Since I'm apparantly allowed more than one fanfic at once here, I decided to take advantage of it and start posting my latest fic, 'The Neveragaine Strikes Back'. Bear in mind that this is the sequel to 'The Neveragaine' (covering the events of Tribunal), so it's best to read the original story in full before starting on this one. Updates will also be a lot slower on this fic, as I've only just started writing it.

So, onto the prologue:

Prologue: Trouble In Paradise

As a fighter, I was always taught that you should never let your guard down. If things seem unusually quiet, it’s often a sign that the enemy’s just getting prepared and all hell is about to break loose. If I’d only remembered that, perhaps none of this would ever have happened.

After more than six months of living as the Nerevarine, I was still struggling to get used to being Vvardenfell’s hot new celebrity. For the first few weeks it was fantastic: everywhere I went there’d be people bowing and scraping, saying things like “Almsivi bless you, Nerevarine,” and “how may I serve you, Incarnate?” and “please may I lick your boots clean for you, Nerevar-Born-Again?” But after a month had gone by, and people were still collapsing into stammering incoherence whenever I so much as spoke to them, the excitement was starting to wear off pretty quickly. I even considered visiting Telvanni areas just for the novelty of being treated with polite indifference (or even not-so-polite indifference).

Things just got crazier as time went on. Before long there were people turning up at Bal Isra for pilgrimages – yes, honest-to-goodness pilgrimages. Some of them even seemed to believe I had mystical healing powers of some sort, and could heal their sick friends and relatives just by touching them. I had enormous trouble convincing them that I was just an ordinary mortal rather than some sort of divine being.

“No, seriously,” I would plead. “I’d love to help you, I really would, but I’m useless at magic. You need to go and see a healer.”

I felt so guilty about disappointing them that I usually paid for a healer’s fee, and of course, word quickly got around. Eventually I caved in and learned a couple of spells to cure diseases and suchlike. I managed to persuade the Temple to install a healing shrine so that I wouldn’t have to cure everyone personally, which was not how I planned to spend the rest of my (potentially eternal) life.

Indarys Manor itself was doing quite well. I’d made quite a nice little pile by selling off the Sixth House artifacts I’d collected at Red Mountain (and hadn’t blown all of it on expensive gowns imported from Cyrodiil), so there was plenty of money for improvements. The population had grown to around twenty (plus guards), and we even had our own silt strider port going to Maar Gan and Ald’ruhn.

Things in House Redoran had also improved quite a bit since the fall of Dagoth Ur. The Blight was gone, and ashstorms were a lot less frequent now, making the Ashlands a much nicer place to live in. Arethan Mandas – the ‘Mad Lord of Milk’ – was back in Ald’ruhn under his daughter’s care, and as for Hlaren Ramoran, his relationship with his bodyguard Nalvyna seemed to be progressing nicely. When things got particularly boring in Council meetings, we’d sometimes catch him staring dreamily off into the distance, humming a little tune to himself.

If only the Council business had been going half as well. When I was first appointed Archmaster, I’d dreamed of creating a new House: a House with the honour of Redoran, the enterprise of Hlaalu, and … well, I’m sure there must be something good about the Telvanni. Top of my list of ‘improvements’ was abolishing the ridiculous system of ‘advancement by honourable duel’. If someone thought they would make a better leader than me, they could damn well explain why they thought it instead of dragging me out to the Arena.

But I’d reckoned without the Redoran council – the stickiest stick-in-the-muds ever to gum up the workings of government. I’d propose some trivial change – at least, one that seemed trivial to me – and they’d look at me as if I’d suggested holding a revolution and overthrowing the Tribunal. “But we’ve always done it this way,” were the words I’d come to dread.

I soon sussed out who I could count on to support or oppose me. Athyn Sarethi was generally (though not always) on my side, and together with Brara Morvayn, we formed what I’d come to think of as the ‘liberal wing’ of the Council. Lined up against us were Hlaren Ramoran, Miner Arobar and Garisa Llethri – making a nicely-balanced three on each side, which didn’t exactly help with decision-making. As Archmaster I technically had the casting vote, but I didn’t want over-use it and turn the others against me.

It didn’t help that the other Councillors were still struggling with the idea of a human Archmaster. I wouldn’t have minded so much, except that they seemed to deal with it by treating me as a sort of honorary Dunmer. As a result I had to sit through meeting after meeting, grinding my teeth, while the others whinged endlessly about Imperials and the Empire and what a bunch of greedy honourless bastards we all were. (Not in those exact words, obviously, but that was the gist of it.)

Athyn could usually be counted on to smooth things over when they got too heated. But relations between me and Athyn were slightly strained at the moment, mainly because of Varvur.

Ah, yes. Me and Varvur Sarethi.


We spent as much time as we could together after Red Mountain, which wasn’t easy. I was the Redoran Archmaster, living in Bal Isra, while Varvur was training to be a Buoyant Armiger and spent most of his time in Vivec (the city, not… oh, never mind).

Even when we did manage to get together, we still had to find places where we could talk (and other things) in secret. Not to mention getting hold of sterility potions, without tipping off the whole of Vvardenfell that the Nerevarine had a lover. I eventually managed to get some from Sharn gra-Muzgob, after swearing her to secrecy on pain of having her necromantic activities reported to the Temple.

In order to see as much of me as possible on his visits to Ald’ruhn, Varvur came up with the idea of teaching me Dunmeris. After six months in Morrowind I could already understand it reasonably well, but speaking it was another matter. I’d never been much good at languages, but luckily Varvur had lots of patience.

“Conjugate the verb ‘to love’,” he said to me one day.

“I already know that one.” It was one of the first I’d learned.

“Never mind, let’s do it again.” He began to recite the verb forms in Tamrielic, and I repeated them back to him in Dunmeris. “He loves you. She loves you. They love you. We love you.” He slid his hand under the table and gently closed his fingers around mine. “I love you.”

My heart was starting to race, but I grasped his hand tightly and repeated the words in Dunmeris. “I love you.”

From then on, we were as close to engaged as we’d ever be without announcing it officially. The only problem was that Varvur’s parents still didn’t know about it. When we’d first started seeing each other, we’d held off telling them because we weren’t sure it would last – but now, in hindsight, that was starting to look like a bad idea. How would they react when they found out we’d been shagging each other in secret for months on end?

In my more optimistic moments, I told myself that it would be okay. After all, it wasn’t like I was a penniless nobody any more – I was the Redoran Archmaster and a high-ranking Imperial knight, not to mention a famous hero. I’d have been a pretty good match for Varvur if it weren’t for my low birth and – of course – the fact that I wasn’t a Dunmer. But surely that wouldn’t matter so much to people as kind and tolerant as the Sarethis?

“We’re going to have to tell them some day,” I said to Varvur, as we lay in each other’s arms somewhere in the Grazelands.

“I know,” he said, sighing. “I wish now that we had told them at the start. It would have been more honourable, certainly. But it’s too late now.”

I nuzzled up against him. “Do you think they have someone else in mind for you, perhaps? Some Redoran noblewoman?”

“I doubt it. If they had, they would at least have introduced me to her by now. I think they believe I’m too young to marry.” He paused. “Besides, you are a Redoran noblewoman.”

“Well… technically.” I knew I wasn’t kidding anyone with that one.

“And the Nerevarine besides,” he went on. “If Nerevar reborn is not good enough for them, who would be?”

I didn’t answer for a second or two. Varvur’s words had brought to mind something that had been niggling at me for quite some time.

“Varvur… doesn’t it ever bother you?” I said at last. “That I’m the Nerevarine?”

“No,” he said, looking surprised. “At least, not any more.” He gave me a searching look. “And you? Does it bother you?”

“I… well, it’s just…” I was struggling to find words to express what I felt. “Ever since Red Mountain, it’s like everyone has gone completely insane. People are treating me like I really am Saint Nerevar. And…”

“Yes?”

I took a deep breath. “I just have this horrible feeling that someday, they’re all going to wake up and realise I’m not nearly as great as they thought I was. Even you.”

“No,” he said instantly. He wrapped his arms around me and held me close, kissing me almost fiercely. “No. I love Ada, not the Nerevarine.”

I felt tears prick my eyes. Neither of us said anything else, but we tacitly agreed to put off telling The Folks a little while longer. And of course, eventually the inevitable happened and Athyn found out.

I’d gone to Varvur’s room for ‘comfort’ during one of my occasional bouts of painful homesickness, and Athyn walked in on us. He didn’t actually catch us in bed together, thank Dibella – that would just have been too much of a cliché – but he did find me sitting half-naked in Varvur’s lap, with his arms around me. He didn’t say anything, just stared at us for a moment and then closed the door again, but I think he realised we hadn’t been practising verb inflections this time.

I slid off Varvur’s lap, grabbing at my robe, and made for the door – but he caught my arm before I could get any further. “No, Ada, you go back to Bal Isra. I will talk to him.”

“It’s my job,” I said flatly, but he shook his head.

“No, let me. He’s my father, and it is my dishonour for keeping this from him. I should have told him earlier.”

Before I could protest he was hurrying off after his father, leaving me torn between following him or chickening out and heading off home. I hesitated for a few moments, then poked my head out of the door just in time to see them both disappear into Athyn’s study.

There wasn’t much to do except teleport back to Bal Isra. I felt guilty about leaving Varvur to face the music alone, but at the same time I couldn’t help feeling slightly relieved that the truth was out. Okay, so this was a slightly awkward way for it to happen, but surely a man as fair and reasonable as Athyn would come round eventually?

But my hopes were dashed when Varvur showed up at Indarys Manor the next morning. From the grim expression on his face, I guessed his father hadn’t reacted by breaking out the shein and discussing wedding presents.

“What happened?” I asked, dreading the answer.

“You know my father. He doesn’t get angry, he just…” Varvur broke off, sighing heavily. “He asked if the two of us were sleeping together.”

“And what did you say?”

“I told him that we were, of course. And then he asked why I hadn’t told him earlier, so I tried to explain – but I could see he was not happy about it.”

“What happened then?”

Varvur’s fists clenched. “He started… lecturing me. As if I were a child still. Telling me that I should be beyond the age of ‘infatuations’ with human women. That I should have more respect for you, and not make promises I couldn’t… keep.”

My jaw dropped. “Could you have believed it? I am not fourteen years old any longer! So… well, I am afraid I lost my temper a little.” He heaved another gusty sigh. “I told him that this was not an ‘infatuation’ and we were in love. And that I had made no promises to you, but that if I had, I certainly would not break them.”

“Well… that doesn’t sound so bad,” I said. “Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding. If we can persuade him that we’re really in love with each other – ”

Varvur was shaking his head. “There’s more. He started repeating lies he had heard about you – malicious gossip and slander. I would never have believed it of my father.”

“Lies?” That didn’t sound at all like Athyn. “What sort of lies?”

He waved a hand angrily. “They are not worth repeating! And so I said to him. I told him I wouldn’t listen to any more of it, and then I left.”

There was a long silence. I was beginning to see just how badly wrong I’d been when I blithely assumed Athyn would give us his blessing.

“What about your mother?” I asked. “Do you think she’ll be on our side?”

He shook his head again. “I doubt it. I don’t like to speak ill of my mother, but… she is prejudiced against humans. She likes you because you helped our family, but if my father doesn’t want me to marry an Imperial, she certainly would not.”

“So what do we do?” I said at last. “Varvur… I really wouldn’t want to get married without your parents’ approval. Especially your father’s. After the way he’s treated me, and everything he’s done for me… I just couldn’t.”

He nodded. “No, I don’t wish to either. I could never do that to my parents. I suppose we will just have to wait, and hope that they change their minds.”

So we did, and a bloody uncomfortable wait it was. We still had to meet in secret to avoid any publicity, but now we had to do it in the full knowledge that Varvur’s parents knew, and disapproved. In a way it was harder for me than for Varvur – not that he didn’t love his father, but to me Athyn was a friend and mentor, the man who’d made me everything I was today. I knew I’d disappointed him, and I felt terrible about it.

To make things worse, Athyn and I had to see each other practically every day to discuss business. He never actually said anything to me about Varvur, but I could sense the tension between us whenever we met – and to be honest, I couldn’t entirely blame him. I knew I couldn’t exactly be the daughter-in-law he’d always dreamed of.

Sometimes I found myself wondering if it was even worth it. There were so many practical problems in the way of my relationship with Varvur, and not just because of race and background. We came from totally different cultures, worshipped different gods... and then, of course, there was the issue of children. For some reason, the children of mixed-race marriages always take on the mother’s race – so any kids I had with Varvur would be Imperials, not Dunmer. They would grow old and die long before their grandparents, let alone their parents.

In the end, it might have been easier for both of us if we’d just given up and gone our separate ways. The only problem was that I loved him.

Things couldn’t go on like this, of course. Something had to give. But when the crisis came, it happened in a way I most definitely would not have expected.

Why is it no surprise that Ada’s road to love is rocky? Well- because we are talking about Ada.



There speaks the Ada we all know and love.



I have a feeling Ada’s creator has been the victim of more than a few meetings…



Nothing more to say to that...

This new Ada adventure starts wonderfully- with foreshadowing of even worse troubles than reluctant reactionary Redoran rebrobates in the offing. Thank you, Helena, for sharing your brilliant writing and endearing character.

And thank you for bringing it here! I've been reading it over at the BGSF - still have to go there for new Edward fixes, lol.

What can I say except:

I Love all things Helena (no innuendoes this time, honest!) and this also fits in that category!!!

Yay Ada and Varvur are a couple.
I'm sure Athyn will come around.

Chapter 1: A Rude Awakening

It was a hot, dry evening in early Mid Year, and we’d just finished yet another fruitless Council meeting. The Ashlanders had long since accepted that I wasn’t going to be quite the saviour they’d hoped for, but I still felt I ought to do something to help them – and so I’d finally screwed up the courage to bring it up with the Council. Kind souls that they were, they all agreed that something should be done – but their ideas of ‘help’ were along the lines of ‘build schools and temples and bring them all into the fold of Blessed Almsivi’. I had real trouble making them understand that this wasn’t what the Ashlanders themselves would want.

Now the meeting was over, and we were supposed to be enjoying a quiet drink. But then someone brought up the subject of Imperial taxes, and soon the others were back in their default mode of ‘let’s all bash the Empire’. It seemed to be the only thing they could ever agree on.

The worst of it was that they actually had a point. A lot of the trade rules imposed on Morrowind were blatantly unfair – but hearing the Redorans lay into the Empire just made me want to defend my people. And after several months of seething in silence, my patience was at breaking point.

Garisa Llethri was blathering on about favourable tariffs on Cyrodiilic brandy. “But you still drink it, I notice,” I snapped, looking pointedly at the half-full glass in his hand.

Llethri quickly laid down the glass, his cheeks reddening slightly. “That has nothing to do with it!”

“Of course it does!” I hissed back at him. “You guys all buy it up by the crateload because it’s better than the local stuff!” (This was unquestionably true.) “It already costs 100 drakes a bottle; do you want it to be even more expensive?”

“Of course not! We simply wish for equal treatment, that is all. Why should our exports be more heavily taxed than Imperial imports?”

I didn’t really have an answer for that, of course, but I was too angry to back down. “Well, nice to see you taking such a principled stand on the issue, Garisa!”

Garisa raised his eyes skyward. “Once,” he said loudly to no one in particular, “we had an Archmaster who would stand up for our rights in such matters. No longer, it seems.”

This – from Garisa Llethri, of all people – was just too much. I slammed down my own glass, and stood up.

“Ah yes, Bolvyn Venim. I’ll try and be a bit more like him, shall I?” I glared round the table. “Let’s see: I’ll surround myself with handsome young men. I’ll sleep with other people’s husbands and kidnap their children. I’ll challenge people to ‘honourable’ duels at the drop of a hat so that I can murder them without getting punished for it. I’ll bully and browbeat everyone into doing what I want, and every time one of you pisses me off, I’ll send the Morag Tong after you. Sound like fun?”

No one answered. Garisa looked stricken, and I realised I’d hit very close to home with the ‘other people’s husbands’ comment. But at that moment I was too angry to care.

“I’m going home to bed,” I said curtly, flinging my cloak around me. “Goodnight all. Have fun ranting pointlessly about the Empire while guzzling down Imperial brandy.”

With that I Recalled to my room in Indarys Manor, and instantly set about pouring myself some flin. I didn’t usually drink to drown my frustrations with the Council – otherwise I’d never stop – but in this case, it seemed entirely appropriate to soothe my nerves with a glass or two. Or three. Or four.

I barely even remember getting undressed and stumbling into bed. Usually I’d sleep like a log after drinking like that, so I have no idea what it was that caused me to wake up – a sudden noise, perhaps. But without knowing exactly why, I could instantly sense that something was wrong.

I could hear soft footsteps outside the door, as if someone was creeping around just outside. Carefully, trying not to make any noise, I rolled over to the side of the bed and reached for my sword. My hand had just closed around the hilt when the door creaked open and a head, masked in a face-concealing black helmet, peeked round it.

I leapt off the bed just as the black-clad figure flung the door wide open. His arm flew back and a dart of some kind whistled past my ear, so close that I could actually feel the rush of air against my skin.

Instinct took over and I leapt at him, forgetting that I wasn’t wearing anything but a nightdress. He lashed out frantically with a dagger, and I felt the sting of poison as the edge of the blade nicked my arm. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I grabbed his wrist with my left hand while driving the blade of my trusty glass frostsword into his gut. A choking sound escaped him, and blood began to dribble from his mouth.

Within seconds, the house was in uproar as servants and retainers came running to my aid. My steward, Galvene Othrobar, was the first to arrive. “Sera Ventura!” she gasped, staring at the would-be assassin’s corpse in bewilderment. “What has happened?”

Shock and pain made me lose my temper. “What happened?” I snarled. “That guy tried to kill me, that’s what happened!” I whirled round to face Treram Milar, my guard captain. “How did he get past the guards? What the hell do I pay you people for anyway?”

“I am so sorry, muthsera! I - I cannot imagine how this could have happened.” His voice shook. “I have failed you, and I take full responsibility.” To my horror, I realised there were tears in his eyes.

“Look, it’s OK,” I muttered, suddenly feeling guilty for yelling at him. “Sorry for losing my temper like that, Treram. I should save that for whoever hired this guy to kill me.”

“But who would do this?” Galvene asked helplessly. “Who would try to kill the Nerevarine?”

There was a brief, uncomfortable silence as I realised that I had absolutely no idea. I couldn’t think of anyone specific with a grudge against me, but that just meant it could be almost anyone – the Camonna Tong, a Hlaalu or Telvanni, some random lunatic. It wasn’t a pleasant thought.

“Could be anyone at all, couldn’t it?” I said shortly. “Hang on a moment.”

I marched over to the bed, where the assassin’s dart had lodged itself in the headboard, and wrenched it out. It was made of ebony, finely carved and razor-sharp. “Morag Tong,” I muttered. “Who else?”

“I cannot find a writ, sera.” Treram was crouched over the body. “It would a grave crime to make an attempt on your life without one.”

“He probably just forgot.” I glanced down at the dart in my hand. “This is exactly their style. It doesn’t count as murder if you use an ebony dart and howl three times at the moon first, or something. Well, I guess it’s time to pay our friendly local contract killers a visit.”

Galvene looked horrified. “But sera! Have you considered? If they have a writ for your assassination, then – ”

“Then I might be forced to wipe out the whole lot of them? Oh dear!” I flung my dressing gown around my shoulders, then pulled on my boots and grabbed a handful of enchanted jewellery. “Dump the guy in the cellar and get this mess cleaned up. I don’t want any blood left on my floor by the time I get back, understand?”

“But – ”

The protesting voices died away as the sound of my Almsivi Intervention spell filled my ears. The moment my feet hit the Temple courtyard, I strode out through the gateway and up towards the Skar building.

There weren’t many people around at that time of night, but I got some pretty strange looks from the guards as I hurried through the streets. A couple of shady-looking types eyed me from the shadows, but drew back hastily when they saw the glass longsword hanging from my belt. When I finally reached Skar, I had to pause for a minute or so to catch my breath. I took the opportunity to run a comb through my hair – it wouldn’t do to be messy, even if I was about to storm the Morag Tong sanctuary in my nightclothes.

I’d never been inside the Tong guildhall before – in fact, I’d made a point of not going there. I loathed them, ancient Dunmer tradition or not, and I enjoyed pissing off the other Councillors by referring to them as the ‘Murderers’ Guild’ and the ‘Hitmen’s Social Club’. It didn’t surprise me at all to find the place dark, smoky and bathed in eerie red light, as if they were actively trying to live up to the stereotype. If I hadn’t been so angry, I’d have found it hilarious.

The only person visible was Goren Andarys, the local Guildmaster – an ugly-looking customer if I ever saw one. He looked surprised to see me, but not disconcerted.

“Archmaster Ventura, “he said smoothly. “A pleasure. I hadn’t expected to see you here, especially at this… unusual hour. Are you in need of our services, perhaps?”

I couldn’t believe the guy had the gall to speak to me like that. “Oh, cut the crap, Andarys,” I snarled, flinging the ebony dart down on the table. “You know damn well why I’m here. This look familiar to you?”

Andarys picked up the dart and examined it carefully – or pretended to. “I’m afraid you have the advantage of me, sera,” he said at last. “I have no idea what this is, nor have I ever seen anything like it.”

“Oh, give me a break!” I snatched the dart back from him. “One of your assassins just tried to kill me with that thing – as you’re perfectly well aware. I want to know who hired him, and why.”

“A Morag Tong agent?” His brow creased into a frown. “Then he had a writ? Do you have it with you?”

“No, he didn’t.”

Andarys shook his head. “Then I very much doubt that he was Morag Tong. I handle all writs for the Ashlands area, and I would certainly know if any had been taken out against you. And besides,” he added, “you are the Redoran Archmaster and the Nerevarine. The cost would be… prohibitive.”

“I don’t believe you,” I said flatly. “How many other assassins’ guilds are there round here? If you didn’t send the guy, who did?”

Andarys’ face had gone rigid, and I could tell he was struggling to keep his cool. “I have no idea. If I may say so, Archmaster, someone in your position is bound to make enemies. I suggest you talk to a guard.”

“You’re lying,” I said. “I’ve heard all about your ‘grey writs’. I know a professional assassin when I see one. The guy was Tong.”

His lips tightened. “I tell you, Nerevarine, there is no writ on you. Yet,” he added pointedly. “If there were, what would stop me from summoning my thralls to attack you here and now?”

“One of your stupid rules of ‘honour’, perhaps? The ones that don’t actually stop you killing people, but do set down a load of arcane rules about exactly when and how you can do it?” His expression didn’t change. “Fine, go ahead. Deny it. But I’m telling you this: if you send another of your thugs after me, I’m going to come down here with Clan Redoran and slaughter the whole bloody lot of you. Do you understand?”

“I shall look forward to it,” he said coldly. “Now I would appreciate it if you would leave my guildhall… and please, Archmaster, try to drink a little less before you pay us another visit? Thank you.”

I could honestly have murdered the guy at that moment. (Ironic, I know.) In the end I just turned and stalked off without saying another word.

Unsurprisingly, I didn’t get much more sleep that night. Two guards were stationed right outside my door, but even so, every little noise had me waking in a cold sweat. It was almost a relief when morning came and I could hurry over to Sarethi Manor to pour out my woes.

The Sarethis were horrified to hear about the murder attempt – so much that the tensions between us seemed briefly forgotten. “But who would want to kill you?” Domesea asked in disbelief, echoing Galvene Othrobar. “You are the Nerevarine.”

“I don’t know,” I said with a sigh. “It could be almost anyone, couldn’t it? Anyone with enough money to pay for a writ, in any case.”

Athyn frowned. “Are you sure it was the Morag Tong?”

