how I explained the way her voice trailed off and her smile sickened, shrank, and finally slid off her face entirely.

"Ervesa. What a... nice surprise. I think we need to talk."

It looks like the Ghostgate Armigers are accustomed enough to pilgrims from far-flug locales that they have shed the need to refer to them as "n'wah", at least to their faces.

Can you refresh my memory? Aren't Armigers also the people who hunt down heretics and imprison them in the floating moon rock? Or is that the Ordinators? And why are the Armigers Bouyant? Do they float?

"Girl new to the island who attracts more trouble than the next dozen combined, it all checks out."
Well, that can only be one person I can think of!

Oh look Adryn's girlfriend is back! This is going to be an interesting talk.