“Well, yes,” I said in astonishment. “Who else could it be?”

He shook his head. “I am not sure, but I think you should wait before jumping to conclusions. In the meantime we must increase your guard, of course.”

“We won’t let them harm you.” Varvur slid his arms around me. “She must stay here tonight,” he added, with a defiant glance at his parents.

Domesea narrowed her eyes, but Athyn simply nodded. “Yes, indeed she must. Though I hardly think the assassins would dare to attack twice on successive nights.”

I spent the rest of the day at Bal Isra, trying my best to forget about the attack, but I was constantly on edge. Every time I heard an unexpected sound or saw a movement out of the corner of my eye, I thought it was another assassin. By the time I got back to Sarethi Manor with my night gear, I was completely exhausted.

Athyn had prepared a room for me, and I joined the family for dinner, though I couldn’t eat very much. Once the meal was over I went straight to bed, keeping my sword close to hand. I had thought I’d have trouble sleeping, but in the event I was so tired that I dropped off almost immediately.

I was awakened by a sudden loud yell. Grabbing my sword, I leapt out of bed and flung open the door to the hallway. The sight that greeted me made my heart stop. Varvur was standing there, half-naked and carrying a sword that was dripping with blood. Beside him on the floor lay the body of another masked, black-clad assassin.

“I thought they might make another attempt.” He was breathing heavily. “So I settled down to wait instead of going to sleep. When I heard a noise outside in the corridor, I went to see what it was and found him standing by your door.”

A chill ran through me. If Varvur hadn’t been so cautious, I’d probably be dead by now. “How did he get in?” I asked helplessly. “Why didn’t the guards spot him?”

“I’m not sure. A Chameleon spell perhaps?” By now the entire household was gathering in the corridor. Athyn’s face was drawn, and I saw Domesea turn pale and grasp his arm tightly. Of course, I realised, they both had all too much experience with the Morag Tong – oh gods, the Morag Tong!

“Oh, those guar-molesting – ” I slammed my sword back into its scabbard. “Right. That’s it. I’m not just going to kill them all, I’m going to douse their precious guildhall in scuttle oil and set it alight.”

“One moment.” One of the guards had knelt down by the dead assassin and was searching the pockets of his leather armour. “There is no writ.”

“Doesn’t surprise me. The last guy didn’t have one either.” I made for the door, but Athyn caught at my arm.

“Ada, I do not think these people are Morag Tong,” he said softly. “I know you find it hard to believe, but they do follow a code of honour, and it would be most unusual for them to act without a writ. Besides, this is not their traditional dress.”

I clapped a hand to my forehead. “Oh, of course! He can’t possibly be Morag Tong, he’s not wearing a Morag Tong uniform. How stupid of me to think that an assassin might possibly choose to dress as a slightly different kind of assassin.”

“Ada, calm yourself.” Varvur laid a hand on my shoulder. “At least wait until morning before you decide what to do. I will stay with you tonight, and guard you against any other attacks.”

He had a point, I had to admit. I was tired. And maybe four a.m. wasn’t the best time to plot revenge against a bunch of professional assassins.

“Okay,” I said wearily, and turned to his father. “Sorry for having a go at you, Athyn. I’m a bit… on edge right now.”

“No matter,” he answered mechanically. As the guards began to drag away the body, he slipped an arm around his wife and led her back towards their room. I returned to my own room with Varvur, who carefully wiped his sword clean and settled into a chair facing the door.

“Sleep,” he said, in answer to my questioning look. “I’ll be here.”

He was still there when I woke up the next morning, sitting upright in his chair, looking tired but still alert. I reached out to touch his bare arm, and he turned sleepy red eyes towards me and smiled. At that moment I knew for certain that there was no way I could ever give up on him – on us. However long it took, we had to find a way through this.

“What will you do now?” he asked, as I began to dress. “About the assassin?”

I hesitated. Somehow, in the cold light of day, I didn’t feel quite as certain about the Morag Tong’s involvement as I had before. Last night I’d been too tired and angry to think clearly – but now, when I thought back on my conversation with Goren Andarys, I realised he hadn’t come across as if he was lying. I guess he could just have been a very good actor, but…

“I think I’ll go and talk to the Legion people over at the fort,” I said at last. “Might as well take advantage of being the Imperial Dragon, after all. If they don’t have any ideas… well, I’ll worry about that later.”

Varvur hauled himself to his feet. “Would you like me to go with you?”

“No, sweetheart, you go to bed. I’ll be fine.” He looked doubtful. “Really. I killed a god, remember?”

He couldn’t hide a smile. “All right. I’ll see you later.”

A short while later I was pouring out the whole story to Imsin the Dreamer, the local Legion commander, in her office at Fort Buckmoth. When I showed her the ebony darts I’d taken from the assassins, a rather grim expression crossed her face.

“Yes, I think I’ve heard of these,” she said, nodding slowly. “It’s not good, ma’am. This looks like the work of the Dark Brotherhood.

I blinked. “The Dark Brotherhood?”

“Yes. Er… haven’t you heard of them, ma’am? I thought you came from Cyrodiil?”

“Yes, of course, but…” Why the hell would the Dark Brotherhood be trying to kill me? I hadn’t even realised that they existed here in Morrowind.

Imsin cleared her throat. “Could I make a suggestion, ma’am? Apelles Matius might be able to help. He’s recently arrived from Cyrodiil, after all.”

“Good thinking.” Apelles Matius was my deputy, brought in to handle the day-to-day business of the Legion. I’d only met him a couple of times, quite briefly, but he’d seemed like he knew what he was doing. If anyone could help me with my little assassination problem, he was a good bet.

I travelled to Ebonheart with a combination of Guild Guide and Divine Intervention spells. It didn’t take me long to find Apelles, who was inspecting the battlements. He wore a shiny suit of armour made of adamantium – a silvery-grey metal which was apparently only found in parts of mainland Morrowind. I always felt a bit envious of him when I saw it.

“What’s this about the Dark Brotherhood?” he asked, when I gave him a quick run-down of the situation. “You say you’ve been attacked by them? The fact that you’re standing here seems to suggest otherwise.”

“I’m not in the mood for jokes,” I said sharply. “Have you heard anything about Dark Brotherhood activity in Vvardenfell?”

He shook his head. “Almost unheard of… but I do know they have a large contingent back on the mainland – in Mournhold itself, actually. If you’re feeling particularly suicidal, I guess you can check it out for yourself...”

My heart sank. Mournhold was Morrowind’s capital city, deep in House Indoril territory – it would take at least a week to travel there, not to mention all the time spent preparing for the journey. “I don’t suppose you know any way to get there quickly?” I asked, without much hope.

“Well…” He scratched his nose. “You could talk to Asciene Rane in the Council chambers. She’s a mage who arrived here the same time I did, special appointment to Duke Dren. Nice woman. She might be able to help you out.”

I thanked him and went to speak to Asciene Rane, a friendly middle-aged Breton. When I told her I wanted to be transported to Mournhold, she looked doubtful. “That’s highly irregular,” she said, pursing her lips. “Even now that the Blight is gone from Vvardenfell, they’re still worried about possible contamination. What’s your reason for wanting to go to the city?”

I didn’t want to tell anyone else about the Dark Brotherhood attacks just yet. “It’s… private.”

“Well, I certainly didn’t mean to pry,” she said apologetically. “I simply can’t send you there without good reason… even if you are the Knight of the Imperial Dragon. I’m sorry.”

I decided to think it over and come back later. It wasn’t like I could head straight off to Mournhold in any case; I needed to go back and explain everything to the Sarethis and the other Redoran councillors.

The whole thing just felt so surreal, I thought, as I walked back from the Council chambers. I’d never in a million years have imagined that the Dark Brotherhood would come after me. In fact I’d always considered them a bit of a joke, with their cloak-and-dagger image and their Night Mother rituals. It didn’t seem quite so funny now that I might be a target.

The worst of it was that I’d already accused Goren Andarys of trying to kill me – and accused him of lying when he denied it. I’d insulted his honour, I realised, and now I was going to have to make a grovelling apology. To the Morag Tong. There just weren’t enough swear words for this situation.

Well, I differed from Bolvyn Venim in one important way: I was willing to admit when I was wrong. And there was no point putting it off; might as well get it over with straight away. I returned to Ald’ruhn, where I entered the Morag Tong guildhall under Skar for the second and hopefully last time.

There were quite a few Tong members around at this time of day, and none of them looked pleased to see me. From the way they casually laid their hands on their weapons as I approached, I guessed that Andarys had warned them about my threats. Gritting my teeth, I paused at a safe distance and gave them a formal, apologetic bow (traditionalist Dunmer are very big on bowing). I straightened up to find them looking at me in blank astonishment.

“Muthsera,” I said to Andarys. “I’ve come here to apologise for what I said to you the other night. It seems it wasn’t the Morag Tong trying to kill me after all. I shouldn’t have accused you without proof.”

“I accept your apology, Archmaster” he said stiffly. “If you will excuse me, I am very busy – ”

“No, really,” I said. “I’m extremely sorry. It turns out the assassins were sent by the Dark Brotherhood.”

His head jerked up. “The Dark Brotherhood? Here in Vvardenfell?”

“Apparently.” He and the other Tong agents were exchanging worried glances. “Is that so unusual?”

Andarys was shaking his head. “I should have known,” he murmured, almost to himself, and then looked up at me. “The Dark Brotherhood are our sworn enemies. They are a depraved perversion of the ancient law-abiding order of the Morag Tong.”

I nearly choked. What the hell did you have to do for an assassins’ guild to consider you ‘a depraved perversion’? Carry out all your hits dressed in a leather corset and stiletto heels?

“Well, no argument there,” I said, forcing myself to stay polite. “Anyway, I’m going to Mournhold to track down the person who hired them. I don’t suppose you’d know who might be, um, depraved enough to do that?”

“I fear not, sera. Still, I wish you luck.” His anger seemed to have died away, which was certainly a relief. Even so, I was glad he didn’t offer to shake hands with me; I’m not sure I could have brought myself to do it.

When I emerged into Under-Skar I ran straight into Varvur, who was crossing one of the rope bridges in the other direction. “Ah, there you are, Ada! I went to the fort to look for you, but they said you had left for Ebonheart.” He lowered his voice. “Did you find out who is trying to kill you?”

I nodded grimly. “Dark Brotherhood.”

“The Western assassins’ guild?” I nodded again. “But… why? Who would send them after you?”

“No idea,” I said with a sigh. “I’m thinking of travelling to the mainland to try and find out. But I want to talk to your father first and ask his advice.” That was the thing about Athyn: no matter how bad things got between us, I knew I could always trust him to help me. Nothing could change that.

There didn’t seem to be anyone around when Varvur and I entered Sarethi Manor. I headed for Athyn’s study, assuming he was working there – but as we neared the door, I could hear several voices behind it speaking in Dunmeris. It was Athyn and some of the other Councillors, and they sounded like they were having a pretty heated discussion.

I froze. My Dunmeris was good enough by now to follow most conversations, and even if it weren’t, the words ‘Varvur’ and ‘Ada’ would have tipped me off as to what they were discussing. Varvur took a step forward, but I caught his arm and held him back, pressing my finger to my lips.

“…seems I have no choice,” Athyn was saying. “I admit that it isn’t what I would have wished, but…”

“But Athyn, have you considered?” That was Domesea’s voice. “Their children will be human!”

“Of course I have, Domesea.” Athyn’s voice sounded tired and strained. “But what can I do? Both are of age. What reason could I give for refusing my consent?”

This prompted a long, voluble rant from Garisa Llethri. He was speaking too quickly for me to understand, but Varvur’s face had turned pale with fury. “What’s he saying?” I whispered.

Varvur ground his teeth. “He said that he can think of a dozen reasons. And now he is listing them.”

A woman’s voice – probably Brara Morvayn – said something I didn’t quite catch. “Politically it would be an excellent match, of course.” I’d never heard Athyn sound so unhappy.

“But Athyn,” Miner Arobar wailed, “she has no courtesy!”

I couldn’t speak. I could hardly even breathe. How dare they? Who the hell did they think they were to talk about me like that? Bloody Dark Elves, saying I had no courtesy!

I grasped the handle of the door and yanked it open. A circle of shocked, slightly guilty faces stared back at me. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came: my mind had gone completely blank. But it didn’t matter in any case, because Varvur got there before me.

“How DARE you?” I’d never seen him this angry before; he was practically shaking with fury. “How dare you speak of Ada like that? You insult and abuse her when she isn’t here to defend herself, and then you accuse her of discourtesy?”

Athyn took a step forward. “Varvur – ”

“And you, Father! You are the worst of all of them!” He turned blazing eyes on his father. “You tried to turn me against Ada. You preach about how we shouldn’t spread rumours and gossip, and yet you believe these – these wicked lies about her being an Imperial spy! You are a hypocrite!”

Oh, sweet Akatosh. “Uh, Varvur?” I said with a embarrassed cough. “I’m afraid your father’s actually right on that one. I am an Imperial spy.”

“What? No, you are joking!”

“I’m serious.” I lowered my voice, trying to speak calmly. “I was recruited into the Blades as soon as I arrived in Morrowind. That was how I found out about the Nerevarine prophecies. Apparently the Emperor somehow got wind of them and decided I was the one to fulfil them – or at least, someone who could fulfil them. That was why he had me shipped to Morrowind in the first place.”

Varvur’s mouth was hanging open. “Then you knew all along that you were the Nerevarine? You told me that – ”

“No, I didn’t know it! All I knew was that I was having weird dreams and getting attacked in the streets by wild-eyed lunatics. By the time I found out what was going on, it was too late to back out – and even then I didn’t really believe it until I found the Moon-and-Star.” So much for staying calm; my heart was pounding so hard that I could feel the rush of blood in my ears.

Varvur squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, pressing his fingers against his temples. He was clearly finding this hard to take in. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”

“Because your father told me not to!” I hissed, turning back towards Athyn. “Care to explain why you suddenly changed your mind on that one, Athyn?”

The look on Athyn’s face made me stop short. In all the time I’d known him, I’d never seen him so close to losing his temper.

“Why I changed my mind?” The forced calmness in his voice was almost worse than anger. “Because my son had fallen in love with you, that is why. Tell me, Ada: have you ever considered what you would do if the Blades were to force you back into service? If they ordered you to return to Cyrodiil?”

I looked at him in disbelief. “I’d tell them to get stuffed, of course!”

“Would you, indeed? I wish it were so easy.”

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. “None of this seemed to bother you when you asked me to become Archmaster!”

“No,” he said quietly, “but an Archmaster can always be replaced. With my son’s wife, the case is a little different. Wouldn’t you agree?”

I was about to reply, but then I saw Varvur’s expression and the words died on my lips. The others looked stunned by what they’d just heard, but he looked devastated. The dream had shattered, just as I’d predicted, and I couldn’t bear it. I had to get out of here.

I took a deep breath. “I’m going to Mournhold,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “To find out who’s been sending Dark Brotherhood assassins to kill me. I don’t know how long I’ll be away, or when I’ll be back. Athyn, since you seem to think you can do so well without me, I’m leaving you in charge.”

No one replied. “Goodbye,” I said shortly. “If I don’t see you again… Almsivi bless you all.” The last thing I heard as I Recalled back to Indarys Manor was Varvur beginning to yell at his father.

My first instinct was to fling myself down on the bed and sob, but I fought it back; right now, what I needed most was to stay calm and collected. Even so, I couldn’t help being furious with myself. Why hadn’t it occurred to me that that might be Athyn’s reason for objecting to me and Varvur? Why hadn’t I thought to tell Varvur, the man I was thinking of marrying, that I was a Blade?

The answer in both cases was simple: I hadn’t even thought about the Blades since I’d had that discussion with Athyn. But Varvur wouldn’t see it like that, I realised, with a sinking heart. As far as he was concerned, it was yet another secret I’d kept hidden from him when we were supposed to trust each other. “I forgot” wasn’t going to cut it.

Oh, Nine help me. I’d really screwed up this time, hadn’t I?

Quite right. Some things are Simply Not Done.



This is even more poignant seeing what comes afterwards.





You expertly describe the problems of being simultaneously the nominal hero of the Dunmer and an agent of the Empire. With, in Ada's case, the additional "minor" complication of her relationship with Varvur.

Ada's reasonable belief that the Morag Tong is the agency behind the attack is a masterful bit of plot-weaving.

And I always want to kick Apelles Matius off the walls of Ebonheart for his singularly unhelpful attitude. "Dark Brotherhood? Nah, if they wanted to kill you, you'd be dead. Oh well, if you insist, why don't you go take care of it for yourself? The Legion is busy doing- important Legion stuff- yes, that's the ticket- Legion stuff. Have fun storming the DB stronghold."

It makes even less sense when you're Knight of the Imperial Dragon. The only way I could rationalise it was to make Apelles essentially the same rank as Ada.

By the way, I found a face that's closer to my original conception of Ada. I'm trying to decide whether or not to keep it and use it in screenshots from now on. Thoughts?

Use the face that is closest to the Goddess Helena, is MY thought!!!

The only thing I see to quibble with is the new version looks a bit "wide-eyed" compared to your avatar. Something with the arch of the eyebrows, I believe.

But- your character should look like your concept of your character. (Or, as Foxy says- like you.)

Neither of them looks much like me, to be honest. (She does, however, have a similar hair colour. Yes, it's natural.)

Anyway, I think I'll stick with the old one. It's a bit late to be giving Ada radical plastic surgery.

I'd have to agree the old face is the best. Her expression matches the sense of "Oh gods, how much longer do I have to put up with this crap!?" I get from Ada's writings.

May I add that you look absolutely charming in the flesh, Helena?

My fave is your avatar face. Having been through the original Neveragaine with that face, It'd be hard to get used to a new one !!!! ARGH !!!

Chapter 2: Performance Anxiety

I did my best to concentrate on the task ahead as I packed for the journey to Mournhold. I knew how important it was to ‘block out’ other distractions during a mission; you couldn’t afford to get sidetracked by personal problems when people were trying to kill you. In a way it was almost a relief to be getting away for a while; it meant I had time to sort my head out before going back to my job and my boyfriend. If I even had either of those things by the time I got back.

At least they couldn’t just kick me out for being an Imperial spy, I thought. For once, House Redoran’s idiotic rules would work in my favour; the only way to get rid of an Archmaster was by defeating them in honourable combat. Varvur… now that was a different matter.

I was fully aware that I’d left Athyn to deal with the fallout from my ‘revelation’, but then it was entirely his fault. Well, mostly his fault. Even if he did have a point about the Blades, I was still pissed off with him for telling Varvur when he’d promised not to. If he thought it was so important, why couldn’t he have got both of us together and let me explain everything? (I ignored the little voice in my head telling me that he might have done, if only I’d told him the truth about me and Varvur in the first place.)

It was only when I’d finished packing that I realised I hadn’t eaten all day. I’d never felt less hungry, but I forced myself to swallow some food, hoping it hadn’t been poisoned. How long before the assassins thought to try that, I wondered?

Before setting off for Ebonheart, I spoke to Viras Guls – the hetman of my stronghold – to explain where I was going and what I was doing there. I also left a package for Varvur, containing my old journal (it had filled up so quickly that I’d had to buy another one) and all the letters and documents Caius Cosades had left regarding my service in the Blades. In the past I’d thought about burning them to make sure they didn’t fall into the wrong hands, but now I was glad I hadn’t. If Varvur could just read those, I thought, maybe he’d understand.

Asciene Rane was still waiting in the Grand Council chambers when I arrived in Ebonheart. “Ah, Sera Ventura! You’re back,” she said cheerfully. “Have you changed your mind about travelling to Mournhold?”

“Yes, I have. Can I trust you not to say a word to anyone about this?” She nodded, and I lowered my voice to just above a whisper. “I need to go there because someone’s been sending Dark Brotherhood assassins to attack me. I want to find out who’s responsible.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, my! I can see why you’d want to get that cleared up. That’s dangerous business, though. I can’t say I’d be happy to send you off on that sort of fool’s errand.”

I had to fight back a smile; she reminded me a little of my Aunt Sybilla. “Danger isn’t a problem, believe me. I’ve handled worse things than the Dark Brotherhood since I arrived in Morrowind.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” she said doubtfully. “I suppose I can oblige you. If you need to return to Vvardenfell, speak with Effe-Tei in the Royal Palace. But take care, friend –those people are not to be taken lightly.”

She cast the spell as she finished speaking, and moments later I found myself standing in a room I’d never seen before. It was some kind of reception or waiting area, carved out of rich green marble and sumptuously decorated. A lone guard in crimson armour stood in one corner, holding an adamantium claymore. His helmet covered his entire face, yet somehow he still managed to look menacing.

The mage standing next to me, a well-dressed Argonian, smiled at the bewildered expression on my face. “Welcome to Mournhold, sera. Have you just arrived from Vvardenfell?”

“I have, yes,” I said, pulling myself together. “Would you mind telling me what part of Mournhold this is?”

He smiled again. “This is the reception room of the Royal Palace. Your first visit?” I nodded, realising this must be the ‘Effe-Tei’ whom Asciene had mentioned. “Would you like me to help you get your bearings?”

“Yes, thank you,” I said gratefully.

“Well, the doors just here will take you out to the courtyard,” he said, pointing. “South is Plaza Brindisi Dorom; north is Almalexia’s Temple; and to the west and east you have Godsreach – the residential district – and the Great Bazaar. Here in the palace you’ve got the Legion barracks and an Imperial Cult shrine… and the Royal chambers, of course. Queen Barenziah holds court here, if you have any reason to see her.”

My mouth dropped open. “Hold on… did you say Barenziah? The Barenziah? Here in Mournhold?”

Effe-Tei nodded. “The old king, Athyn Llethan, is dead. Long live King Hlaalu Helseth. He and his mother have lived here in Mournhold since she abdicated her throne in Wayrest. Now that her son has become king, you might expect him to respect her counsel and experience.” He paused. “Or not. I pay no attention to my mother.”

“Same here,” I admitted. “So… the new king is a Hlaalu?” I vaguely remembered hearing about King Llethan’s death, but I hadn’t paid much attention at the time. Everyone knew the King of Morrowind was really just an Imperial puppet.

“Yes, technically. But he has plenty of enemies even in his own House.” Effe-Tei sighed. “He wants to transform the role of King into a powerful head of state along Western lines, and a lot of the Dunmer traditionalists aren’t happy about that. They prefer the old system of council rule. And there’s always been hostility between the Temple and the Imperial administration, but since Helseth’s accession, the tension between Imperial-leaning Dunmer and Almalexia’s supporters is much worse.”

I nodded politely, but I wasn’t really interested – I had enough of politics back home. Far more interesting to me was the fact that Barenziah, one of my childhood heroines, was here in Mournhold. Like most other kids my age, I’d spent a good part of my teenage years trying to track down an uncensored copy of The Real Barenziah. I’d never imagined I might actually get to meet her in the flesh.

Get a grip, Ada, I thought, giving myself a mental shake. You’re here to track down a bunch of deadly assassins, not to fawn over the Queen Mother. “Well, thanks for your help,” I said to Effe-Tei. “I don’t suppose you could recommend a place to stay?”

“The Winged Guar in Godsreach,” he said, so quickly that I wondered if someone was paying him to advertise the place. Well, it was all the same to me.

I headed out into the courtyard, where I paused for a minute to take stock. Since I’d only just arrived here, nobody knew who I was, which meant I probably had at least a day or two before I had to worry about assassins again. I decided to head for the ‘Great Bazaar’ Effe-Tei had mentioned to buy some provisions before going to Godsreach.

I left the courtyard through the southern gate – smiling at the elderly, well-dressed Imperial who nodded to me as I passed – and found myself in a vast plaza surrounded by thirty-foot-high walls, all made of the same green-and-white marble as the palace. In the centre was a large fountain with a statue of two figures doing battle. There were a few more of those crimson-suited guards wandering about, as well as some others who looked a lot like the Ordinators from Vivec. They wore the same creepy mask-like helmets, but their armour was even more ornate, and each of them carried a vicious-looking ebony scimitar.

I wandered towards the fountain to have a closer look at the statue. The figure with four arms was presumably Mehrunes Dagon, Prince of Destruction, but I wasn’t sure about the other. Whatever myth or historical event this was supposed to depict, I wasn’t familiar with it.

“Mournhold!” a voice growled behind me. “City of Light! City of Magic!” I turned sharply round and found myself staring at one of the Ordinator-alikes. I swear they do that just to scare people.

“Excuse me,” I said coolly, trying to pretend he hadn’t startled me. “Could you tell me what’s being shown in this statue here?”

“It honours the Lady Almalexia and her defeat of the Daedra Prince Mehrunes Dagon,” he said promptly. “The battle levelled the city, but the lives of many were saved by the goddess’ valour.” He gave me a penetrating look through the slits in his helmet. “This is her city, outlander – and we are the High Ordinators, the protectors of Mournhold. Behave yourself.”

“Don’t worry,” I promised. “I’ll be good.”

He snorted and turned away without a word. For once I was more amused than annoyed; it was almost refreshing to be treated with contempt again. I couldn’t help wondering how he’d react if he knew he was talking to the Nerevarine.

I wandered east across the plaza until I came to a much smaller gate set into the wall. On the other side was a large, crowded open-air marketplace which I took to be the Great Bazaar. I noticed with interest that there was an open-air theatre of some kind in the centre, with a crowd of people gathered round it. Once I’d got hold of my would-be assassin and wrung his neck, maybe I’d have time to take in a show.

The steps down to the marketplace took me directly in front of the theatre, and as I got closer I could hear confused murmurs from the crowd. The stage was dressed for a play – a very simple set, with just a rug, some banners and a wall with one door in it – and a Dunmer actress in full costume stood near the doorway, but nothing seemed to be happening. What was this, one of those weird ‘experimental theatre’ pieces?

I picked my way round the edge of the crowd, heading for a trader’s stall, where I bought some provisions. As I was leaving, I accidentally trod on a sheet of printed paper which someone had dropped on the ground. Picking it up, I saw that it was some kind of newssheet, copied on cheap paper under the heading ‘The Common Tongue’.

As I skimmed through it, one article in particular caught my eye. It described a number of mysterious deaths in Wayrest, during the years when Barenziah had lived there as Queen. “I have a little list,” it began. “They never would be missed.”

I read on with increasing astonishment. The article was basically accusing Barenziah’s son, Prince Helseth – now King Helseth of Morrowind – of being responsible for dozens of poisonings, all of people who had posed an ‘inconvenience’ to Helseth in some way or other. “The Common Tongue does not wish to suggest that King Helseth is a poisoner,” it finished, with blatant untruthfulness, “or that the recent death of King Athyn Llethan’s was a poisoning, and not a natural death. The Common Tongue has never seen a single scrap of evidence that would prove such an indictment. And the Imperial coroners have ruled that Athyn Llethan died a natural death.”

Good grief. This was certainly a lot juicier than the stuff you’d find in the Black Horse Courier, Cyrodiil’s own state-funded newsletter. I wondered if the King knew what people were saying about him?

I left the newssheet where I’d found it and set off towards the smith’s stall on the other side of the marketplace. As I passed the back of the theatre, I saw a well-dressed man pacing up and down outside the stage door – the manager, perhaps? I hadn’t gone more than a few steps further when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Excuse me!” It was the man I’d noticed a few moments earlier. “Sorry to bother you but I thought perhaps you could help me. I’m Meryn Othralas, founder of the Mournhold Players.” He had a pleasant, well-modulated voice – an actor’s voice.

“Um, well, I’m kind of busy right now – ”

“Oh, I understand,” he said soothingly. “It’s just that I saw you walking by in your fine armour, and I just had to ask. The show must go on, you see.”

“What do you mean?”

Othralas sighed. “Well, I’m afraid our troupe has its own drama at the moment. Wouldn’t you know that the very day we’re supposed to debut our show, our lead actor Tarvus Beleth comes down with collywobbles? So now I’m desperately trying to find someone who looks like Tarvus to take his place.” He paused. “You know, you kind of look a little like Tarvus…”

I looked at him incredulously. “I look like a male Dunmer?”

“Well… a bit like Tarvus. Close enough, anyway.” He hurried on. “So, what do you say, Imperial? Would you like to take on the part of Clavides, Captain of the Imperial Guard, in our production?”

Okay, this had to stop right here. “I’m sorry, Ser Othralas,” I said, “but I really can’t help you. I’m a fighter, not an actress.”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter,” he said airily. “There’s not much acting involved – all you need to do is stand there and say the lines. If you were a professional, of course, that would be different… but needs must, eh?”

I’d never been in a play before, but I was willing to try almost anything once. If I hadn’t been so busy chasing assassins, I might have given it a shot. “I’ll do it if you’ll tell me where to find the Dark Brotherhood,” I said, not thinking for a moment that he’d actually be able to.

“The sewers beneath the Great Bazaar,” he said promptly. “That’s what they say, anyway. Though I don’t know why you’d want to go looking for those demons… still, it’s your funeral.”

I stifled a groan. Sewers! Why did it have to be sewers? I still hadn’t got over that time I’d had to crawl around in the Vivec underworks.

“So,” Othralas continued, “you’ll take the part, then?”

Sh*t. “What is the play?” I asked, stalling for time.

“The Horror of Castle Xyr. I’m sure you know it, don’t you?”

“Well…” Actually I did recall seeing that play when it was touring in Cyrodiil a few years back – though all I could really remember was that it was about a crazy mage.

“Fantastic!” Without waiting for me to finish, Meryn pressed a copy of the script into my hands. “No need for a lengthy rehearsal, in that case. Review the script for the next two minutes, then talk to me again.”

I goggled at him. “But hang on, I – ”

“No time!” he interrupted, grabbing a box of props. “People are starting to gather, so we need to get this show started. Just make sure you’re back in two minutes!”

He disappeared round the side of the stage, leaving me doing my best impression of a stunned slaughterfish. Two minutes? I couldn’t learn an entire play in two minutes!

I opened the book and leafed through the first few pages. The dialogue did sound vaguely familiar – though some of the names and references had been changed in the version I remembered, presumably to suit the local politics in Cyrodiil. I’d just have to learn as much as I could, and rely on the book for the rest.

“Why me?” I muttered in exasperation. Why did I keep on finding myself in these crazy situations? I bet Athyn Sarethi would never have let this happen to him; he’d just have said “Forgive me, sera,” in that quiet, dignified way of his, and walked on. Maybe there was some sort of support group I could join? “Basic Assertiveness Training: How To Turn Down Insane Requests From Total Strangers”?

By the end of two minutes I had just about managed to learn the first couple of pages, and was trying not to panic. I’d never acted before in my life – at least, not in front of a proper audience. What if I got out on that stage and just froze up in terror? I’d ruin Othralas’ play, not to mention looking like a complete idiot.

At that moment, Othralas himself came striding back round the corner. “Ah, good job! You’re right on time,” he said, beaming at me. “Let’s get this show on the road. All you have to do is head out through the door, hit your mark in the centre of the rug next to Gureryne – that’s our leading lady – and deliver your lines.”

Desperately I racked my brains for a way out of this. “Captain Clavides is supposed to be a man,” I protested. “Won’t the audience notice he’s being played by a woman?”

“Oh, never mind that!” he said impatiently. “If the audience can buy a Dunmer as an Imperial captain, they can certainly cope with him being the wrong sex. Besides, you’ll be wearing a helmet – here.” He rummaged around in his box of props and handed me an Imperial silver helmet. “Just be careful, because they all know the play well, and I’ll be counting your mistakes.”

Then, to my utter horror, he took the script out of my hands. A wave of panic swept over me. “B- but I…!”

“Off you go!” he whispered, ignoring me completely. “Break a leg!”

He wrenched open the stage door and practically shoved me through it. It was almost as if he didn’t care how badly I ended up performing. If I hadn’t been so flustered, that might have tipped me off that something a bit strange was going on.

I landed on a rug in the centre of the stage, facing the actress I’d seen earlier. “Good evening to you, serjo,” she said instantly, in a rather painful imitation of a lower-class Dunmer accent.

There wasn’t even time to panic any more. I took a deep breath, trying to put myself into the role of the stereotypical pleasant-but-dim Imperial captain. “Good evening,” I replied, making my voice as deep and gruff as possible. “Is your master home?”

And we went on from there. Amazingly, I managed to remember most of the lines, though I did hear a few ‘boos’ from the audience whenever I made a minor slip-up. Clearly Othralas had been right when he’d said they all knew the play.

Before long we had reached the last part of the script which I’d actually learned. It was taking all my concentration to remember the lines, but at the same time I was dimly aware that everything was about to go haywire. What was I going to do next, just improvise the rest of the play?

“Please, serjo, go wherever you want,” Gureryne was saying. “We have nothing to hide. We’re loyal Imperial subjects.”

“As, I hear, are all Telvanni,” I said with a completely straight face, as directed in the script. (In the Cyrodiilic version, that line had been “As, I hear, are all Colovians.”)

There was a ripple of laughter from the audience – and then, suddenly, terrified screams. I whirled round to see that a black-clad Dunmer had leapt up onto the stage, brandishing some sort of Daedric dagger. “You die now, actor scum!” he roared, hurling himself at me.

I’d drawn my own sword before he even got close. There were gasps from the audience as I neatly sidestepped his first blow and grabbed his other arm, shoving him off balance. He slammed into the wall behind me – luckily it was a proper stone wall, rather than a flimsy stage set – and managed to raise his weapon for another strike, then suddenly hesitated. There was a shocked expression on his face, as if he’d seen something he hadn’t expected to see.

I didn’t give him time to recover. The audience shrieked with fear and excitement as I drove the blade of my glass frostsword into the assassin’s stomach. Some of them even clapped – I think they must have thought it was part of the play.

The man slumped to the ground as I pulled out the blade, and I paused to catch my breath. For a moment I thought this must have been another Dark Brotherhood attack – but if so, why had he called me ‘actor scum’? Suddenly it hit me: he’d thought I was Tarvus, the actor who’d fallen sick. But in that case –

I pulled off my helmet and swept an ironic bow to the crowd, who erupted in cheers, then ripped down one of the ‘Mournhold Players’ banners and used it to wipe off my sword. A trembling Gureryne hurried out of my way as I marched through the stage door, yanking it shut behind me. Meryn Othralas was waiting there, looking just slightly nervous.

I slammed my sword back into its scabbard with a force that made him wince. “What. The hell. Was that about?”

“Ah. Yes,” he said, rather faintly. “I hope you can forgive us, but we knew that an assassin would attack sooner or later. There’s a good reason,” he added hastily, seeing the expression on my face.

I leaned back against the wall, folding my arms. “This had better be good.”

“Yes, well, you see –” Meryn was starting to recover his confidence. “Our lead actor, Tarvus, recently had a somewhat indecent tryst with the daughter of a Telvanni diplomat. The diplomat caught him in the act, and vowed revenge. Since Tarvus changes residences frequently, we knew an attack would come during his performance, when the diplomat could be sure of Tarvus’ location.”

“And you didn’t tell me this why, exactly?”

“Well, I thought you might refuse to take the part,” he said reasonably. “Anyway, since you were able to dispatch the would-be assassin, hopefully the diplomat won’t try again. I know that the services of the Morag Tong are very expensive to enlist. I apologise for using you in this manner, sera, but I hope you understand why it was necessary.”

I briefly considered giving him a mouthful of broken teeth, but decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. “Whatever,” I said with a sigh. “I assume I’m getting paid for this?”

He cleared his throat, looking slightly relieved. “Ah yes, well… I do intend to pay you in full. Let’s see: during the play you only made two mistakes. Not bad – for an amateur,” he added graciously. “But your acting skills could definitely use some improvement. Here, take this gold and this amulet that will improve your acting abilities whenever you need it.”

He handed me an enchanted amulet and a pouch containing 1,800 septims. I thanked him grudgingly and went on my way, heading for the smithy to buy some armourer’s hammers.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later that I realised what I’d done, and then I wanted to smack my head into the nearest wall. I’d come to Mournhold anonymously, hoping to track down my assassins before they realised I was here, and what was the very first thing I’d done? Taken the lead in a hit play and foiled a Morag Tong attack in front of a huge crowd. I might as well have unfurled a huge banner saying “Look Out, Mournhold: Ada Ventura Is Here!”

As I was heading back up the steps, a young Dunmer woman shyly approached me. “Excuse me, sera,” she said. “It was you in the play, wasn’t it?” I nodded resignedly.

“You were so brave.” She hesitated for a moment. “I wondered… is it true that you’re the Nerevarine?”

Good gods, how had that got out already? “Yes, it’s true,” I said with a sigh, “but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spread it around. I’m… here on a rest break and I don’t want everyone pestering me for autographs.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks flushed light purple. “Well, in that case… I’ll just leave you alone, then. I’m very sorry to have bothered you.”

Oh, crap. “Hang on a minute. Are you saying you wanted an autograph?”

“Well… yes, I would quite like one,” she said, blushing even more deeply. “If you really wouldn’t mind?”

For a moment, wild paranoia gripped me. What if she was a spy for the Dark Brotherhood? Then I realised how stupid I was being. She wasn’t, and even if she had been, what difference did it make now?

“Okay, then. Just for you.” I slid my pack off my shoulders and began to rummage around in it for a quill and inkwell. “Sorry, what’s your name?”

“Marena Gilnith.” She gave me a small handbill advertising The Horror of Castle Xyr, and I signed it for her with a short, friendly message. “Thank you,” she said, as she took it back. “I can’t wait to tell everyone back home that I met the Nerevarine.”

“You’re not from Mournhold, then?”

She shook her head, looking a bit wistful. “I grew up in a small village in the south of Morrowind. Believe it or not, I had no intention of working here when I came to Mournhold… but you probably don’t want to hear my sob story, do you?”

I hesitated. It was a warm summer evening, and it would still be light for several hours yet; what harm could it do to stay for five minutes? “No, go ahead.”

Marena sighed. “Well, it’s mostly my fault, really. My parents cared for me a great deal, and only wanted the best for me. But when they arranged my marriage to a wealthy nobleman, I couldn’t take it – he was disgusting, and I wanted nothing to do with him. So I ran away, and ended up here in Mournhold.”

I felt a twinge of sympathy for her. My parents hadn’t tried to force me into marriage, but apart from that, her story sounded all too similar to my own. “So what were you hoping to do here, if you didn’t plan to work?”

She blushed again. “I know it sounds silly, but I was convinced that I’d be able to find the man of my dreams.”

“Never rely on that,” I warned her. “Seriously.”

“I was foolish about it, to be sure. I never considered that I’d need money to survive on my own… but I was determined not to go crawling back to the village and beg forgiveness. I’d make it on my own, and only then would I contact my parents and let them know where I was.” She sighed again. “So I started working... and now it’s all I do. I never have time to meet anyone.”

“I’m sorry.” I wasn’t sure what else to say.

Marena shrugged. “Well, I’d better get back to work,” she said, forcing a smile. “Let me know if you meet any nice, single men, will you?”

I doubted that was going to happen, unless she was into guys who hung out in sewers and worshipped the Night Mother. Still… she seemed like a nice woman, and I felt sorry for her. It couldn’t hurt to keep my eyes open, could it?

“What sort of guys are you looking for?” I asked. “Any particular type?”

“I’m not sure… someone charming and worldly, I guess. Someone exciting.”

Not exactly much to go on. Still, I’d already hooked up a noblewoman with a highwayman and a Redoran councillor with his own bodyguard; how hard could it be to find someone for Marena?

As I walked off to look for the entrance to the sewers, I found my thoughts wandering back to my own home in Cyrodiil. I still hadn’t heard anything from my parents; either my letters just hadn’t reached them – which wouldn’t be all that surprising, given the recent troubles – or they still hadn’t forgiven me for running away. Or… well, I really didn’t want to think about the alternative. I hoped Marena would manage to make things up with her own family before it was too late.

It took me nearly half an hour to find the one sewer covering in the entire bazaar. I set a Mark in case I needed to get out in a hurry, then hung around awkwardly for a while, wondering how to look inconspicuous while pulling up a sewer grating. In the end I just lifted it casually and climbed in, and the few people nearby didn’t seem to notice or care.

Beneath the covering was a ladder leading down into the Mournhold underworks. There was a shallow pool of water at the bottom, but luckily it seemed to be just rainwater rather than… any other kind. To one side was a rocky cave which was mostly submerged; to the other was a crumbling stone archway leading into a wide passage.

My plan was to scout out the place briefly, then come back later to tackle the Brotherhood – hopefully with reinforcements. I cast my Amulet of Shadows before heading through the archway, and moments later I was glad I’d taken the trouble – the first thing I saw there was a shifty-looking Khajiit woman mooching around in a corner. I didn’t know if she was anything to do with the Dark Brotherhood, but I didn’t want to risk it.

As I looked around me, I realised that the place didn’t actually look much like a sewer (or smell like one, to my great relief). It was large and airy, with very little water around, and the floor was paved with mosaic tiles – a bit like a corridor, or even a city street. Weird.

I crept through the maze-like passageways until I came to another small archway, leading into a natural cavern. Through a grating in the side wall I could see a skeleton warrior armed with a silver katana. If the Brotherhood really was here, how the heck did they get past these creatures whenever they came in and out? Had they come to some sort of agreement with the skeletons?

I cast my Chameleon enchantment again and crept past the skeletons until I reached a chamber with two exits – one of which was heavily flooded. Damn, I thought. Why hadn’t it occurred to me that this might happen? If I went the wrong way, I could end up wandering around here for hours. Maybe I should have hired a guide.

Then it occurred to me: why shouldn’t I hire a guide? I could afford it. There had to be mercenaries in Mournhold, and some of them (okay, maybe not the more reputable ones) probably knew their way around the sewers. If I managed to find someone trustworthy enough, they could even act as a bodyguard.

Enough exploring for the day, I decided. It was time to find somewhere to stay the night. I used my amulet of Recall to take me back to the Bazaar, then re-entered the Plaza Brindisi Dorom and headed towards the Godsreach district.

Here is my favorite part:




This had me in stitches!!!

Screenshots from the first few chapters:

A rude awakening
Fire and Ice
Look out, Mournhold...

My favorite is "A Rude Awakening" - Ada is beautiful in all her shots, but that one accents her best features! I love getting these screenies !!!! It is a real enhancement to the story!!!

Poor Ada- it is a terrible thing to have personal problems so bad that hunting down the DB seems like a pleasant alternative. But that is one of the strengths of your story- those factions and feelings- political and personal- did not magically go away with the death of Dagoth Ur.



Hey, at least it’s a little better than- “We’re watching you- scum.”

I

Now, now- don’t get bogged down by petty details…



No one expects--- Ada Ventura!



Let's not be judgmental...

Chapter 3: O Brother Where Art Thou

Godsreach was an upmarket residential district, its tidy, well-kept streets lined with imposing two-storey mansions. It was far too small to be the only housing district in Mournhold, so I guessed this was just where the wealthiest citizens lived. It was quite impressive – though nothing compared to the Imperial City, I thought, with patriotic pride.

But there was something about the place – the whole of Mournhold, in fact – that made me feel slightly uneasy. Maybe it was the high walls that surrounded each district, blocking out the view of the outside world. Maybe it was the fact that everything felt a little too clean and shiny. Or maybe it was the High Ordinators that lurked on every corner, watching you like a hawk from behind those creepy face-shaped helmets.

The Winged Guar was in the north-west and wasn’t hard to find, as there were quite a few people outside on the terrace enjoying the warm weather. The large buildings nearby seemed to be public halls of some kind – I’d have to check those out if I got the time.

Inside the Winged Guar were a good number of outlanders as well as native Dunmer, and I counted at least one of almost every race (me included). I was a little surprised to see that the guy behind the bar was a Khajiit – not that it’s especially unusual for Khajiit to run taverns, but I hadn’t really expected to see it in an upper-class Indoril district. However, when I spoke to Ra’tesh (that was his name), he told me that the actual owner was an Altmer named Hession.

I’d had a tiring day, mentally as well as physically, so I rented a bed from Hession and went to bed as soon as I’d bathed and had dinner. My room contained three single beds and not much else – it looked like a dorm in the Fighters’ Guild, only more comfortable. Before going to sleep, I locked the door carefully and dragged one of the bedside tables in front of it. I wasn’t really expecting to be attacked by assassins that night, but if they did try anything, at least I’d hear them coming.

But none came. The next morning, after a hearty breakfast, I went to the Bazaar and asked the Redguard smith there about mercenaries in Mournhold. Since I didn’t want to let on that I was planning to hire one, I pretended I was looking for mercenary work myself.

“Well, there’s plenty of work around,” he told me. “With all the troubles on Vvardenfell, any decent mercenaries demand fancy wages there, and get them, no questions asked. Doesn’t leave much choice around here for hiring. That Imperial fellow at the Palace, Calvus Horatius, is the only one I know about.”

“Calvus Horatius?”

“He’s new to Mournhold. No reputation, no references – but he looks like a veteran, and has an honest face.”

I thanked him and set off for the Royal Palace, guessing correctly that I’d find Calvus in the courtyard. He was a stocky Imperial man in his early thirties, with auburn hair and dark-blue eyes – probably Colovian, then. His gear was fairly simple – chainmail armour and an Imperial steel broadsword – but as the smith had said, he looked like a veteran. It was something about the way he held himself.

We stood there for a few seconds, sizing each other up, and then he smiled at me. I smiled back.

“If you’re looking for someone to watch your back, I’m available for hire.” He didn’t sound very hopeful.

“I was, as a matter of fact.”

“Really? I’m surprised. You look like you can take care of yourself.”

I couldn’t help feeling rather pleased. It was a long time since I’d had an honest compliment from someone who a) knew what they were talking about and didn’t already know who I was. “I can, but I still have to sleep now and again. I need someone to guard me from attacks by the Dark Brotherhood.”

He drew a sharp, hissing breath. “The Brotherhood? Wow. How did you get mixed up with… hold on, I probably don’t want to know, do I?”

“I wouldn’t be able to tell you even if you did,” I said, shrugging. “I’ve no idea who hired them to kill me. I’m hoping I might find some answers in their lair down in the sewers. Do you know your way around down there?”

“I do, as it happens. That is, I’ve never been to the Brotherhood hideout myself, but I can take you there… if you pay me enough.” He held out a hand. “Calvus Horatius, by the way.”

“Ada Ventura.” He didn’t react to the name. That was fine by me; I certainly didn’t feel like explaining my whole life story.

“Well, my fee is 250 septims for 30 days. I’ve got my own gear and gold, but you could always buy me better gear if you want to improve my effectiveness. Think of it as an investment in your future,” he added with a wink.

250 septims a month wasn’t a bad deal – it was roughly what I used to make in Cyrodiil, before any extra loot I managed to scavenge along the way. “Okay,” I said. “Deal. Here’s half the money, and I’ll pay you the rest once the contract is up, presuming you manage to keep me alive.”

“At your service, ma’am. He saluted smartly, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. I liked the guy already.

We headed off to the Bazaar to buy Calvus some better gear. Unfortunately the smith’s selection wasn’t great – mostly low-grade iron and steel stuff – but I didn’t have time to search around town for something better. I outfitted him with iron greaves, boots and pauldrons, and then we set off to find the sewer entrance.

Calvus told me a bit about himself as we went. He was Colovian, as I’d guessed, and he’d grown up in a small village near the city of Skingrad before joining the Legion as a guard. He was a bit evasive about how he’d ended up in Morrowind, and I didn’t press him to tell me. We all had our skeletons in the closet, after all.

“What about you?” he asked. “Hold on, let me guess. You’re too pale to be a Heartlander, and your accent… hmm, Chorrol?”

I laughed. “Close. I was based there for a few years, so I guess I must have picked up the accent. I actually grew up in the Imperial City.”

“Ah. Nibenese.”

There was just something about the way he said it that set up my hackles. “Is that a problem?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“No, no,” he said innocently, but I could tell he wasn’t going to let this go. We Nibenese – people from south-eastern Cyrodiil and the Heartlands – have always been at odds with the Colovians of the north and west. It’s a friendly rivalry these days, but still a rivalry.

We’d almost reached the sewer grate when it occurred to me that I was running low on Cure Poison potions. Considering who we were about to fight, it would probably be a good idea to fix that. There were a bunch of indoor shops in the Bazaar as well as the open-air stalls, but I wasn’t sure if any of them sold potions. A young Dunmer in Western-style clothing was hanging around nearby, so I decided to ask him.

“Excuse me,” I said. The man turned towards me, and his face lit up.

“Well, hel-lo there,” he growled. “Aren’t you a tasty dish? You must be new to Mournhold – I’d have recognized that beautiful face otherwise.” He swept an overly-elaborate bow in my direction. “Fons Beren at your service, milady. A man who loves beautiful women.”

I nearly burst out laughing. He couldn’t be for real, surely? He sounded like Crassius Curio with a bad chest infection.

“Nice to meet you, er... Fons,” I said, managing to keep a straight face. “I was wondering if – ”

“Yes indeed,” he interrupted. “A great lover, by all accounts – feel free to ask around, of course. But let’s not waste any more time. Shall we skip the formalities, and just head back to my manor?”

I heard a choking sound from Calvus behind me, followed by what sounded like a heavy coughing fit. B*stard.

“Don’t worry about my friend,” I said loudly to the puzzled-looking Fons. “He can’t help it. Colovian, you know. Anyway… I’m sorry, Fons, but I already have a boyfriend. Besides, you’re… not really my type.”

“Not your type? Take another look, baby – I’m every woman’s type!” I gave him a Look. “…No, eh? Well, do you have any cute friends?”

I thought briefly of Marena Gilnith, but instantly dismissed the idea. The poor girl hadn’t done anything to deserve this. “No, sorry. I don’t know anyone else in Mournhold.”

“Well, I suppose that figures.” He sighed. “You know what they say about the cute ones – they always have ugly friends, anyway. But, ah, let me know if you should happen to run into any cute girls, will you? I’m sure they’d be anxious to find out what you’re going to miss out on...”

I murmured something non-committal and turned away, deciding I could do without the extra potions. We hadn’t even got into the sewers yet, and already I felt like I needed a bath.

Calvus was still grinning as we walked towards the sewers. “If you want me to pretend to be your lover, ‘milady’, you’re going to have to pay me extra.”

“What?” Suddenly I realised what he meant. “Oh… no, I really do have a boyfriend. In fact, we’re engaged… well, sort of.”

“How can you be ‘sort of’ engaged?”

I didn’t exactly feel like telling him the whole story. “He’s… a Redoran nobleman’s son. His family aren’t happy about it.”

“Ah.” He didn’t ask me anything more.

The Khajiit woman I’d seen the day before was still hanging around in the sewer entrance. She didn’t look pleased to see me and Calvus, but she didn’t attack us either. “Nice day for it,” I said, keeping my hand on my sword hilt.

The woman scowled. “Ahnia does not know you, so Ahnia has nothing to say to you.”

“Fine. You leave us alone and we’ll leave you alone, OK?” She shrugged, and said nothing. I kept a wary eye on her until Calvus and I had rounded the corner.

We retraced the route I’d taken the day before, Calvus leading the way. I mentioned how weird it was that the sewers didn’t really look like sewers. “That’s because they’re not,” he said.

“No?”

“Well… not originally, at least. It’s a sewer now, but most of the tunnels down here are actually what’s left of Old Mournhold. The place was destroyed at the end of the First Era, and the new city was built on top of it.”

“Really?” I shivered. It was slightly creepy to think we were walking through the ruins of a buried, forgotten city.

By now we had almost reached the place where I’d seen skeletons earlier, and I could hear them rattling around in the distance. No point trying to sneak past this time – I had a Chameleon amulet, but Calvus didn’t. He watched with interest as I carefully drew my glass frostsword from its sheath.

“Nice sword.” He winked. “Like me to show you how to hold it?”

I glared at him. “No, but I’ll tell you where you can shove it, tomato-grower.”

“I’ll thank you not to insult my proud tomato-growing heritage, city girl. Besides – ”

We must have been whispering a little too loudly, because at that moment I heard an echoey roar and the sound of skeletal footsteps clattering towards us. Both of us grabbed our swords and prepared to attack, forgetting our regional differences for a moment.

Fighting side by side, it didn’t take the two of us long to clear out all the skeletons. Most of them carried weapons as old and mouldy as their ‘bodies’, but one had a silver katana that was in relatively good condition. I pulled it out of his bony hand and handed it to Calvus with a flourish.

“There,” I said with a wink. “Now you won’t need to be jealous of mine.”

“Thanks.” He took a rag from his pocket and attempted to wipe the blade. “Where’d you get that glass thing, anyway?”

“I found it in a cave.”

“What, just lying around?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” I said, shrugging. “It’s amazing what you can find just lying around in caves in Vvardenfell.”

“Ah yes, Vvardenfell. Land of milk and honey.” He sighed. “I should have headed that way myself, shouldn’t I?”

By this time we’d reached the chamber with two exits. “This is as far as I got yesterday,” I whispered to Calvus. “Know which one leads to the Dark Brotherhood?”

He nodded, and pointed towards the lower passage – the one that was half-filled with water. I groaned. “Think it’s shallow enough to wade through?”

“I doubt it. I haven’t tried it myself, but I hear the water’s twelve foot deep in places.”

We exchanged glances. “Crap. Oh well, I guess there’s only one thing for it.”

Calvus folded his arms and grinned as I began to unbuckle my armour. “Well, it didn’t take you long to start getting your kit off,” he remarked. “I mean, I’d heard things about Nibenese women, but – ”

I lunged at him, but he dodged the blow. “Hey! I’m supposed to be protecting you, remember? Besides, that was just payback for the ‘tomato-grower’ comment.”

Rolling my eyes, I turned away and ducked behind a pillar to finish undressing. I finally emerged, stripped down to my underwear, to find Calvus had done the same. He was strongly-built and muscular, and I felt an instant flutter of attraction towards him. In the past I wouldn’t have minded, but now it made me uncomfortable – it felt like a betrayal of Varvur.

Calvus’ reaction to seeing me near-naked was a bit less subtle. “Holy sh*t.”

He was staring directly at my chest. My hands were already balling into fists when I realised what he was actually looking at – the scars. “What the hell did that? A werewolf?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” I said stiffly. Even half a year on, I was still self-conscious about those scars. Besides, if I had to explain all about Dagoth Ur and the Nerevarine prophecies now, we’d be here for the next month.

Swimming across that underground lake, carrying our armour and weapons across piece by piece, was a long and tedious process. If either of us found it sexy to start with, we definitely didn’t by the end. It was a major relief when we could finally get out of the water, dry ourselves off and put our gear back on.

A little way down the next sewer ‘street’, Calvus suddenly caught at my arm. “Hold on. I thought I heard something.”

I strained my ears to hear. Yes, that definitely sounded like footsteps somewhere beyond the next corner. I motioned to Calvus to take point, and he carefully peeked round the corner, hiding behind a large rock which had crushed half the passage.

A few moments later he drew his head back. “Dark Elf woman,” he whispered. “Looking the other way, so she’s probably not a lookout. Doesn’t look armed, but she might be a mage or have a dagger or something.”

I thought for a moment, then scrabbled around in my pouch for the Chameleon ring which Larrius Varro had given me as a ‘present’. I handed it to Calvus, who nodded and slipped it onto his finger. The enchantment wasn’t powerful enough to keep the woman from seeing him, but it would allow him to sneak up on her without being heard.

Calvus hurried forward, whilst I crept along several paces behind him. As soon as he reached the woman he grabbed her from behind, clamping a hand over her mouth and pressing his blade against her throat. “Scream, and you’re dead.”

I hurried up to join them as he loosened his grip on her mouth. “Okay, girl, you got any weapons? If so, you’d better tell me about them right now.”

The woman shook her head, obviously too terrified to speak. She was middle-aged, rather haggard-looking, and wore nothing apart from a dirty green robe – not even shoes. I got the feeling our ‘prisoner’ was just some poor beggar who’d made her home down in the sewers.

“Wh- who are you?” she finally managed to stammer.

“Doesn’t matter,” I said sharply. “Who are you, and what are you doing down here?”

“N- Narisa Adus.” She was quivering like a pile of jelly. “You frightened me! I thought you were members of the Black Dart Gang!”

I frowned. “The Black Dart Gang?”

“I think I’ve heard of them.” Calvus relaxed his grip on Narisa, but kept his sword near to her throat. “They look like harmless beggars, and they hang out in the sewers, waiting to ambush adventurers who come out of the ruins loaded with loot. They use darts – deadly poisons, enchantments, that sort of thing. Never heard of anything so evil.”

Narisa nodded. “They ambushed my lover and me in the Temple Sewers. Variner held them off while I ran, and when I turned to look back, he was down.” Her voice shook. “Now Variner’s ghost comes to me at night, begging me to come to him, to rescue him. He says he has a message for me... but I can’t go down there. They’d kill me for sure.”

I exchanged glances with Calvus. “Is that why you’re down here?”

“Yes.” Tears were running down her cheeks. “I’ve been here for days. If only I could see Variner’s ghost, and speak with him... but I’m not even sure exactly where he is. I – I don’t suppose…?”

Oh bloody hell, no. I was not going to get sidetracked with another bunch of random favours for total strangers. Besides, I wasn’t even sure if her story was true – though if the smell of her was anything to go by, it might well be.

“If I happen to run across your lover’s ghost,” I said at last, “I’ll definitely try to get his message. But I’m not making any promises. Let her go, Calvus.” He lowered his sword cautiously. “No sudden movements, OK? And don’t even think about trying anything funny while our backs are turned.”

She shook her head, then pointed towards the large gate just in front of us. “If you’re going down there, be careful. I think the Dark Brotherhood live in these caves. They never come this way, but I’ve sometimes heard them talking behind the door.”

So we’d found what we were looking for. That was something, at least.

Inside the gate, some steps led down into another passageway carved out of natural rock. Calvus and I hadn’t gone far before we heard more footsteps and voices in the distance. Using Larrius’ ring for concealment, Calvus went ahead to scout out the terrain, and was back within about half a minute. “Two guards, looking right this way.”

“Okay, let me deal with this.” I cast the Amulet of Shadows – hoping this would be the last time I’d need to use it – and slipped round the corner, running silently up to the two Brotherhood guards. Like the two who’d been sent to kill me, they wore black leather armour which completely covered their heads and bodies – and that gave me an idea.

I slipped around the back of the first assassin, who was standing slightly behind the other, and used the good old Star of the West power to silently knock him out. The other one didn’t even notice. Then I snatched up the biggest, heaviest-looking rock I could find, crept up behind the second assassin and hit him with every ounce of strength I could muster. Not even the leather helmet was enough to protect him from the force of the blow.

I pulled off the unconscious guards’ helmets and bashed their heads in a few more times – nasty, but I couldn’t risk them waking up again – then hurried back to Calvus. “OK, I’ve knocked them both out, so we can take their uniforms. I had to use my Star of the West, though – so don’t waste yours unless you absolutely need it.”

Calvus raised an eyebrow. “Resourceful. Shall we dump our own gear somewhere outside, then?”

“Good idea. We don’t want the Brotherhood to find it.”

We went back into the sewers and hastily pulled off our armour in front of an astonished-looking Narisa, then hurried back to the guards and stripped them of their armour. Luckily the uniforms fitted us both reasonably well – well enough for us to pass as Brotherhood members, anyway. “Here,” I said to Calvus, handing him my Divine Intervention amulet. “Use this if we need to get out in a hurry.”

“What if someone tries to talk to us?”

“Mmm… good point.” I mulled it over for a while, until a thought suddenly occurred to me. “Never mind, I’ll handle it. Just let me do the talking.”

Calvus looked skeptical, but didn’t object. We walked on, picking our way over fallen columns and stonework that littered the rocky ground – relics of Old Mournhold, I guess – until the passage ended abruptly at the entrance to a vast cavern.

Calvus and I found ourselves staring down into what looked like an ancient courtyard, half-buried in rock. The few remaining buildings were mostly in ruins, but a few were still standing – they had a strange, twisty conical shape, like swirls of ice-cream. Black-clad Dark Brotherhood members stood, walked and talked amongst the ruins. It looked almost like a normal city street scene, except that the ‘street’ was underground and the ‘citizens’ were all assassins.

“Gods,” Calvus breathed. “There must be dozens of them.”

I nodded grimly. There was no way we could possibly fight them all at once. “What now?” he whispered.

“Not sure.” I paused. “We look for whoever’s in charge, I guess.”

“Where shall we start?”

On a ledge just below us, at the bottom of a rickety wooden ladder, was one of those strange swirly buildings. “Let’s try there,” I murmured. “Try to act natural, but be prepared to fight.”

We made our way down the ladder and through the heavy, circular stone door that led into the building. The two Brotherhood assassins standing nearby didn’t seem to notice anything, which was a good sign. As soon as we entered the building, I cast the enchantment from the amulet Meryn Othralas had given me – the one that was supposed to improve my acting skills.

The building, which seemed to be the remains of some old manor house, was littered with rocks and debris. The Brotherhood had hung glowing red lights around the place, giving it that extra touch of cliché – gods, what a bunch of posers they were. Clearly the stories I’d read about them hadn’t been exaggerated.

Most of the Brothers in the house just nodded to us or ignored us as we passed, but as we approached another of those round stone doors, two guards blocked our way. “What do you want with Vules, brothers?” one of them said in Dunmeris.

I crossed my fingers, praying this would work. Thank Akatosh I’d taken all those extra language lessons with Varvur. “Urgent message for him,” I replied, hoping I was right to assume that ‘Vules’ was a man.

It worked! My voice actually sounded like a male Dunmer’s throaty growl. The guard hesitated for a moment. “What’s the message?”

“I can’t tell you, brother. It’s for his ears only.” I was using as few words as possible, trying not to make any grammatical errors.

The guard sighed. “All right. Be quick. You know he doesn’t like to be...” I didn’t recognise the next word, but I assumed it was ‘disturbed’.

The moment we were inside the room, I quickly recast the enchantment. “How did you do that?” Calvus whispered.

“Shh. I’ll tell you later.”

We rounded a corner and found ourselves in a makeshift bedroom, with a fire in one corner and several bedrolls spread over the floor. The man called ‘Vules’ was sitting on a bench, reading a book. He wore full Dark Brotherhood armour, but without a helmet.

I cleared my throat, and Vules looked up. “Yes?” he said sharply. “What do you want?”

“A message for you, brother.” I thought quickly. “It’s… about the Ventura contract.”

Vules tensed up immediately; it was obvious that he recognised the name. “What about it?”

“The last two attempts failed. The ‘client’ isn’t happy about it.”

He ground his teeth. “His Majesty is well aware that this is… a difficult assignment. There is no need for him to be concerned. If he needs reassurance, I will – ”

I wasn’t listening. His first two words had driven everything else out of my head. “His Majesty?” I blurted out, realising too late that I had spoken in Tamrielic – and with my own voice.

Vules’ eyes bulged out. In the half-second it took him to realise what was going on, Calvus had stepped forward and cast his own ‘Star of the West’ spell. The assassin staggered backwards, grasping weakly at his sword, but didn’t collapse altogether.

I couldn’t risk him shouting for help, and there wasn’t time to think of another plan. As he began to draw his sword, I seized my own blade and thrust it into his chest, aiming for the heart. The sword slipped from his fingers and he clutched at his chest, opening and closing his mouth in a desperate attempt to speak.

“No...” he gasped. “Tell my liege... I have... failed h...”

His eyes went blank all of a sudden, and he slumped to the ground. My liege?

“Damn.” I spun round to face Calvus. “Quick. Search this place for books, documents, anything like that. We need to get out of here fast.”

He nodded and began to look around by the bedrolls, while I quickly searched Vules’ pockets. Buried deep in one of his pockets was a folded piece of paper. I quickly opened it out and read the contents, which were in Tamrielic and signed with an official-looking seal:

The Bearer of this document, under special dispensation of the Night Mother, who has entered in a contract in perpetuity with H, is given special dispensation to execute Ada Ventura, an Imperial recently residing on the island of Vvardenfell. In accordance with all laws and traditions, the afore-mentioned personage will be executed in the name of H in the most expedient manner possible. All services of the Dark Brotherhood are at the disposal of the Bearer of this binding and non-disputable document.

I stared blankly at the page in my hand, my mind a whirl. ‘H’? “His Majesty… tell my liege I have failed him…” What was the new king’s name again? Helseth…

I swallowed hard. Calvus’ hand grasped my shoulder. “Ada? Have you found what you need? We should leave before they get suspicious.”

“Yes. I’ve found it.” I folded the paper and slipped it into my pouch, then quickly wiped off my sword. “Okay, let’s go.”

We headed back out through the door, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. I wondered how long it would take the Brotherhood to find out what had happened. Hopefully not until we were well out of this place.

As soon as we got back to the passage where we’d left the guards’ bodies, we stripped off the Brotherhood armour. Then we hurried back into the sewers, where we put our own armour back on as quickly as possible. Narisa Adus watched us, quaking.

“Just a hint,” I said to her, as we were about to leave. “I think some of the Dark Brothers may be coming this way soon. You might want to hide yourself.” She hurried off with a faint squeak.

Calvus and I cast our Divine Intervention spells, and found ourselves inside an Imperial shrine. From the look of the place it was part of the Royal Palace. Before I could do more than glance around, Calvus pulled me out through a nearby door into the courtyard where I’d first met him. I’d lost track of time down in the sewers, but it seemed to be mid-afternoon.

“Sweet Mara.” He leaned back against the wall, mopping his brow. “I can’t believe we got out of that place alive. So what did the letter say?”

“We can’t discuss it here,” I said shortly. “Come with me.” I dragged him through the gate into the Plaza Brindisi Dorom, and we walked to a secluded spot well away from any of the guards. Then, without another word, I handed him the contract.

His face turned pale. “Holy…! Ada, do you realise whose seal this is?”

“I don’t, but I can probably guess,” I said. “The Royal Family of Mournhold, right?”

He nodded rather grimly. “My liege… Good gods. I don’t know how you’ve managed to piss off the King, but you seem to have done it pretty thoroughly.” He paused for a moment. “You know that people say he – ”

“ – poisoned loads of people, yes.”

“And murdered the old King. And the old King’s heir.”

“What?”

“Talen Vandas, Llethan’s nephew. He was very popular with the people, and they say Llethan was grooming him for the throne. Then he was killed in a hunting ‘accident’, not long after Helseth arrived in Mournhold.” Calvus shook his head. “I wish I’d known about this before we settled our fee. I’d have charged you double.”

I said nothing. A cold, sick feeling was spreading over my entire body, but it wasn’t fear. It was anger.

“Well, what do we do now?” Calvus said eventually. “I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted. And hungry. And I wouldn’t mind a bath either.”

I wondered briefly why I didn’t feel tired, and then realised that it was the ring Azura had given me. It had an enchantment which kept my stamina levels high. I didn’t wear it much except on missions; otherwise I’d forget to sleep.

“Okay,” I said at last. “Let’s have some dinner, and a bath. Then I need to write a letter to someone.”

“And what then?”

“Then…” I smiled grimly. “We pay His Majesty the King a little visit.”

Calvus’ face was an absolute picture. “Lead on, my lady,” he said hoarsely.

OOOOH baby! I feel the aroma of adventure and sexual tension in the air...just what the doctor ordered!

As always, a good entry in a great story. In particular, Ada's ability to pass herself and Calvus off as guards was most impressive.

One nit:



I believe the word you were looking for here is b@$tard. One whose birth was illegitimate. A complete and total jerk whose foulness runs to the blood.

Auto-censer is bad like that.

Ada has the same unease about Mournhold that my characters do- there is just something- odd- about the place.

Loved the interaction and background with Calvus. I never hired him- I always feel so badly about followers getting killed…

And Ada meets The Fons!








This made me glad I had carefully removed any beverages from the immediate area. Helena at her best.

Your method of dealing with the DB and Vules is much more interesting and realistic than any of the options that are normally available. Trust Ada to use her head.



Woo-Hoo!

And good luck getting to see the slippery little scut- (ahem)- I mean "His Majesty, Helseth Hlaalu."

Och! Treydog picked two of my fave lines already !!

Chapter 4: All The King’s Men

A meal and a bath at the ‘Winged Guar’ left me feeling slightly better, but no less shocked and confused. I still found it hard to believe what I’d just learned, but I couldn’t ignore what was right there in front of me. Vules’ dying words, the note, the “His Majesty” remark… they all added up to the same thing, yet it didn’t make any sense.

For the life of me, I couldn’t imagine why the King of Morrowind would try to have me killed. The only explanation I could think of was that it was some sort of ‘House Wars’ affair – he was a Hlaalu, after all. Maybe he was worried that Redoran would get too powerful with this uppity new Archmaster in charge. Though I couldn’t think why, since sod-all had changed in the six months since I’d become Archmaster.

Whatever his reasons, I thought grimly, he was going to regret it. Alone in my room, I wrote a short note to Athyn Sarethi and stamped it with the House Redoran seal. Then I went off to meet Calvus Horatius in the Plaza Brindisi Dorom.

Only Calvus wasn’t there. We’d arranged to meet in one of the grassy ‘garden’ areas at the side of the Plaza, but when I arrived, the only person there was a grizzled-looking Nord. I might have suspected him of being one of Helseth’s agents, except for the fact that he was stark naked.

“Um.” I cleared my throat, rather lost for words. “Could I ask – ”

“What are you looking at?” He was giving me a filthy look. “No, I’m not paralysed. And I’ve never even met a witch, much less been asked to escort one anywhere!”

The sense of déjà vu was overwhelming. “Er – ”

“Why am I naked?” he snapped, before I could get any further. “Because it’s too damned hot here! You people think that every time you see a naked Nord barbarian, he’s been tricked by some witch. So narrow-minded. Now leave me alone!”

He stalked off just as Calvus approached from the other direction, looking as confused as I felt. “What the…?”

“Don’t ask,” I said with a sigh. “He’s too hot, apparently. I think there must be something in the water around here.”

Calvus just shook his head. “Anyway… what are we going to do now?”

“Go to the palace, like I said. I need to teleport back to Vvardenfell and deliver a letter to someone… and then I need to… ahem.” I gritted my teeth. “Consult with King Helseth.”

I turned towards the Palace gate, but Calvus wasn’t following. “Ada… I know you’re in charge here, but are you sure you want to just march in there and confront the King? I mean, how do you know he’ll even agree to see you?”

“I think he will,” I said coldly.

“Really? You seem awfully sure about that. I don’t think the King of Morrowind is going to grant an audience to just anyone.”

I could have made the obvious retort, but I wasn’t ready to reveal my background to Calvus just yet. “Do you have any better ideas?” I asked, shrugging.

He paused for a moment, thinking it over. “Well… perhaps. I expect you’ve heard that Helseth and the Temple aren’t on good terms?”

“I remember someone mentioning it, yes.”

“There’s a man at the Temple called Fedris Hler. He’s the Chief Steward of Almalexia, and the head of Her Hands – that’s what the Goddess calls her personal guard.” Calvus glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to hear us. “There are rumours that he used to be an assassin himself, and I’ll bet he knows quite a bit about the Dark Brotherhood. If you went to him and told him the King was after you, he might be willing to help.”

I mulled it over for a few moments. “Maybe,” I said at last. “But I think I’ll try to see the King first. I don’t suppose you know who I should see at the Palace to ask for an audience with the King?”

He shrugged resignedly. “I guess his guard captain would be a good place to start. Tienius Delitian is his name. This time of day, you’ll probably find him in the throne room of the Palace.”

“OK. I’ll deliver my letter, and then we’ll head up to see Tienius.”

We set off for the Palace, where I asked the mage Effe-Tei to teleport me back to Ebonheart. In the Council chambers I found Llerar Mandas, the House Redoran representative on the Grand Council. Llerar had always been friendly to me since I rescued his granddaughter, Delyna, from Divayth Fyr and his weird ménage à cinq. I wondered if he’d heard about what had gone down in Ald’ruhn – but if he had, there was no sign of it.

“Good day to you, Archmaster,” he said cheerfully, and then his warm smile faded slightly. “I heard about the attacks. I trust there have been no further…?”

“None recently, no. In fact, that’s what I came to see you about.” I glanced around to make sure we were alone. “I’ve been poking around a bit in Mournhold, and I think I know who ordered the attacks.”

His eyes widened. “I have a letter here that I’d like you to deliver to Athyn Sarethi,” I continued. “It’s extremely important, so please hurry. I’ll come back later with some more evidence for you – I hope.”

Llerar said nothing more, but left immediately to deliver the letter. If the King’s thugs did get to me somehow or other, at least I knew justice would be done.

Back in Mournhold Palace, Calvus was waiting for me in the reception room. He led me upstairs to another large hallway with a seating area for visitors. Like the reception room downstairs, it was gorgeously furnished – there were even banks of exotic flowers in planters along the wall, making it look like a kind of indoor garden. Whatever else I might think of Helseth, I had to admit that his taste in décor was impeccable.

Calvus saw the wistful expression on my face, and grinned. “This is more your sort of thing, eh, Nibenese princess?”

I was determined not to let him get a rise out of me this time. “I know it must seem weird to you, Calvus. Having grown up in a mud hut and everything.”

“Snob,” he said cheerfully.

“Hick.”

Some of the guards were starting to look at us a little strangely. I turned away with an embarrassed cough, and followed Calvus towards the throne room.

The large, rectangular chamber was hung on all sides with Imperial dragon banners, and other banners showing the head of a wolf – presumably Helseth’s family crest. How appropriate, I thought. The throne itself was empty – well, that was no surprise – but a couple of men in crimson Royal Guard armour stood on either side. One was a Redguard, the other an Imperial.

After a moment’s thought I approached the Imperial, Calvus following close behind. He looked me over slowly and deliberately, but said nothing.

“Excuse me,” I said stiffly. “Might you be Tienius Delitian, by any chance?”

He nodded. “I’m the captain of King Helseth’s Royal Guards. Is this an official matter?”

“Of sorts, yes. My name is Ada Ventura.” Tienius’ eyes widened ever so slightly; he obviously recognised the name. (Well, I should bloody hope so – what was the point of being Nerevarine if Morrowind’s movers and shakers hadn’t even heard of me?) “I’m here to seek an audience with His Majesty the King,” I went on.

I could almost feel Calvus cringe, but Delitian just looked mildly amused. “Ada Ventura. Yes, I know the name.” His tone was still carefully neutral. “May I ask why you wish to see the King?”

“I think it might be best if we discussed this in private,” I said.

He frowned. “First tell me your business. Then I will decide if we have anything to discuss.”

“Fine, have it your way.” I pulled the Dark Brotherhood contract out of my pocket, unfolded it and waved it in front of Delitian’s face. “This mean anything to you?”

For the first time, Tienius’ air of calm self-satisfaction wavered a little. He drew a long breath, and pressed his lips together for several seconds before speaking. “I see,” he said at last. “On second thoughts, perhaps this would be best dealt with in private. If you’d care to follow me?”

He turned away abruptly and began to walk towards the back of the hall. I followed behind with Calvus, who was looking pretty confused at this point – not that I could blame the poor guy. I took the opportunity to quietly cast a few protective enchantments while Delitian’s back was turned. You couldn’t be too careful, after all.

Delitian led us into a small side-room and shut the door behind us. “I take it you wish to know who sent the assassins to kill you in your sleep,” he said, before I had the chance to speak. “A reasonable desire. I won’t deny my knowledge of it, but I believe it is more important now to speak about an official matter.”

Oh, for f*ck’s sake. Screw polite diplomacy, I thought.

“I don’t agree,” I said bluntly. “I think it’s really really important right now to talk about the fact that the King of Morrowind is trying to have me killed. Or are you going to deny that he gave the order?”

He shook his head. “No. Of course, I’ll deny it publicly. But don’t take it personally.”

“Of course not,” I said, baring my teeth in a smile. “Heaven forbid I should take it personally when someone hires a bunch of Sithis-worshipping lunatics to murder me in my sleep. I assume the King just gets these ‘urges’ now and again?”

Again, Tienius shook his head. “I can understand your anger, but King Helseth does have his reasons. You appeared to present… a threat, shall we say.”

“A threat?” In the astonishment of the moment I forgot to be sarcastic. “He must be off his rocker. Until yesterday morning I’d never been within a hundred miles of the guy.”

“Perhaps not, but there were other factors which raised the King’s suspicions. Certain… recent events, for example.”

My jaw dropped. He had to be joking, right? The King had somehow got the idea that this whole Nerevarine business was me manoeuvring for the throne?

“Oh dear gods. You cannot be serious.” I shook my head slowly, trying to wrap my head around the sheer lunacy of it. “Helseth thinks I want to be Queen of Morrowind? I’ve enough trouble just keeping House Redoran in order.”

“Perhaps mistakes were made,” he said calmly. “But you can prove they were mistakes, if you can prove your loyalty to King Helseth. So. Are you interested in helping me with my problem?”

For a moment I was literally speechless. ‘Mistakes were made’? MISTAKES WERE MADE? I’d just confronted this guy with the fact that the King had tried to murder me, and he was asking me to prove my loyalty?

A sudden white-hot rage tore through me. It was as if months of frustration and disappointment had finally come to a head. Had I battled ash vampires, killed a God, clawed my way up through the ranks of House Redoran, to be treated like I was still Ada No-Name just off the boat from Cyrodiil? Would Nerevar himself – or Bolvyn Venim for that matter – have put up with this crap?

No. No, they wouldn’t. In fact, I was betting that if either of them were in my place, Tienius Delitian would be scraping his smug, arrogant face off the floor right now. I’d had it with this guy.

I took a step towards him. “Do you have any idea who I am?” I asked, in a voice so pregnant with menace that even Tienius looked taken aback.

“Apparently not,” I said, before he could recover. “Either that or you’re too bloody stupid to understand what it means, so let me spell it out to you: I am NOT your f*cking errand-girl. I’m the Nerevarine – you know, the one who killed Dagoth Ur? – and the head of House Redoran. Which makes Helseth’s attempt to murder me an act of war. Do you understand me?”

Tienius said nothing. The brief flicker of surprise had vanished from his face, leaving it expressionless. Calvus, for his part, was gazing from one to the other of us in utter bewilderment.

“I’ve killed the King’s Dark Brotherhood lackeys,” I went on, “and I’ve already told the Redorans who’s responsible. If anything happens to me here in Mournhold – mysterious illnesses, ‘accidents’, you name it – they’ll declare war. The Temple will find out who killed their Living Saint, and they’ll declare war. And I’m sure the Morag Tong will be very interested to know about his ‘contract in perpetuity’ with those filthy Westerners.” I took another step towards him, my face only inches from his. “If the King wants to turn me into an enemy, that’s his problem. Have I made myself QUITE CLEAR?”

“Abundantly.” That irritating half-smile was back on his lips. F*ck him, I thought. Let’s see if he was still smirking when the Redoran army came marching over the hill.

I turned towards the door, but Delitian hadn’t finished. “Perhaps we have been approaching this the wrong way,” he went on, in that infuriatingly calm tone of voice. “I’m sure King Helseth would rather have you as a friend than an enemy. And the King is known for rewarding his friends.”

“Is he.” Like I gave a sh*t.

“Indeed he is. And I’m sure he’d be willing to reward you suitably, should you choose to help me with the little matter I mentioned earlier.”

I swung round to face him. “No, I won’t. What the hell am I, a kitchen-maid? Tell the King he can find someone else to run his errands.”

“Then we’ve nothing more to discuss,” he said, shrugging. “If you change your mind, I’ll be here.”

Yeah, right. I wasn’t even going to waste time answering that one. I flung open the door, beckoned Calvus through after me, and slammed it shut with a force that made the palace walls tremble.

Poor Calvus, for his part, looked like he’d been whacked over the head with the business end of a warhammer. “Excuse me,” he said weakly, as soon as we reached the reception area. “I think I need some time to digest all this.”

“Take all the time you like,” I said shortly. “I have to go back to Ebonheart again anyway.”

I sat down on a bench to write some more instructions to Athyn, then carefully folded them up and sealed them along with Helseth’s contract. Effe-Tei transported me back to Ebonheart, where I handed the second package over to Llerar Mandas. I could tell he was itching to see what was in it, but he didn’t ask – maybe the expression on my face warned him off.

By the time I got back to Mournhold my boiling rage had simmered down a bit, but that didn’t mean I was any less angry with Helseth and his lackeys. If anything, I was getting more furious the more I thought about it. Not only had they tried to kill me for no reason – putting my friends’ and servants’ lives at risk as well, I might add – but they also had the breathtaking nerve to demand favours from me, as if I ought to be grateful for the King’s attention. Just how stupid and arrogant could this guy possibly be?

Mistakes were made, indeed. Oh yes, he’d made a mistake all right. By the time I got out of Mournhold, King Hlaalu Helseth was going to know exactly how big a mistake he’d made by trying to have me killed.

I was still clenching my fists as I walked out into the courtyard. Calvus was waiting for me there; the colour had come back into his face, but he still looked slightly stunned. “You might have told me you were the Nerevarine!” he hissed, as soon as we were out of hearing.

I shrugged. “It didn’t come up. Anyway, what difference would it have made?”

“I – ” He paused. “Well, I’d have offered to buy you a drink, for a start!”

“You could still do that,” I pointed out. “Right now, I think both of us probably need it.”

We bought drinks at the Winged Guar, and took them into my room where we could talk privately. Calvus took a long draught of ale, and mopped his brow. “So… you really are the Nerevarine?” He seemed to be having some trouble grasping this.

“The one and only,” I said.

“But… wow.” He shook his head. “And the head of Great House Redoran?”

“That too.”

“How the heck did you manage that?”

“I can tell you if you’re prepared to sit here all afternoon,” I told him.

“No, I’ll take your word for it. Those scars… and I suppose I should have guessed you were someone important, what with the King himself sending contract killers after you.” A wry smile spread over Calvus’ face. “Gods. I really should have asked you for a bigger fee, shouldn’t I?”

“That’s fine. Ask away.” I sighed. “I really should have offered you more to start with. In fact, if you want to pull out of the contract, I won’t hold it against you. I’d no idea we’d be going up against the Royal Family when I asked you to guard me.”

But Calvus shook his head. “No. We made a deal, and I’ll stick to it. But it’s kind of you to make the offer.” He hesitated. “So… pardon me for asking, but does the Redoran boyfriend really exist?”

“He does, yes. But like I said, things aren’t too good right now.” I swallowed hard. The memory of Varvur’s shocked, angry face always brought a lump to my throat, but I’d be damned if I’d let myself get teary-eyed in front of Calvus.

“But if you’re the head of the House, then…?”

“I’d prefer not to talk about it.”

He nodded understandingly, and we sipped our drinks in silence. “So what now?” he asked eventually. “Do I just keep guarding you and hope that His Majesty took the hint?”

“For the moment, yes. But I’m not going to let him get away with this.” I thought for a minute, an idea slowly forming in my mind. “What was the name of that Temple guy you mentioned? The assassin?”

“Fedris Hler. Are you thinking of…?” An evil smile was spreading over my face. “Stendaar help us. I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, Ada.”

“Well, I’m not going to rush into anything,” I said. “I’ll just… talk to him. Explain about the Brotherhood, and find out if there’s anything he might like me to do for the Temple. I am technically one of their Saints, after all…”

“Really? Standards must be slipping.” I scowled at him, fighting the urge to stick out my tongue. “OK, suit yourself. Would you mind if I took a nap now, while you go to the Temple? I’ll need to get some rest if I’m going to be guarding you tonight.”

I agreed that this was a good plan, so Calvus settled down to sleep while I prepared to go to the Temple. He looked rather sweet, lying there curled up on the bed without his armour. He was a good man, I thought – and that made me suddenly remember Marena Gilnith.

Might Marena be interested in Calvus? She hadn’t said whether she’d be willing to date non-Dunmer. I decided to play it safe and assume she wasn’t – I knew all too much about the kind of problems involved in human-Elf relationships. I’d just have to keep looking.

I didn’t want anyone to see me going to and from the Temple, so I set a Mark and used my Amulet of Shadows before casting Almsivi Intervention. The Mournhold Temple was a beautiful building, vaguely triangle-shaped with elegant pointed spires at each corner. The walls were made of marble, and the roof of some white shell-like material that shimmered slightly in the sunlight. The grounds were attractive as well, with tidy, well-kept lawns that reminded me of the Imperial Palace grounds – no expense spared there, I bet.

Once inside the Temple I slipped through a side-door and waited for the Chameleon spell to wear off, then asked the first person I met – an elderly, white-haired Dunmer woman – where I could find Fedris Hler. She directed me to a small office along one of the corridors, and sternly ordered me to make sure I kept the place clean. Hler wasn’t in the office at that point, so I had to wait.

A few minutes later, a middle-aged Dunmer entered the room. He was dressed in a priest’s robe, but wore glass pauldrons on each shoulder, like a pair of tiny green wings. His face was horribly scarred, as if someone had swiped a sword right across his left eye. The moment he saw me he looked up sharply, his one good eye boring into me.

“Ah,” he said after a moment. “So you’re the one who has recently arrived in Mournhold from Vvardenfell? I was told of your arrival. I understand you had some problems with the Dark Brotherhood.”

Bloody hell, news travelled fast in this place. Drat that Meryn Othralas and his stupid Players. “If you mean the King sent them to kill me, then yes, I do,” I said, deciding to cut to the chase.

Hler – assuming this was Hler – raised his eyebrows a little. “An interesting group... and usually rather effective. I’m surprised you’re still alive.” He shook his head. “Perhaps you have potential… or they sent incompetents.”

Potential? Gods, this guy was almost as bad as Delitian. “Or maybe I was a bit too competent,” I said, swallowing my annoyance. “Fedris Hler, I take it?”

“I am. So you believe the King was behind the attacks?”

“I don’t just ‘believe’ it,” I said. “I have cast-iron proof. I found the contract, and Helseth’s guard captain outright admitted it – and then he tried to blackmail me into running errands for him in return for stopping the attacks. I told him to get stuffed.”

“Hmph. A bold move, if not exactly subtle.” Hler stroked his chin for a moment. “What do you want of me?” he asked suddenly.

I shrugged casually. “Just wondering if there was anything I could do to serve the Temple while I’m in Mournhold.”

Hler’s brows shot up, but he nodded, a thoughtful look on his face. I suspected he might be a little quicker on the uptake than Tienius.

“I’ll be honest with you,” he said at last. “Helseth is a foul man, unworthy to sit on a throne. Still, he holds right of succession. The Lady must keep an ever-watchful eye on this King, though, lest he do something that would be detrimental to the Temple, our fair city, or perhaps all of Morrowind.”

“What sort of thing?”

“Currently, there are concerns about some new recruits that Helseth seems to be training.”

“Recruits? You mean like an army?”

He nodded. “Something of that kind. A standing army is nothing new in the city, though it is largely unnecessary. Mournhold is protected by her walls from the outside, and by our Lady Almalexia from within – none would dare mount an attack here. But we believe that Helseth is raising quite a different sort of army... a goblin army.

I nearly fell out of my seat. “Goblins?! Good gods, are you serious?”

“Quite serious.” He screwed up his face in disgust. “Foul, vicious creatures. No wonder Helseth has chosen them to be his foot-soldiers.”

“But… but why?” I’d fought goblins before, and Hler was absolutely right: they were the nastiest, most vicious little creatures imaginable. I’d never known anyone who’d even managed to speak to one, let alone train them. “Why would he even want an army of goblins? They’re just as likely to attack him as anyone else!”

“I have no idea,” he said. “But I know that the goblins are being trained nearby, though not where, exactly. Ask around the city about goblins – someone will know. I wish for you to find the location of goblin training area, and kill the warchiefs – there should be two. You might rid the city of their Altmer trainers, as well.”

Altmer trainers? Well, that might explain things a bit. They were probably using some kind of Illusion or Conjuration spells to keep the things under control. I didn’t want to think what might happen if the creatures managed to break free, and got loose into the city.

“Complete this task, and the Lady will be pleased,” Hler told me, as I wrote down his instructions in my journal. As I stood up to leave, he suddenly held up a hand. “One moment. Did you say that Tienius Delitian also asked you to perform a task for him?”

“Yes, but I refused – ”

“Yes, yes, I know. Let me think for a minute.” He paused. “I think you should go back to him, and tell him you have changed your mind.”

“What? But – ” I broke off as I realised what he meant. “You’re saying you want me to be a double agent,” I finished, rather more quietly.

“Well, it would certainly help to divert any suspicion that might fall on you. As well as helping our Lady to keep a closer eye on King Helseth.”

I didn’t answer. He had a point, I had to admit that, but the absolute last thing I wanted to do was go back and grovel to Tienius. I’d look like a complete idiot – if he even believed me. Surely even a guy as arrogant as Delitian would have to be suspicious of my sudden change of heart?

Then again, if he was dumb enough to believe I’d work for him in the first place, maybe he was dumb enough to fall for a trick like this. I sighed. Gods, I hated deceit and spying and political intrigue. I’d hated it back when I was working for Caius Cosades, and I hated it now.

“I’ll think about it,” I said eventually. I certainly wasn’t going to promise anything – who knew what kind of ghastly things Delitian might ask me to do?

“Good.” He smiled thinly. “Few are worthy to serve our Lady Almalexia. But if you can win her favour, the rewards are great.”

As I left his office, looking for somewhere private to cast my Recall spell, it struck me that Almalexia herself must be somewhere here in the Temple. Would I end up getting an audience with her, as I had with Vivec? I had to admit, I was a little curious to see what she was like – even if she had killed her husband Nerevar. I always thought it was a bit unfair that the Imperial goddesses all got boring girly spheres like ‘love’ and ‘nature’; a warrior goddess, who had fought and defeated the Daedric Prince of Destruction, sounded a bit more interesting.

As for Helseth, I was quickly coming to the conclusion that he must be completely insane. First he took it into his head that I, of all people, was trying to usurp his throne; now it seemed that he was trying to create his own private army of goblins. Goblins, I ask you. The guy must have more screws loose than a rusty Dwemer centurion.

Would a guy as paranoid as that be willing to trust me? I doubted it. Did Fedris Hler trust me, for that matter? For all he knew, I might actually be Helseth’s double agent, come to keep an eye on him.

I heaved a wistful sigh as I thought back to Ald’ruhn and the other Redoran Councillors. No matter how much they might frustrate me at times, at least I didn’t have to play these kinds of games with them. I didn’t have to be constantly second-guessing their motives, watching over my shoulder in case one of them tried to stab me in the back.

Now that I’d had a chance to cool down a bit, I found myself strongly hoping Helseth didn’t do anything to make me carry out my threat. I could only imagine the expression on the Council’s faces when I told them I’d just declared war on House Hlaalu.

Calvus saw the wistful expression on my face, and grinned. “This is more your sort of thing, eh, Nibenese princess?”

I was determined not to let him get a rise out of me this time. “I know it must seem weird to you, Calvus. Having grown up in a mud hut and everything.”

“Snob,” he said cheerfully.

“Hick.”

Ahem *cough cough* No love without a quarrel *cough cough*

Ah, Fedris Hler makes his appearance. My favorite retired professional killer in the game. He'll strike you down, and complain about the music being too loud, and may the Blessings of Almsivi be upon thee.

I gotta tell ya, when I first reached this point in the game, I desperately wished that I could say precisely that.

The scene has already been quoted, so I won't repeat it - but Ada took my breath away in this chapter!!! I have never seen her do more than spit like an angry kitten before - she was magnificent!!!

And the line about getting a mysterious illness was really funny with Helseth's history of poisonings, lol.

I have to say, this chapter is my top favorite, even surpassing the beginning chapters of the Neveragaine - Awesome and powerful write !!!!!

I enjoyed writing that part as well. Really, it's completely ridiculous how those characters treat you in the game - especially considering that lore-wise you're supposed to be the Nerevarine at this point. Way to make the player actually feel like someone powerful and important...

I knew that red hair had to show up sometime in real temper, lol. Those passages were thrilling to read!

Hey, it's an accepted trope in anything truly epic. If the hero (or hero's love interest) can theoretically have red hair, then that person will have red hair.

In the case of a protagonist, it's called the Red Headed Hero. If it's the love interest, then it's Heroes Want Red Heads.

But hey, I'm guilty of it was well. As is Treydog. I'm sure some of the others on this forum apply as well, I just haven't read them all yet.

Red heads are always preferred, lol.

Ah, you're a TV Tropes fan as well? Excellent. That's not actually why I gave Ada red hair, though - she's based on my first Oblivion character, who is (somewhat) based on me, who has red hair.

I have to admit, I've spent many a happy hour on that site trying to work out which tropes would apply to Ada & co...

Are you kidding? I frequently peruse that site when in need of a more...effective literary device for my own work.

If it weren't for that site, I'd be just another cliched fanfic writer, instead of a writer that has a lampshade catalog.

You paint the tension and attraction so perfectly... Varvur needs to take some notes from Calvus.



"Yes, yes, there was the little matter of the assassins, but what is that between friends? You do want to be a loyal subject of the king?" The only way the dialogue and quest options really work would be if there was a "Morrowind Part I" followed by "Tribunal" and then a "Morrowind Part II."



Again- you nail the discontinuity. If the Player Character was still a nameless ex-convict, the rotten king might have managed his insane vendetta AND gotten the PC's cooperation. But why should the Nerevarine- chosen by Uriel, confirmed by the Great Houses, the Tribes, and the Temple- just meekly knuckle under?



That might actually make a few of 'em happy.

Really, there's no way to salvage the plot of Tribunal. If the PC is a nobody, why does Helseth consider them a threat? And if they already have power and influence, why expect them to be intimidated by his clumsy assassination attempt? As for Almalexia's side of the story, don't even get me started. It needs a complete rewrite, and if I had the time and energy, I'd probably make a mod for it myself.

Oh my goodness I love it! Forbidden love, assassins, and a short tempered red-head ♥ Sounds perfect to me! I can't wait for more!

Chapter 5: Both Sides Now

If I’d hoped that Calvus would be jumping for joy when I told him the new plan, I’d have been disappointed. I gave him a brief run-down of what Hler had said when he woke up later that evening, and watched the colour slowly drain from his face. “Trying to play both sides, are you?” He shook his head. “That’s a very dangerous game, Ada.”

“I know,” I said with a sigh. “Like I said, it was Hler’s idea, not mine. Anyway, I haven’t made my mind up yet – I’ll see what Delitian has to say first.”

“Now?” He rubbed his bleary eyes.

“No, tomorrow. I’ve had enough of that moron for one day.”

“Okay.” He swung his legs off the bed and stood up. “Shall we eat?”

As we ate dinner on the terrace, I spotted a sheet of paper lying on the ground near our table. It was another copy of that newssheet I’d seen in the marketplace, with the ‘little list’ article on the front page. “Did you see that article?” I asked Calvus. “About Helseth poisoning people in High Rock?”

He nodded. “Oh yes, it’s all around Mournhold. Before today I wasn’t sure what to think about it, but now…”

I went to bed straight after dinner, while Calvus settled down to keep watch. I wanted to get up as early as possible, and give him another chance to sleep while I went to see Delitian. There wasn’t any need to have him with me this time, I thought – surely even Helseth wouldn’t be stupid enough to have me attacked in broad daylight in his own palace. Though you could never be quite sure with that guy.

The next day, after a quick breakfast, I walked over to the Palace. Tienius wasn’t in the throne room when I arrived, and I had to wait nearly three-quarters of an hour for him to finally turn up. The minute he saw me, his lips twisted into a smug, contemptuous smile that plainly said, “I knew you’d be back.” If I really had been planning to apologise, that alone would have been enough to make me walk straight back out of there.

“Captain Delitian.” I forced myself to return his smile. Remember, you don’t have to mean it: you’re just doing this to help the Temple. “I’ve come to apologise for the way I spoke to you yesterday. I was very angry, and I think I had a right to be, but now I’ve calmed down I’m… able to see things from the King’s point of view.” I was going to have to wash my mouth out with soap after this.

“Really? I’m glad to hear it.” His tone was polite, but he didn’t bother to hide the look of triumph in his eyes. “I don’t suppose you’ve given any thought to that other little matter I mentioned yesterday?”

“I’ve thought about it, yes.” I narrowed my eyes. “You say Helseth is known for rewarding his friends?”

“Most certainly he is. Are you saying you would be willing to help?”

I hesitated. “What exactly is it that he wants me to do?”

“Well, the first thing is a simple matter.” He lowered his voice. “There are rumours among the people - rumours that King Athyn Llethan did not die a natural death.”

“And did he?”

Tienius frowned. “That’s a silly question. I don’t like silly questions.”

“Oh well then,” I said with a shrug, turning back towards the door.

Behind me, Tienius let out an exasperated sigh. “There is absolutely no evidence to suggest that Athyn Llethan died anything but a natural death. I assure you. Absolutely no evidence.”

“I didn’t ask whether there was any evidence. I asked whether he did or not.” Delitian was silent. “Given what happened yesterday, sera, can you blame me for being just a little bit suspicious?”

Tienius ground his teeth. I was starting to enjoy this. “I take your point,” he said, after another long silence. “King Helseth is a skilled… alchemist, and student of bodily processes. But it won’t do to have people referring to our sovereign as a common poisoner, will it?”

“So what do you want me to do?” I asked, deciding not to push him any further.

“It’s quite simple: speak to the people about King Llethan’s death. You are not known to them as my representative, and they may be more candid with you. Let me know if you find the source of these rumours.”

I blinked. “But it’s that newssheet, surely?”

“Newssheet?” he said, frowning.

Holy crap, he couldn’t be serious. “The one that’s all over Godsreach and the Bazaar? The… Common Language, or something? Accusing the King of all those poisonings back in Wayrest?”

Tienius was looking at me oddly. “You’re saying,” he said slowly, “that a broadside sheet circulating around Mournhold is accusing King Helseth of being a poisoner? And that is why people think maybe he poisoned Athyn Llethan?”

Oh, come on, I thought. Come on!

How could the King possibly not know about this? How could he be the one person in Mournhold who hadn’t managed to see a copy of that newssheet – the one I’d found lying around a market stall roughly ten minutes after arriving in the city? Okay, so he probably didn’t get it delivered along with his breakfast, but didn’t he have a spy network or something? Oh, right – his spies were probably all hundreds of miles away, chasing imaginary plots against the throne. What a pillock!

I nodded dumbly, and Delitian drew a deep breath. “Very interesting, he said at last. I’d like to see a copy of this newssheet, if you can bring me one.”

It had been a dry night, and the copy of The Common Tongue was still floating around the Winged Guar’s terrace – dirty and crumpled, but still readable. Ten minutes later I was presenting it to Captain Delitian, still shaking my head in disbelief at the sheer incompetence of Helseth’s intelligence network. If all his tasks for me were like this, I was going to have a much easier time than I’d thought.

Tienius read the article through carefully before crumpling the paper in his hand. “Thank you for bringing me this,” he said. “I believe it is indeed the source of the rumours. I see no source or evidence for its speculation – just vague falsehoods. Well, I’ll mention your loyal services and exceptional qualities to King Helseth… and I think we might find you further employment.”

“What kind?” I asked, trying not to giggle at the ‘exceptional qualities’ remark. Apparently I was the only person in the palace capable of walking to the market and picking up a newspaper.

“For example, we lack sources of information in Almalexia’s Temple. Could you help me find a Temple informant?”

I could hardly believe it – an excuse to go straight back to the Temple, without being suspected? He’d walked right into my hands. It seemed almost too good to be true.

“I could try,” I said eventually.

“Good,” he said, with a brisk nod. “There are rumours of discontent in the Temple. You are the Nerevarine; no doubt you can convince them to trust you. Look for someone discontented, listen sympathetically, and find out whether the Temple is willing to accept King Helseth – or whether they plan to act against him.”

As I left the palace, I couldn’t help thinking that this was all just a bit too easy. Surely Delitian and Helseth couldn’t be quite so stupid as to trust me right off the bat? Would they suspect that there was more to my sudden ‘change of heart’ than met the eye? Things were going well so far, but I couldn’t afford to let my guard down.

A Dunmer priestess approached me as I was walking up the steps to the Temple. “Hello, my child,” she said with a smile. “Our wealth dies with us, but our good deeds outlive us all. Would you care to make a donation to the Temple, and receive the blessings of the Lady of Mercy?”

I was in a good mood, and hey, I needed all the blessings I could get. “Okay,” I said, handing over five gold pieces. “What’s the money for, anyway?”

“Almalexia watches over all Her children – the sick, the needy, the poor.” I could practically hear the capital letter on ‘Her’. “Well... not actually in person. She used to... but She’s made no public appearance for years, so the Temple takes care of Her children for Her. That’s what the money goes for, child.”

“Is that because of Dagoth Ur and the Ghostfence?”

The priestess nodded. “It’s hard for all of us. She’s had to change – to toughen Herself and Her followers.” She paused. “It’s true that sometimes dissenters disappear when they question Her doctrines… and the Hands of Almalexia are more like inquisitors than knights of loving mercy... and Mournhold doesn’t feel much like the City of Love any more. But hard times demand hard gods.”

The sad look in her eyes told me that she wasn’t truly convinced of this, whatever she might say to outsiders. Maybe it wouldn’t be as hard as I thought to find a dissenter within the Temple. Still, I wanted to talk to Fedris Hler before I took any action.

When I found Hler and told him about Delitian’s request, his eyes lit up with malicious glee. “Galsa Andrano,” he said after a moment’s thought. “She’s young and naïve, and has a loose tongue. Of course, she knows nothing of real importance – but no doubt she’ll give you plenty of nonsensical tales to carry to Helseth. You can find her in the Infirmary.”

I was about to leave, when I thought of something else. “May I ask you something, Ser Hler? Do you believe that Helseth murdered the previous King?”

Hler snorted. “Who can doubt that Helseth is responsible for Athyn Llethan’s death? Though out of fear, few will speak openly, I think you’ll find most Dunmer in Mournhold are convinced that Llethan was killed to make way for the Helseth. Of course, I doubt that it could be proven – Helseth is too clever for that. But no one can doubt the truth of the matter.”

I sighed. Although I knew almost nothing about the late King Llethan, I found myself sympathising with him purely because he wasn’t Helseth – oh, and also because his name reminded me of Athyn Sarethi. What had Athyn thought when he’d read my notes, I wondered? Was he still angry with me… and more to the point, was Varvur?

As luck would have it, Galsa Andrano was alone when I found her in the Infirmary. I gave myself a minor wound by cutting my arm with my sword, and pretended I’d run out of healing potions. I didn’t have to pay for treatment – as soon as Galsa realised who I was, she got so excited that I half expected her to pay me for the privilege.

“The Nerevarine!” she breathed. “I can’t believe it! Mehra Milo has told me all about you. I never would have expected to see you here in Mournhold.”

She was so sweet and friendly that I felt terrible about using her like this. Gods, I hated spying. I’d hated it back when I was working for Caius Cosades, and I hated it now. But the sheer rage I felt whenever I thought about Helseth was enough to drown out any doubts I might be having.

As Hler had predicted, it wasn’t difficult to get information out of Galsa. As she cleaned my wound, I mentioned what the priestess outside the Temple had said to me, and she nodded sadly. “I am a faithful believer,” she told me, “but Almalexia makes me uneasy. For the last 50 years, the Tribunal stopped walking among us, stopped listening and speaking with us. This worried me, and made me sad… but since Almalexia has lately come among us again, I feel more worry, not less. Her face glows brightly with hope and power, but her words seem dark and bitter.”

I nodded and made understanding noises, while she went on speaking. “Almalexia’s homilies are full of compassion, understanding, wisdom and acceptance. But now her sermons seem more intent on destroying the wicked and rewarding the faithful – the unquestioning, obedient faithful. Yes, these are difficult times... but the god I once loved now frightens me.”

“What about this new King?” I asked. “Have you heard all the rumours about how he poisoned the old one?”

She hesitated. “I am not sure… no, what am I thinking? Of course I can trust you.” I felt a pang of guilt, but it was too late to turn back. “The rumours are true. Helseth has murdered King Llethan and stolen his crown.”

“You’re sure of this?”

Galsa nodded vigorously. “It does not matter that King Llethan was a fool – he was our fool. So long as the puppet king was a joke, we all could laugh and ignore him. Helseth is not a fool, and no one is laughing. If Helseth seeks in earnest to be king, then Almalexia and the Temple are sworn in earnest to destroy him.”

“Wow.” I raised my eyebrows. “Isn’t that a bit dangerous? I mean, if he really is a murderer…”

“We do not fear him.” She swallowed. “Forgive me… I fear I have said too much already. One never knows who might be listening.”

I let her finish treating my wound, realising I wasn’t likely to get anything more out of her for now. “I was just thinking over what you said about Almalexia,” I said, as I got up to leave. “You know, I’ve met with Lord Vivec a couple of times. Maybe I could do something to help?”

“You think you could…?” Her eyes lit up. “Yes, perhaps. Come here another time, and we will talk. I feel guilty, and disloyal, but in my heart, I know something is not right. It helps a little to be able to speak of it with you.”

Talk about feeling ‘guilty and disloyal’, I thought miserably, as I left the Temple. I only hoped that Hler was right, and she hadn’t told me anything that would really be of use to Helseth. Maybe I really would go and speak to Vivec about Almalexia – it seemed the least I could do, in the circumstances.

Before going back to the Palace, I finally remembered to stop by a magic shop to get some more potions. As soon as I stepped out of the shop, there was a sudden puff of smoke and a robed man appeared right in front of me.

“Greetings, fair citizens of Mournhold!” he boomed. “I am the great, renowned, respected, and feared wizard, Ovis Velas! In the coming weeks you shall see more and more of me, as I bring this city to its knees – but for the moment, allow me to demonstrate my power on one of your hapless countrymen. You there!”

I blinked. He was pointing straight at me. “What?”

“Yes, you, you ugly Imperial!” he snarled. “Prepare yourself to feel my wrath!”

I’d already drawn my sword, but before I got close enough to use it, he cast a nasty Shock spell at me. It didn’t do much harm, what with all the magical protections I habitually wore, but it bloody hurt.

All the tensions of the past few days exploded in a near-hysterical wave of rage. Lunging at Velas, I drove my blade straight through his neck, very effectively cutting off his attempts to cast another spell. As he crumpled to the floor in a fountain of blood, I whipped round to face a group of stunned-looking onlookers.

“Is there ANYONE in this city who isn’t trying to kill me?” I roared, so loudly that several people winced and cringed away from me. “Well? Anyone else want to have a go?” I turned to one of the hapless onlookers, who backed away hastily. “No? How about you then?”

The second onlooker raised his hands in a defensive gesture, shaking his head violently. “No, sera!” he stammered. “I heard the rumours about this wizard. I think he was just trying to make a display of his power. He frowned. “Though… with all the rumours of how powerful and evil he was, I thought that he would be tougher than he appeared.”

“He said his name was Velas, right?” one of the others chimed in. “There’s a Velas manor in Godsreach, I think.”

Still breathing heavily, I knelt down beside the wizard’s body and searched through the pockets of his robe. There was nothing in them but a small house key. Right, I thought: time to pay a visit to Velas Manor. But first, I needed backup.

Ten minutes later I was back in my room back at the Winged Guar, shaking Calvus awake. “Time to get up, shirker,” I snapped.

“Ada?” He looked up at me sleepily, rubbing his eyes. “Why are you covered in blood?”

I sighed. “Three guesses. Yet another idiot just tried to kill me.”

“Another? What, one of Helseth’s men?”

“I don’t think so. He said something about being a renowned wizard and making a display of his powers.”

“Oh.” He sat up, yawning. “Well, if he’s dead, what’s the problem?”

I hesitated. “I’m not sure, but there’s something fishy about this. People said the guy had a manor in Godsreach. I want to check it out.”

“Okay, if you say so.” Calvus threw off the covers and got to his feet. “What about the goblin-hunting?”

“Change of plan,” I said grimly. “First we deal with this lunatic, then we go after the goblins.” I paused, glancing down at my bloodstained tunic. “No, wait. First I change my clothes, then we deal with this lunatic, then we go after the goblins.”

A short while later we made our way through the streets of Godsreach, pausing occasionally to ask the way to Velas Manor. It took us a while to find it, as most people didn’t seem to have heard of the Velas guy. As we approached the door I drew my sword and cast some protective enchantments, then took off my Amulet of Shadows and handed it to Calvus.

“Here, wear this,” I told him. “It’s got a Chameleon enchantment. If there’s anyone inside the manor, get behind them, and be ready.”

As luck would have it, there was someone waiting for me right inside the door – a man wearing a fancy-looking enchanted wizard’s robe. He looked a little bit like the wizard in the Great Bazaar, only a little older and a lot less swivelly-eyed.

“’Scuse me for barging in like this,” I said, with heavy irony. “I don’t suppose you’d happen to know an Ovis Velas?”

He smiled thinly. “Ah yes. Salutations… Ada Ventura, is it?” I nodded. “So nice of you to join me in my humble abode. I was all prepared to offer you a nice drink or a bite to eat before we got down to business, but you are late in coming and I don't appreciate being kept waiting, so business it shall be.”

“Business?”

His smile tightened. “I can sense you’ve already made the acquaintance of my unfortunate brother.”

“You mean the guy who just tried to kill me, I take it.” He inclined his head. “Then perhaps you would be the great Velas wizard people are talking about?”

“Yes, Ovis always did like to take credit for my exploits,” he said with a shrug. “Too bad that this time, in trying to become my doppelganger, it would appear he went too far. I understand your position, Ada – you have to defend yourself. But I also must ask you to understand mine – I have to avenge my brother.”

My heart sank. The last thing I needed was another crazed wizard trying to kill me, and this time one that was actually competent. But it was too late to back out now.

“Yes, well,” I said wearily. “Before we start the revenge, I guess I should make the standard disclaimer. I take it you’re aware that I’m the Nerevarine? Responsible for the deaths of various crime kingpins, Telvanni wizards and god-like entities?”

“I am.”

Some people never learn, I guess. “Well, it’s your funeral,” I said. “So what’s it to be, then?”

“A duel is called for,” he said calmly, “and there is no time like the present. Prepare yourself, Ada Ventura. Thy doom is imminent, and I have other matters to attend to.”

Before I had time to do anything – even breathe – there was a shimmer in the air around me, and suddenly the room was filled with Daedra. Two Golden Saints, one on each side of me – and behind me, casting an ominous shadow over half the room, the massive bulk of an Ogrim Titan. It was roughly twice the size of a normal Ogrim, making it well over twice my height and about six times as wide.

Sheer terror focussed my mind into sharp clarity. Velas No. 2’s next spell whizzed over my head as I dived to the floor, taking the only possible way out – through the Ogrim’s legs. Before the huge but slow-witted beast could work out what had happened, I was on my feet again and hacking frantically at its back with my glass frostsword.

The Golden Saints were closing in on me and I dodged aside, trying to use the Ogrim’s bulk to protect myself against them. Velas let out a yelp, and from the corner of my eye I saw him struggling with the nearly-invisible Calvus. I knew my best chance was to kill Velas as quickly as possible, sending his Daedric summons back to Oblivion, but I couldn’t get close enough to help him.

I continued to duck and dodge, getting a hit in every now and again, but mostly just trying to avoid being hit myself. Even I couldn’t fight three powerful Daedra at once for any substantial length of time. I couldn’t see Calvus, but from the sound of it he was trying to throttle the struggling wizard. “Use your sword, idiot!” I wanted to scream.

Just as I was getting worried that my glass blade was going to shatter, I heard the thump of Velas’ body hitting the floor, followed by the welcome sound of his summoned creatures disappearing into Oblivion. Calvus was standing over Velas, a wide grin spreading over his face. “So much for your god-killing feats, my lady,” he panted. “If I hadn’t been here, you’d have been done for.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “How exactly do you think I killed Dagoth Ur, Calvus? By taking him one-on-one in a fair fight?”

“Point.” He bent over Velas’ body. “Damn, this guy has some good stuff on him. A glass jinkblade! Good thing he didn’t get to use that.”

“Hey, feel free to take it. You’ve certainly earned it.”

His grin spread even wider. “I like working with you, Ada.”

I tried to grin back, but I wasn’t really in the mood. I’d only been in the city a couple of days, and already I’d faced three separate attempts on my life (not counting our trip to the Dark Brotherhood stronghold). I prayed that this one would be the last, but something told me I was being over-optimistic.

“Right,” I said, once we’d left the house and informed a guard about the wizard’s body. “Next target: goblin army. Location: ‘somewhere in the sewers’. Any idea where to start?’

Calvus thought for a moment. “Well, I’m guessing they won’t be anywhere near the Dark Brotherhood stronghold. Those guys aren’t about to share their territory. Does the Temple itself have sewers?”

“Hmm, good point,” I said. “I suppose it must. I’m not sure how to get into them, though.”

We made our way to the Temple, where the caretaker informed us that the sewers could be reached through a trapdoor in the basement. She didn’t seem too impressed when she realised we were thinking of going down there. “This temple is clean as Almalexia’s conscience, sera,” she snapped. “Mind you keep it that way.”

Interesting point, I thought. This was the Almalexia who’d stolen divine powers from a dead god’s heart, was responsible for decades of brutal religious persecution, and had quite possibly murdered her own husband. How clean was her conscience, I wonder?

We found the sewers easily enough, but we didn’t find any goblins. Apart from a couple of rats, the only living (well, un-living) things in the place were a bunch of skeletons and ancestor ghosts. One interesting thing did happen, though: as I approached one of the ghosts with sword at the ready, it called out to me in a thin, whispery voice.

“Stranger! Listen!” Calvus and I stopped dead in our tracks. “I have a message I must tell you!”

I hesitated, unsure whether to trust it. “My name is Variner,” it went on. “I was killed by the Black Dart Gang.”

The name ‘Variner’ jogged a memory. “Oh… hang on. Are you Narisa Adus’ lover? The woman in the Bazaar sewers?”

“Yes! I beg you, avenge my death.” He floated a little closer to us, causing both of us to instinctively draw back. “I was killed by the Black Dart Gang. Their hideout is in the western Temple Sewers. There is a mechanism that can flood the room, drowning the gang – find a lever that looks like a torch holder, near the east end of the chamber. But whatever you do, don’t get too close or you will join me in the afterlife.”

“Um, okay,” I said warily. “Anything else?”

“No, I have delivered my message,” he quavered. “Now, at last, my spirit may find rest, and join in peaceful silence with my ancestors.”

With that he faded away, leaving Calvus looking distinctly skeptical. “I dunno, Ada. Are you sure you want to trust that thing? I’ve heard things about the Black Dart Gang, and they sound really nasty. Even compared to the Dark Brotherhood.”

“Well, he did mention this secret mechanism,” I said cautiously. “And… well, this isn’t the first time a ghost has given me useful information.”

He blinked. “Are you serious? You get a lot of ghosts passing on messages from beyond the grave, then?”

“You’d be amazed,” I said with a sigh.

Quietly, stealthily, we made our way towards the west side of the sewers. There was no evidence that the gang were nearby, but we really didn’t want to run into any of them unprepared. Calvus had mentioned that some of their enchanted darts could easily kill an armoured warrior in one hit.

As we approached one of the sewer partitions, we realised that we were getting close. Several chests and barrels held a small treasure trove of clothes and potions – mostly stolen from the Black Dart Gang’s victims, I suspected. At least we’d make some profit on today’s adventure, assuming we made it out alive.

A door in the western wall led us into another long, bare sewer corridor. There was no one around, and nothing of interest to see. “What did the guy say?” I muttered. “Something about a lever disguised as a torch holder?”

“There,” said Calvus suddenly, pointing to a carved torch holder on the wall near the door. It looked different from the others, and there was no torch in it. I walked over to the holder, examined it for a few seconds, and gave it an experimental yank.

There was a sudden low rumbling sound off in the distance. It sounded far away, but was getting louder every moment. “Um,” I said, turning to Calvus. “I think this is where we start running.”

We rushed back into the central sewers, slamming the heavy door behind us. Only a few seconds later, the rumbling sound grew to a roar, and I thought I could hear faint cries in the distance. Neither of us dared to try the door for several minutes.

Finally, Calvus walked up to the door and pushed it a few times. It wouldn’t budge an inch. “Mission accomplished, I guess.” I screwed up my face. “Nasty way to die.”

“Yeah. On the plus side, it couldn’t happen to a more deserving bunch.” He shrugged. “Shall we leave?”

We did search the rest of the sewers for any stray goblins, but didn’t find any. What we did find was a crate of silver weapons, and – tucked away behind an outcrop of rock – an adamantium axe. Calvus’ eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he saw it. “Gods, that thing must be worth a fortune!”

“Finders keepers, I guess.” I held it out to him. “Here, you have it. I don’t use axes.”

“I – wow. Are you sure?” I nodded. “Really? I mean, you could always sell it.”

“I’m rich enough already. I told you.”

“Sheesh.” He let out a long breath. “I never thought working for you would be this dangerous, but I didn’t think it would be this profitable either.”

“Hey, I have to keep you on side. Otherwise you might go over to Helseth.” I grinned wryly, but we both knew there was a grain of truth in what I had said. I couldn’t fully trust anyone here in Mournhold, not even Calvus.

I didn’t feel up to any more goblin-hunting that day, but we did go back to the Bazaar sewers to tell Narisa her lover’s spirit was free. We were both very cautious, realising the Dark Brotherhood might have stepped up their security, but we didn’t run into anyone else apart from that weird Khajiit woman. When I told Narisa her we’d managed to wipe out the Black Dart Gang, she just stared at us in disbelief.

“They’re... dead?” she croaked. “You killed them? You killed the Black Dart Gang?”

When we explained about the flood mechanism, and showed her the stolen goods we’d recovered from the gang, she cried with joy. “It’s a miracle,” she sobbed. “Here, please. Take this.” She held out an enchanted ring. “Variner gave it to me – it belonged to his family, but I’m sure they all would want you to have it. You have my thanks, and the thanks of Variner’s family, and his spirit, and all the victims of the Black Dart Gang.”

My ever-growing collection of rings and amulets was reaching quite insane proportions, but this one did look pretty useful. It had a Charm enchantment, similar to my own Voice of the Emperor spell, and charming people was an area where I could always use extra help. Besides, I couldn’t refuse it when she looked so happy and grateful.

We escorted Narisa back to the sewer entrance, where she hugged us both repeatedly and swore her eternal gratitude. “I’ll write all about you in the next issue,” she told me.

“Next issue?”

“Oh… didn’t I tell you? I’m a journalist.” Calvus and I looked blankly at each other. “Don’t you know what that is? It means that I write articles for newssheets. That’s how my poor Variner died, following a story about the Black Dart Gang.”

“Newssheets? Like the Common Tongue?”

“Oh no!” she exclaimed hastily. “Well… yes, that is a newssheet, but I don’t write for that one. Accusing the King of murder is a good way to get yourself killed in this city.”

How ironic, I thought. “Well, thanks for telling me,” I said out loud. “I’ll remember to come to you if I ever want any juicy gossip.”

“Always. Here, I’ll give you my address.” She wrote it down for me before hurrying off, presumably eager to clean herself up after a week in the sewers. Calvus and I went to the smithy to sell off the extra weapons we’d collected – apart from the adamantium axe, which he wanted to keep ‘just in case’ – and then headed back home for food, baths and a well-earned rest.

Great, a double dose of Ada this weekend!

I think you have an extra word in this.

Oops, you're right.

I don't believe I have commented on your stories yet, dear Helena, but I have read them all cover-to-cover, and all I can say is they are a pure gem of satire. You have an excellent sense of humor!

Look out, world! Fiery tempered redhead's on the loose!

Is there anyone in all of Tamriel who isn't trying to kill you, Ada? At the end of Morrowind's plot, you are hailed a savior and saint. Come the end of Tribunal... well, you may want to think mighty hard about that expedition to Akavir. I don't want to spoil the end because that's obviously your job, so that's all I will say on the matter.

I had a nit about a couple missing quote marks, but I lost the line. Woe be me...

ROFL !!!!

Chapter 6: A-Hunting We Shall Go

Calvus wanted to get some sleep before his evening bodyguard duties, so I spent the rest of the afternoon at the Bazaar, buying provisions and window-shopping. In one of the more up-market traders’ shops, I bought some imported Cyrodiilic goods as presents for the Sarethi family: a bottle of flin for Athyn, a tortoiseshell bowl for Domesea, and some fine doeskin gloves for Varvur. I briefly wondered if I should send a letter along with them: “Am enjoying the sights here in sunny Mournhold. Weather is fine, shame about all the people trying to kill me! Wish you were here, love Ada.”

The shop owner, Sunel Hlas, was well-dressed and polite but looked a bit depressed, and I asked him if business was going well. “Ah, fine,” he said with a sigh. “Azura knows there’s little else in the world worth doing. None of the rest of it matters... adventuring, fame, women. It’s all pointless.”

“Really? Why?”

“There’s no happiness to be found – no lasting happiness, anyway. It’s all a sham. Oh, I didn’t always think so,” he added, as I opened my mouth to reply. “I had a wife once, and was madly in love with her. But then my foolishness took her away, and now here I am. Bitter, alone, and tired of life.”

Eeesh. “I’m… very sorry to hear that,” I said, a little startled. “Er, what happened to your wife?”

“The folly of youth,” he said with a sigh. “Had dreams, aspirations. I foolishly followed them, and took her to Vvardenfell for what was supposed to be a ‘great adventure’. I paid for my foolishness, paid in full – unfortunately, my wife was made to pay as well. She caught the Blight shortly after arriving, and her frail constitution couldn’t handle it. I lost her to the damned disease, and it ruined me.”

“Gods.” I didn’t know what to say. “How… how long ago did this happen?”

“A few years now.” He shook his head. “No one could replace her. None of the women I’ve ever known could ever replace her.”

“Really?” A sudden thought struck me. “Hmm…”

Hlas was looking at me through narrowed eyes. “What of it, Imperial? You think there’s anyone that could ever compare to my Dralasa?”

I hesitated for a moment, picturing Marena Gilnith in my mind’s eye. At first sight they certainly didn’t seem like an obvious match: the young, optimistic Marena and the middle-aged, embittered Sunel. On the other hand… he was wealthy and successful, and could offer her a comfortable home away from her life of drudgery. And the age gap might not matter as much to Dunmer; after all, they’d still have hundreds of years together.

“Possibly,” I said at last. “If… if I were able to arrange for you to meet her, would you do it?”

“Not sure. Who is she?”

“Marena Gilnith is her name.”

He screwed up his face. “I don’t know her. Don’t particularly care to either. But fine… if it will get you to leave me alone, then I’ll meet her. It’ll be a waste of time, though.”

Not quite the enthusiastic response I’d hoped for, but never mind. I’d see what Marena herself had to say about it.

Luckily it wasn’t difficult to find Marena; she was hanging around the Bazaar in the same spot where I’d met her for the first time. Her hopeful expression cut to my heart; she must have been coming there every day, hoping I’d found someone for her. I really didn’t want to have to disappoint her.

“Have you met someone, Ada?” she asked, looking a bit nervous all of a sudden. “I have to tell you up front that I’m very apprehensive about all this. I’m taking a big risk here, not to mention that I need to leave work for a bit. So you’d better be right about this.”

But no pressure or anything, right? Suddenly I felt almost as nervous as she was. “If you’ve found someone who’s all wrong for me, I’ll simply never forgive you,” she went on. “You sure you want to do this?”

By now I really wasn’t, but I owed it to Sunel to at least try. “Well, let me tell you a bit about him first,” I said hastily. “His name is Sunel Hlas and he owns one of the shops over there in the market. He’s a bit older than you,” I confessed, “but not elderly or disgusting or anything… anyway, you said you wanted someone worldly, and he definitely fits the bill. He’s travelled around all over the place.”

“Sunel Hlas, you say?” She paused. “Hmm... I think I’ve heard the name before, but can’t remember where.”

“There’s one more thing I should mention,” I said, bracing myself. “Sunel’s wife died of blight disease a while ago, and he’s… still rather sore about it. I think he’s ready to move on, but… I just thought I’d warn you so you’ll know to be a bit tactful with him. Okay?”

“Whew. Okay.” Marena shook her head. “I’m really trusting your judgment, Ada. Tell him to meet me at the Winged Guar two days from now. I do hope he’s nice...”

Feeling less confident every minute, I went back to tell Sunel the good news. Why the heck did I let myself get talked into setting up a blind date? I knew these things almost never worked out.

If Marena’s response had put me on edge, Sunel’s made me grind my teeth in frustration. “I don’t know why I’m even discussing this,” he muttered. “There’s no way this is going to work out. It’ll just end in heartbreak. Oh, very well, I’ll meet her.”

I looked at him in disbelief. “Why? If you’ve already decided it’s going to be a disaster, why even bother?”

“Don’t know.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Look, Sunel,” I said in exasperation, “couldn’t you at least try to be optimistic? For her sake, if not for yours? She’s taking a risk too, you know.” He said nothing. “Look at it this way: you’ve nothing to lose. If it doesn’t work out, you’ll be proved right; if it does, well, it could be the start of something really special. Either way, you win.”

He didn’t say anything, just stared mulishly at the floor. Heaving a weary sigh, I turned to leave, wanting to kick both him and myself. Oh well: if the date crashed and burned, which it probably would, at least the worst that could happen was that both of them would be a bit annoyed with me. You can’t win ’em all, I suppose.

When I got back to the Winged Guar in Godsreach, a Bosmer was pacing angrily up and down outside the door. “Damn that villainous, clay-brained Nord!” he snarled, as I passed. “I hate him! I swear by the teeth of Molag Bal himself I’ll have revenge on that corprus-licking ignoramus.”

I looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Can I help you?”

“Why, yes!” he exclaimed, and I instantly regretted my choice of words. “My name’s High-Pockets. I came in here for a drink, minding my own damned business, when that guar-loving drunkard Holmar started raving and making fun of me. He grabbed me by the shirt, slid me across the bar, and then kicked me out the door. He’ll be singing all of Saryoni’s Sermons at once when I’ve had my revenge!”

Having had first-hand experience of just how annoying male Wood Elves could be, I suspected this might not be the whole story. “And how do you plan to get your revenge?”

“Well, I’ll – I’ll…” He paused. “Listen, Imperial. How would you like to help me go in there and teach that flea-bitten, dampworm-infested Nord the lesson of his life?”

I winced; the last thing I needed today was to get into yet another fight. “Well, I’m not going to beat someone up just on your say-so,” I told him. “I’ll have a word with this Holmar, okay? But I’m not promising anything.”

“Fantastic!” He began to make for the door, and then hesitated. “Um… you’re bigger than me, so I’ll follow you. He’s right inside the bar there.”

I found Holmar the Nord on the upper floor of the tavern, swaying gently on his feet with a mug of sujamma clutched in his hand. He didn’t look capable of walking straight, let alone picking someone up and throwing them out of the bar, but I knew from experience that drunkards could be surprisingly strong. I wished I’d thought to put on my enchanted gauntlets before tackling him. I didn’t want to use a sword on an unarmed man, and I didn’t fancy my chances in a fistfight – even if he was blind drunk.

“Evening, Holmar,” I said, trying to appear tough but non-threatening. “My friend here says you’ve been bullying him.”

“Wha’s that?” He hiccupped several times. “Who… who’s there? Gimme another drink, you cockamamie bastar…” He blinked, and his eyes focussed on the little Bosmer. “Hey ... Hey, this mus’ be about that blasted Wood Elf I just tossed out of here, right? Hehehehe.”

High-Pockets shrank back as Holmar took a lurching step towards him. “Stupid little Wood Elves,” he muttered. “Back for another round, eh?”

I stepped between them before he could get any closer. “Hey, calm down,” I said, raising a hand soothingly, and quickly cast my Voice of the Emperor power on him. “No need to get nasty, OK? How about you leave my friend alone, and I buy you another drink?”

To my relief, it worked. Holmar’s bleary eyes swung away from High-Pockets’ face and towards mine. “Wha?” he murmured, and then his face lit up as the word ‘drink’ filtered through to his brain. “Well, ’m not one to turn down a drink. Barkeep! Gimme two more s’jammas, now! I like one in each hand.”

I paid over the extortionate price of sixty septims, and we both watched Holmar gulp down the two sujammas. I guessed that another drink or two would be enough to wipe him out, and I was right. As he drained the last few drops from his tankard, a glazed expression came over his eyes and he slowly keeled over, hitting the floor with a satisfying thud.

High-Pockets let out a yelp of delight. “Yes! I’d have liked to bash his kwama-cuttle-infested head in, but I have to hand it to you. That was some smooth handling.” He fumbled around in one of his many pockets. “I don’t have much to give in thanks, but here, take this money.”

He dropped a handful of coins into my hands – to my surprise, rather more than I’d spent on the drinks – along with yet another enchanted ring. I felt a bit guilty about taking a reward from him when I’d hardly even done anything. “That’s OK, I don’t – ”

But he was already heading off towards the bar. I turned back to see Hession, the owner of the tavern, looking in my direction.

“Nicely handled,” she said approvingly. (I think that’s quite possibly the first approving look I’ve ever had from a High Elf.) “You dealt with that very well. Might you be interested in helping me with some work I need taken care of?”

“Hmph.” It was getting late, and I was tired and hungry. “What sort of work?”

“Well, you see, my usual bouncer Grub didn’t show today.” She pursed her lips in annoyance. “Probably got lost in the Pavilion again, the Orcish ninny. Anyway, would you be willing to stand in for him? All you would have to do is make one sweep through the bar crowd. If memory serves, we don’t get too many people coming and going this time of day.”

I’d never worked as a bouncer before. Most of them tend to be hefty, muscle-bound Nords and Orcs – if you can intimidate people with your sheer size, you’re halfway there already. “What will you pay me?” I asked, too tired to bother dancing around the subject.

“A thousand gold, if you handle it well. And a meal and drink on the house,” she added, correctly guessing what was more important to me right now.

Pretty good pay for one evening’s work, I had to say. Even with the wealth I had now, a thousand gold wasn’t to be sniffed at. “Okay, I’ll do it,” I said recklessly.

“Fantastic! Here’s all you have to do: Go around and talk to everyone in the bar. If they’re too drunk, or unruly, or just a bad character, throw them out. Report to me when you’re done.”

Reluctantly I began a slow tour of the bar, looking out for potential troublemakers. Most people seemed to be behaving themselves well enough, but one guy in particular drew my eye – another Bosmer, funnily enough. He was standing in the middle of the room with a black scowl on his face, rambling loudly about ‘foreigners’ to no one in particular, and swearing viciously at anyone who passed too close to him. My heart sank – this guy showed all the signs of being about to turn nasty, and if that happened, I’d already used up my Mr. Nice Guy option.

I approached him cautiously. “Everything all right, sir?”

With some effort, the man focussed his rather glazed eyes on my face. “Hey, hey, watch it there.” He hiccupped loudly. “Why’re you harass…harass…harassin’ me? I ain’t done nothing to you. *Hic!*”

“I’m not harassing you, sir, just – ”

“Damn you, you dirty Imperial!” he snarled, before I could finish. “Always…. *hic!* …always causing problems.”

Uh-oh, this wasn’t going well. “I’m not the one causing problems, sir,” I said mildly. “I think you should calm down a bit.”

This just made things worse. The Bosmer shoved his face up close to mine – well, as close as he could get given that he barely came up to my shoulder. “Not for the likes of a dirty Imperial like you, you… you… bubble-faced puke!” he spat, giving me a whiff of breath that smelled like Oblivion’s brewery. “I can say whatever I want to say, and nobody can stop me. NOBODY!”

I kept my cool. “Sir, you’ve had quite enough. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“No, I’m not coming with you, you dirty Imperial!” He wrenched away from my grasp as I laid a hand on his arm. “Who knows what revolting tricks you’ll pull when we’re alone… *hic!* GET AWAY FROM ME!”

Before I could react he had lashed out suddenly with one of his small fists, hitting me square on the nose. I have to say, for such a little guy he packed quite a punch. I backed off a couple of steps, momentarily stunned, and he ran at me with fists flying. “You won’t take me in… you CAN’T! Victory or… VICTORY!!”

This time I managed to dodge the clumsy blow and grabbed him by the collar, shoving him back into a wall. Behind me, Hession the bar owner let out a shriek. “Please don’t kill anyone! Knock him out if you must, but don’t kill him!”

I’d no intention of killing anyone, but what stumped me was how to deal with the guy without hurting him too badly. I really really didn’t want a repeat of that night on the road near Cheydinal, and this man was a lot smaller than the one I’d accidentally killed. I tried casting my Star of the West spell, and he staggered heavily but didn’t fall. Gods, this little guy was tough!

As he started to beat at my chest with his fists, I grabbed his arms with both hands to hold him back and kneed him hard in the groin. He let out a wail of anguish and sank to the ground, whimpering, as the spell finally did its work.

I tasted blood on my lip, and realised that it was trickling down from my nose. Sighing, I cast a quick healing spell and cleaned myself off as best I could with a rag from the bar. As Hession sighed with relief, and a couple of other patrons carried off the unconscious Wood Elf, a Breton barmaid sidled up to me.

“Are you filling in for Grub?” I nodded. “Could you do anything about Galms Seles? He’s a hustler just moved here from Vvardenfell. He thinks he can out-distance his reputation, but a friend in Sadrith Mora tipped me off. I wish he would leave – he’s put a damper on the action.”

I followed her gaze to the nondescript Dark Elf sitting at a nearby table. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”

As I walked up to Seles, he gave me what I guessed was his most charming smile. “Hello there, Imperial. Up for a game of shells?” He indicated some pieces of shell on the table in front of him. “I’ll put this coin under one of these three mudcrab shell pieces I have here, and then mix them up – ”

Gods. I can’t believe people still fall for that old trick. “I know how it works,” I interrupted him, “and I know how you make sure nobody ever wins that bet. People here are on to you, Seles. You’d better clean up your act before you end up like our Bosmer friend back there.”

His face paled. “Damn! Who told you? C’mon, buddy, don’t be too hard on me – I was just trying to make a few extra gold!” I narrowed my eyes. “Look, if you let me stay, I promise I’ll give everyone fair odds. If anyone complains of me cheating, they can tell Hession and I’ll be out of here in an instant. Okay?”

I doubted I could trust him to keep that promise, but I couldn’t really be bothered to take it any further. I couldn’t help thinking people had only themselves to blame if they let themselves be fooled so easily. “Make sure you do,” I said, fixing him with my sternest glare. “I’ll be back to check.”

I did another quick round of the bar to make sure no one else was causing any problems, then spoke the barmaid to check on Galms Seles. It seemed that he was behaving himself, at least as long as I was nearby. Satisfied, I went back to Hession to claim my reward.

“Fantastic!” she exclaimed, once I’d given her a run-down of the situation. “Grub couldn’t have done it better himself. Here’s your payment – and thank you.”

She hurried to the bar to order my free meal and drink from Ra’Tesh the bartender, then left me to enjoy it in peace. I wolfed it all down as quickly as I could and then went back to my room, where Calvus was just waking up. “There you are,” he said, stifling a yawn. “Been having fun?”

“You could say that. I set up a blind date and filled in for a missing bouncer.”

“Oh? You do get around, don’t you?” He yawned again. “Okay, I guess I’m back on sentry duty. Sleep tight.”

I have to say that I felt a lot safer with him guarding the door – though no one tried to attack me that night either. I still wasn’t willing to let my guard down, but it looked like Helseth might have given up, at least for the moment.

The next morning I went back to the Ebonheart Council Chambers to find Llerar Mandas. I gave him the presents I’d bought for the Sarethis and asked him to have them couriered to Ald’ruhn as soon as possible, telling him they were important documents. I think he might have wondered why the ‘important documents’ were gift-wrapped, but he didn’t say anything.

I planned to take up the Goblin Hunt again that day, but first I wanted to do some research and find out where they actually were. This was easier said than done, however – I couldn’t just walk up to someone in the street and go “Seen any goblins lately, mate?” Instead I had to try and strike up conversations with shopkeepers, guards and street cleaners, and find a way to bring up the subject without seeming suspicious.

A lot of people had heard the rumours about goblins in the city, but none of them seemed to have any idea where they might be. I was about to give up when I ran into a shabby-looking, barefoot Nord man near the Winged Guar. He smiled at me, his expression friendly but rather vacant. “Hello, nice lady!”

“Hello,” I said cautiously, suspecting that he was a beggar.

“You see Dilborn?” he went on. “Dilborn my friend! Dilborn gone three days now, and Thrud sad.”

I guessed from this little speech that the Nord’s name was Thrud, and that he was a few icicles short of a glacier, if you know what I mean. “No, I haven’t seen your friend Dilborn,” I said, speaking slowly and clearly to make sure he understood. “What does he look like?”

Thrud’s face lit up. “Dilborn big and mighty wizard! Dilborn read books to Thrud… all the words, big words, two, maybe three times. Now Dilborn gone, no one read books to Thrud.”

He looked so sad that I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. Quite the gentle giant, clearly – despite the ebony war axe strapped to his back. “Where did you lose Dilborn, Thrud?”

Thrud thought for a moment. “Thrud see Dilborn go down in sewers near here. Dilborn go to sewers lots to meet friends, Dilborn says. Most times, Dilborn back soon, and happy, happy. But Dilborn not back soon now.” He paused, fixing hopeful puppy-dog eyes on my face. “You help Thrud find Dilborn?”

Oh gods, not again. I don’t want to sound heartless, but this was getting ridiculous. I was about to tell him that I really didn’t have time to search for his friend, when suddenly an idea came to me. “Thrud, did you see any goblins down in the sewers? You know, goblins? Ugly little green things with sharp teeth and pointy ears?”

The big Nord pondered this for a long time, literally about half a minute. I could practically see the cog-wheels slowly grinding around in his brain. “Yes, goblins in sewers,” he said at last. “But Dilborn say we stay away from goblins. Goblins VERY nasty.”

“The goblins are here in Godsreach? Underneath these houses?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Okay Thrud,” I said, still speaking as slowly as possible. “I will help you find your friend Dilborn, if you show me where the goblins are. Okay?” He nodded again. “I’m just going to find my friend Calvus, then I’ll come back and we’ll look for Dilborn. All right?”

I left the cheerful-looking Thrud nodding enthusiastically and hurried back into the Winged Guar to wake up Calvus. “I’ve found out where the goblins are.”

“Oh? Good.” He didn’t look hugely enthusiastic, I have to say. “So we’re going after them now, are we?”

“Soon. First we’re going to rescue a missing wizard.”

Caius raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. I think he was getting used to my habit of doing unnecessary favours for random strangers. We took some time to eat and prepare our weapons and equipment, then went back outside the Winged Guar, where a much more cheerful-looking Thrud was waiting patiently for us. When he saw me, a huge grin spread over his face.

“Thrud happy, happy, nice lady.” He waved his axe enthusiastically in the air, making both of us instinctively shrink back a little. “Find Dilborn now, yes?”

“Yes, we’ll find him now. Can you show us the way, Thrud?”

Thrud led the way to the sewers, singing loudly and tunelessly as he went along. “I hope he’s not dangerous,” Calvus muttered behind his back.

“I doubt it.” Even so, I had to hope that Thrud’s friend Dilborn was still alive and well, or the scene that followed wouldn’t be pretty. I hated to think what would happen if we found his remains in a goblin’s stew-pot.

The Godsreach sewers looked pretty much like the ones in other parts of the city, with dank passages half-blocked by the occasional rock fall. We hadn’t gone very far before we heard voices in the distance. “Hold up,” I said to the other two. “I’m going ahead to scout out the place. Thrud, you must be very quiet, okay? Shhh.”

I slipped on the Amulet of Shadows and hurried out into the sewer intersection, leaving the others in the shelter of a large boulder. Behind a rusty grate, I could see three figures: some tough-looking Dunmer and a scrawny Breton with slave bracers on his arms. He was completely naked and flanked on both sides by two of the men, who were clearly guarding him. Could this be the ‘big and mighty wizard’ Thrud had described?

I slipped back behind the boulder and pulled off the amulet. “Thrud, what does Dilborn look like?” I whispered. “A Breton man, about this high, shoulder-length brown hair?” He nodded. “Well, he’s here in the sewers. Some bad men are holding him prisoner.”

Thrud let out a low, rumbling growl, and reached for his axe. “No!” I whispered urgently. “If you just run out there and attack them, they might hurt Dilborn.” He hesitated, and I beckoned him and Calvus towards me. “Okay, I think I have a plan. Listen very carefully to what I want you to do…”

I had to explain the plan three times over before Thrud understood it, but eventually he got the idea. I handed the Amulet of Shadows to Calvus, who slipped it on and disappeared into the intersection. Thrud and I followed, weapons at the ready, walking slowly along in plain sight of the Dunmer until we were close enough to speak to them. The nearest of the three – a wiry, tattooed man wearing glass boots and bracers – stepped forward to greet us.

“Well, well, look what the scrib dragged in.” His gaze flickered from me to Thrud, and back again. “Drathas Neras, at your service. I suppose you’re here to rescue our little Dilborn, eh? Then I suggest you don’t make any sudden moves. You see, when people owe me money, I get a bit touchy.”

“And I take it Dilborn here owes you money?”

“That’s right. We indulge in a bit of gambling down here from time to time – away from the prying eyes of the guards, you know? And Dilborn is one of our best customers.” His lips twisted into a mirthless grin. “Attack me, and my men have orders to kill Dilborn first – poor, naked, defenceless Dilborn. But if you’re here to settle Dilborn’s debts… well, we may be able to work something out.”

I sighed. “Okay, let’s not beat about the bush. How much does he owe you?”

“He currently owes… if my memory serves me right… yes, 3,000 septims. And he’s not leaving here until he pays his debts.”

“Well, I’m not paying you 3,000 for that idiot.” Beside me, Thrud let out a grunt of protest. “Shut up, Thrud. Okay Neras, make it 1,000 and you might have a deal.”

Neras’ smile grew even nastier. “I really don’t think you’re in any position to negotiate, Imperial. Remember, any sudden moves on your part and Dilborn dies instantly.”

“Look behind you,” I said. His eyes narrowed slightly and he half-turned towards his guards, making sure to keep both me and Thrud in sight.

Under cover of the amulet’s Chameleon spell, Calvus had snuck up behind the two men guarding Dilborn, and paralysed them by just pricking their skin with the tip of his glass jinkblade – the one he’d ‘liberated’ from the wizard Gavis Velas. After that he had dropped one of them to the ground with his own Star of the West spell, and pressed the tip of his blade right up against the other’s throat. Drathas swallowed hard and turned back towards me, an expression of baffled rage on his face.

“Still sure you don’t want to settle?” I asked. “Look at it this way: at least you’ll get some money rather than none. And you’ll be alive, of course.”

Neras ground his teeth, but he had enough sense to know he was beaten. “All right,” he said at last. “But only because I can’t abide his constant whining. Give me the money, and I’ll let him go.”

It was a good thing I still had that thousand given to me by Hession, I thought, as I counted out the money. I wouldn’t have liked to leave Drathas here with only Thrud as a guard.

“All right, he can go,” he said, once he’d counted the money I’d given him. “Alam, remove his bracers.” Calvus had released the second guard, having put his weapon well out of reach, but he was still watching him like a hawk with his blade at the ready.

The guard unlocked Dilborn’s bracers, and he slowly backed away from his captors, keeping as far away from Neras as possible. As he edged nervously round to join us, Thrud let out a cry of joy. “Dilborn back! Dilborn back!”

“Oh, shut up, you witless man-child.” Neras turned towards Dilborn. “Dilborn, never show your face to me again, or I’ll slice it off with a rusty spoon, you hear me? Now get lost, all of you.”

We left, making sure the thugs weren’t following us. Once we were safely out of the sewers, Thrud practically fell on me, enveloping me in a huge bear-hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! Thrud happy, Dilborn happy, ALL happy!”

“That’s… okay… Thrud,” I wheezed, hoping my ribs weren’t broken. “You can let go now.”

Dilborn gave me a rather embarrassed smile. “Thank you, Imperial – I am in your debt. Alas, in my present financially embarrassed condition, it is a debt I cannot repay. I fear that, under the circumstances, your own virtue must be sufficient reward.”

I was about to speak when Thrud, who had been scrabbling about in the large pouch on his belt, thrust a dog-eared book into my hands. “Here, Ada. Take Thrud’s favourite book. It is very good… many words… on both sides of pages.”

“Thank you, Thrud,” I said, trying to keep a straight face. “Dilborn, Calvus and I are looking for goblins in the sewers. Do you know where to find them?”

After Dilborn had helpfully explained – even drawing a rough map showing the layout of the sewers – Calvus and I set out once again on our goblin hunt. When we entered the western part of the sewers, we were faced with a choice of two passageways: one wide and well-lit, the other dark, narrow and twisty. “What do you think?” I asked Calvus. “Which way?”

He thought for a moment. “Let’s try the cave. At least there’ll be more cover.”

He was right about that, as it turned out; unfortunately there was also a half-flooded cavern with a waterfall. By the time we’d waded through, we were so soaked with spray that we had to stop and dry ourselves off. There was no sign of the goblins so far, but I couldn’t help feeling glad about that.

A short way on we found ourselves back in the main part of the sewers. Just where the cave widened into the sewer passage, behind some huge stalagmites, we came across an heavily-armoured Nord man sitting on a bedroll. When he saw us he leapt up with an exclamation, hefting a massive warhammer in our direction.

“Hold it!” I took a step backwards, lowering my sword slightly. “We’re not here to fight.”

The man eyed us suspiciously, still grasping his hammer. “What do you want?”

“We’re just here to hunt goblins.” I glanced around at the Nord’s makeshift bedroom, which was scattered with empty bottles and bits of old food. “What are you doing here?”

He scowled, but lowered his weapon slightly. “I’m Hloggar the Bloody, and what I do here is my business.”

“Okay, fine. You leave us alone and we’ll leave you alone, all right?” He nodded, and stood aside to let us pass. Then, without the slightest warning, the roars started.

“Sh*t!” Hloggar’s head snapped round. “They’re coming – ” He got no further, because two goblins and a war durzog were barrelling down the passage towards us.

Now the goblins I’d fought in Cyrodiil were fairly tame opponents – nasty, but nothing to strike fear into the heart of an experienced warrior. These were different. These ones were huge and muscle-bound, more like Orcs. Even with one of us matched against each of them, and Hloggar fighting the durzog – like an attack dog, only twice as big and twice as mean – that battle was a damn close call. The goblins weren’t exactly skilled fighters, but they were so bloody tough – no matter how many times you hit them, they just refused to go down.

When all three were finally vanquished, the three of us retreated to lick our wounds, bruised and battered. “Phew.” Hoggar wiped away the sweat that was streaming from his brow. “Wasn’t expecting that. Guess I should think myself lucky you guys were here.”

Calvus and I said nothing, but exchanged worried glances. It looked like this goblin hunt was going to be rather tougher than we had thought.

Those goblins are tough. Not like the wimpy ones you encounter at level 1 in Cyrodiil, more like the ones you encounter at level 15 or so thinks to Oblivion's level scaling

Heh, my spelling checker wanted to correct "Cyrodiil" to "Crocodile"

GAAAAH! You're getting into totally new territory! I'll have to look up the quest now, lol. Great Write !!!

Finally, another chapter! It's been quite a while, so I'll briefly recap: Ada is working for the Temple against King Helseth. She's been asked to destroy a goblin army which Helseth is training in the Mournhold sewers. Down in the sewers, she and her bodyguard Calvus encountered a shady Nord named Hloggar the Bloody, and fought off an attack by goblins - which seem to be a lot tougher than the Cyrodiil variety...


Chapter 7: Gobliiins

The goblin attack led to a slight thaw in relations between us and ‘Hloggar the Bloody’ (bet he didn’t get teased much as a kid). We were still wary of each other, but when he gruffly offered me and Calvus a drink, neither of us felt like refusing. The home-brew he served us was as thick as syrup and tasted vile, but at least it was strong enough to fortify us for what lay ahead.

“Wasn’t expecting to see the greenskins here,” he confided, swigging the disgusting ale from his flask as if it were iced lemonade. “They don’t usually come down this far. Might have to move on before they start making a habit of it.”

I suppressed the urge to ask, for the second time, what the heck he was doing down here. “Do you think… I began,” then hesitated. “Have you seen any signs that someone may be… training them?”

Hloggar spluttered. “Training? Are you mad? You can’t train those things, they’re just mindless animals. Get too close to ’em without a weapon and they’ll bite your hand off.”

At one time I’d have agreed with him, but now I wasn’t quite so sure. Goblins might be vicious little beasts, and they might not speak any language the ‘civilised’ races could understand, but… I couldn’t help thinking of the goblin lairs I’d seen back in Cyrodiil. They were a bit ‘rough-and-ready’, but they’d been filled with all the things you’d expect to find in a human settlement – beds, tables, cooking utensils. Could a race which wore clothes, used tools and weapons, and kept pets really be described as ‘mindless animals’? Weren’t people saying the same thing about the Orcs just a few decades ago?

Anyway, this wasn’t exactly the time or place for philosophising. Instead we did what any good adventurer does before a mission: drank a lot, told lewd jokes and sang bawdy songs. Hloggar had one about a ‘virtuous’ maiden who fell in love with a goblin:

“His scaly face with grimy sheen
With fangs so sharp, and skin so green
Was the finest thing she e’er had seen – ”

Just then we heard a loud noise off in the distance, and we all shut up really quickly. You never knew when the goblins might be back with reinforcements.

At this point, Calvus and I decided it was time we made a move. I asked Hloggar how big he though this sewer was. “Huge,” he said bluntly. “Miles and miles of it. If you go in there, make sure you can find your way out again.”

Hmm, good point. I always carried my Divine and Almsivi Intervention amulets in any case, as well as a few scrolls, but I decided we’d better stop every now and then to plot out the route we had travelled.

A little further on from where the goblins had attacked, we arrived at a ‘crossroads’ leading in three directions. According to Dilborn’s hastily sketched map, one of them led back to the trapdoor where we’d entered this sewer section. The second led to the sewers under the Palace, and the third to the ruins of an ancient battlefield. “What do you think?” I asked Calvus. “Surely even Helseth wouldn’t be crazy enough to train up goblin hordes under his own palace!”

“Hmm. I wouldn’t entirely put it past him.” He jabbed at the third route. “Still, let’s try this way first.”

We ran across a couple more goblins as we made our way through the sewers, but these ones were alone, and much easier to draw out and kill than the patrol we’d met earlier. (I only hoped my rather fragile glass longsword would hold out without breaking.)

A short way past the connecting door into the battlefield area, the sewers gave way to another cavern system. The odd goblin encounter gave me confidence that we were going the right way. At last, at the end of a long, twisty passageway, the cavern widened abruptly into a massive underground arena, almost as big as the Plaza Brindisi Dorom. Goblins scurried to and fro on the ground below, at the foot of a long flight of stone steps.

“Wow,” I whispered. “Where now?” On the other side of the arena was some sort of stone pavilion on top of a raised plinth; it looked interesting but didn’t appear to lead anywhere. To the right of us was a small wooden door set into the wall of the cavern, several feet off the ground on a stone platform. As far as I could see it was the only way out of this place.

“That way, I guess.” Calvus began to inch his way out of cover towards the steps. I nodded, and was about to follow him when I suddenly spotted something else. “Wait!”

“What?”

“Look up there.” I pointed up towards the roof of the cavern, far above the pavilion. There, fifty or sixty feet above us, was another stone platform. “I wonder where that leads to?”

“We’ll never get up there anyway. Levitation is banned in Mournhold.” I gaped at him. “Something to do with the goddess Almalexia. She doesn’t want anyone to be higher than her, or something like that. They’ve surrounded the whole place with some magic field that counteracts Levitation enchantments.”

I gaped even harder. “You’re kidding. What, even in the sewers?”

“Hmm… good point.” He paused. “I’m not entirely sure.”

“Well, I’m going to try anyway.” I opened my pack and took out my Levitation amulet, then dug around a little to find Peakstar’s old pants. “Here, put these on. If I find anything interesting up there, you can use them to follow me.”

His eyes narrowed. “So you get the amulet, and I have to use the thirty-year-old pair of women’s pants?”

“Well, you’re free to pay for the expedition next time.” He shut up.

I slipped the amulet over my head, cast the enchantment – it seemed to work fine down here – and began to levitate up towards the platform. The goblins pointed and jabbered as I floated across the arena, but they couldn’t reach me. When I reached the top, I realised my hunch had been right – there was another door up here. I turned back towards the small figure on the other side of the cave, and waved as hard as I could.

A minute later I was joined by a scowling Calvus. He did look deliciously silly in those pants, I have to say. “Stylish,” I said, nodding approvingly, and he looked as if he’d like to strangle me. “So, shall we proceed?”

“Okay.” He cast a backward glance at the cavern entrance, far below us. “I just hope we have enough of those enchantments to get back again.”

Unfortunately, if we’d thought we could avoid having to do much fighting this way, we were very wrong. The narrow, rock-strewn passage leading to the goblins’ lair was more heavily guarded than anywhere we’d been so far. The first thing we encountered was a heavy-set goblin patrolling with a durzog, and no sooner were they both defeated (with great difficulty), then another one came barrelling up to us from further along the passage. Calvus’ leg had been injured by a durzog bite, so I had to finish off the second goblin while he healed himself. By now we were both exhausted, and our weapons and armour badly needed repair.

“We need to stop and rest for a while,” I said. Calvus agreed, so we retreated to the ledge at the top of the arena and set up a makeshift camp. It was very narrow and there was barely enough room to sit down, let alone start a fire (not that we had any wood anyway) or set out bedrolls. “Take off your pants,” I told Calvus, as he glugged a stamina potion.

He just looked at me. “So that I can mend them,” I said in exasperation.

He did as I said, probably a bit relieved to be rid of them. Whilst I tried to darn the tear in Peakstar’s scuzzy pants – now decorated with extra bloodstains – he did the best he could with armourer’s hammers. At last, once we’d rested, eaten and repaired as much as we could, we braved the passageway once again.

A little way in we found a small alcove containing some useful loot, including restoration potions and enchanted arrows. Further along were more goblin guards, amidst a bunch of old ruins that looked dangerously close to collapsing on top of us. When we finally reached the heavy stone door at the end of the passage, I wasn’t sure whether to feel relief or dread.

But the moment we got through the door, I stopped feeling either of those things because I was too busy coughing and choking. Whoever lived here had clearly gone to the Morag Tong School of Interior Decoration: lots of eerie hanging lights that glowed an evil-looking red and billowed clouds of smoke all over the place. Our coughs and splutters naturally attracted the attention of nearby goblins, and we had to fight them while trying desperately to keep our lungs intact. This was definitely turning into one of those ‘never again’ missions.

Once we could breathe again and the goblins had been dealt with, Calvus and I started to explore this new building. It looked like the remains of an old Indoril manor, a little like the one in the Dark Brotherhood lair. There wasn’t much furniture left, but a few books had been left lying around on benches and shelves, so clearly someone in this place was intelligent and literate.

What puzzled me and Calvus was that we could still hear goblin grunts and footsteps from somewhere in the building, even though no goblins were visible. The sounds died away in some parts of the building, and grew louder in others. “We must be getting closer,” I whispered to Calvus, as we crept down one of the corridors. “Hang on, sounds like they’re somewhere down belo-”

At that moment the ground gave way beneath me. For a second I teetered on the edge of a massive hole in the manor floor, one foot on solid ground, the other hovering over thin air. Just as I began to topple forward, I felt Calvus grab me around the waist from behind. Time slowed to a crawl as it seemed that both of us might go over; finally, Calvus’ weight tipped the balance and he fell backwards in a heap, with me on top of him.

Both of us sat there gasping for breath, more than a little shaken. “Oof,” I muttered.

“Oof,” Calvus agreed.

His arms were still clasped tightly around my waist. It wasn’t a wholly unpleasant feeling, and I might have been happy to stay there for a while if it hadn’t been for… other considerations. “Er, Calvus…”

“Oops. Sorry.” He released me from his grasp, sounding a bit embarrassed.

I crawled forward and peered over the edge of the hole I’d nearly fallen through. It was a long way down, and I could see goblins wandering around on the floor below. If the fall itself hadn’t killed me, no doubt they’d have happily finished me off.

“That was a trap.” I turned back to Calvus. “Someone set that deliberately, and no way was it the goblins.”

He frowned. “You think there’s anything in this theory of the Altmer trainers?”

“I don’t know, but there’s definitely someone running this operation.” I hauled myself to my feet. “Thanks, by the way. I’d have hurt more than my pride if I fell down there.”

“No problem.” He seemed reluctant to meet my eye for some reason. “So, what now? Do we try to find a way down?”

I shuddered. “Let’s just look for a way out. If there’s anything important down there, there has to be another way to reach it.”

We managed to locate the exit, which led us into another of those old residential areas, buried underground since the First Era. Fragments of walls, columns and balconies were still standing amongst the piles of fallen rock. One of the buildings in the distance was relatively intact, with what looked like a serviceable door. I had a pretty good idea of what was inside there – more goblins – but it wasn’t like there was anywhere else to go.

Calvus and I crept along the ancient ‘street’, keeping close to the ground to avoid being seen by the goblins we could hear in the distance, and finally reached the door. Inside we found ourselves in another long corridor belonging to some ancient mansion – this one, luckily, free of those horrible smoky lights. If only it had been free of goblins as well.

By the time we’d fought off another couple of green-skinned bruisers, Calvus and I were feeling seriously exhausted. We were on the point of deciding to just go home for the night, and come back tomorrow when we were feeling more refreshed. Just as we were debating this, we heard a sudden clatter in the distance – followed by a very un-goblin-like voice swearing in Tamrielic.

“Crap.” I turned to Calvus. “That wasn’t a goblin.”

“Damn right. You got any charge left on that invisibility amulet?”

I examined my Amulet of Shadows. It was good for a couple more uses, but after that it would need time to recharge. I wished I’d thought to buy some filled soul gems before we came down here.

With the help of the Amulet, I set out on a quick recon mission. It didn’t take long to find our targets – not one but two High Elves, standing guard in a small room near the back of the mansion. They were standing up, facing right in my direction, and clearly on high alert – they must have our scuffles with the goblins a few minutes back.

Now your average Altmer is at least a foot taller than your average human, but makes up for it by being skinny and generally fragile. Not these ones. These guys had muscles that would have been fairly impressive on an Orc. One of them was dressed in Orcish armour and packed a hefty war axe; the other had some kind of longsword strapped to his belt. I was not looking forward to fighting them, especially if they had your typical Altmer’s skill in magic.

After making a note of their position, I hot-footed it back to Calvus. “So,” I said. “Two massive Altmer, facing right this way, armed to the teeth. What do you suggest?”

“Um… Bring reinforcements?”

We exchanged a rueful glance. “Not much chance of that,” I said, stating the obvious. “Unless we want to trek back to the entrance and try to get Hloggar to sober up for a few minutes. I don’t suppose there’s any chance we might be able to reason with them?”

We both knew the answer. I guess there could have been some entirely innocent reason why they were hiding out in a sewer under the royal palace, training up an army of homicidal goblins… but let’s face it, it wasn’t very likely. Certainly not enough to make it worth giving them the benefit of the doubt.

After a very quick discussion, we decided to try the same tactic we’d used against Dilborn’s kidnappers earlier that day – only this time we couldn’t risk leaving the men alive. Firstly Calvus, using my Chameleon amulet, snuck up behind the Altmer and paralysed them both by pricking them with his jinkblade. With very little time left before the spell wore off, we hurriedly unbuckled their armour and stabbed them in the heart as they stood frozen and defenceless. It was quick and relatively clean, but it left a nasty taste in the mouth.

As I lowered my victim to the ground, closing his blank, staring eyes so that I didn’t have to look at his expression, Calvus began to examine the other man’s body. “Look at this, Ada,” he said suddenly. I turned to see him drawing the dead man’s weapon from its scabbard – a fine ebony longsword. My breath caught.

I took the ebony blade from Calvus, turning it over in my hands. It was an incredibly beautiful weapon, the kind I’d always dreamed of owning. What was more, it was a very powerful one – more than deadly enough to make up for the extra weight and lack of enchantment. I glanced from the Altmer’s lifeless body to the tiny fractures which were starting to appear in my own glass blade, and sighed.

For the second time that day, necessity trumped honour. As I buckled the ebony longsword around my waist, I could only hope that the Altmer’s spirit was safely in Oblivion and didn’t have any unfinished business.

Calvus took the dead man’s Orcish tower shield for himself – fair’s fair, after all – and straightened up. “So, the trainers are dead. Is that it? We can go home now?”

“Hang on a moment.” I fished my journal out of my bag. “Hler said something about warchiefs… yes, two goblin warchiefs. As well as the trainers.”

“Oh, gods. Well, if they’re not here, where are they?”

There was a long silence. “Let’s just get some rest, shall we?” I said at last. “We’ll have more energy to hunt down the warchiefs tomorrow.”

Since neither of us wanted to spend the night with two corpses in a room that stank of fresh blood, we had to look for another campsite. A small room down the corridor had a bedroll set up – dirty, and stinking of goblin – and was easily defensible. We agreed to bed down here and take it in turns to watch as the other slept. I was supposed to go first, but for some reason, sleep just wouldn’t come.

“Something up?” Calvus asked, after watching me toss and turn for a while.

“I…” I hesitated. “You ever hear the story about a warrior who died, and when his spirit crossed over into Oblivion, he found all these other souls waiting for him? Of the people he’d killed in his lifetime?”

Calvus gave me a long, sideways look. “Don’t tell me you’re feeling guilty about killing those Altmer bastards. They were training goblins, for crying out loud.”

“Yeah, but…”

Calvus sighed. “You Nibenese think too much. You start letting yourself worry about these things, one of these days you’re going to freeze up in battle, and the other guy will slit your throat. And he won’t feel guilty, I can tell you that.”

I couldn’t help smiling at the first part of this. It was certainly the first time anyone had ever accused me of ‘thinking too much’. But while he had a point, I just couldn’t bring myself to feel comfortable with killing people in cold blood. If I started to think like that, I might as well join the Dark Brotherhood.

Suddenly I found myself badly wishing that Varvur were here. He’d have understood, and even if he didn’t agree, he wouldn’t have made fun of me for saying those things. I might sometimes tease him about his Redoran stuffiness, but there were times when it was good to have someone around who took you seriously. Gods, I missed him – and not just for the obvious reasons.

I dreamed of him after I fell asleep, but it wasn’t a happy, loving dream. He was yelling at me, and brandishing a book – the journal I’d left for him to read in Bal Isra.

“You lied to me!” he was shouting. “Again! You weren’t just a Blade, you were a spy for the Hlaalu!”

Since this was pretty much true, I couldn’t exactly deny it. Varvur took a step towards me, his face twisted with rage. “You stole a skull from a Dunmer tomb to give to a NECROMANCER? You impersonated a DEAD REDORAN so you could STEAL NEMINDA’S ORDERS?!!”

At that moment I woke up, gasping. Oh sweet Mara, what an idiot I’d been! Why hadn’t I remembered there was so much incriminating stuff in that journal? I’d hoped it would help him to understand why I’d worked for the Blades – but when he’d finished reading about everything else I’d done, he’d probably be ready to carve me into pieces. Maybe he already had. Maybe he already was.

“You OK?” Calvus asked, seeing me staring blankly at the wall.

“Uh. Yeah.” I tried to collect my thoughts. “Bad dream, that’s all. Guess it’s your turn now.”

He settled down on the bedroll without further comment. The next few hours seemed to last forever. I couldn’t stop thinking about the dream, or imagining what Varvur might be doing and thinking right now. By the time Calvus woke up, I was feeling almost as tired as I had before I went to sleep.

“Come on then,” I said wearily, after we’d eaten and equipped ourselves. “Let’s get this over with. Hopefully the warchiefs aren’t too far from here.”

Outside in the underground ‘streets’, we found more goblins milling around. I managed to take out a couple with enchanted arrows which I’d sensibly bought before the mission, but the others came charging at us and we had to fight hand-to-hand. It didn’t help that I wasn’t exactly on top form. Azura’s ring kept my strength up, but I wasn’t concentrating very well, and at one point I narrowly avoided slicing through Calvus’ neck with a clumsy sword-stroke.

After fighting our way through more twisty passages, we found ourselves back in a sewer area with two exits. Choosing the nearest one took us into another cave system, this one with waterfalls gushing from some kind of underground stream. It would have been quite nice to look at if we’d had the time.

“This area is called the ‘Tears of Amun-Shae’,” Calvus said, consulting his map.

“Any mention of goblin reserves here?”

“Nope.” He folded the map. “But unless I’m imagining things, these guys are getting tougher. I’m guessing we’re close to finding the leaders now.”

He was more right than he ever thought. Within less than a minute of walking through, we rounded a corner and found ourselves facing the biggest, toughest, meanest-looking goblin I’d ever seen. The moment it set eyes on us, it let out a murderous growl and sent a massive Posion spell whizzing in our direction, which we only just managed to dodge. When I looked back, it had torn up a huge boulder from the ground and was preparing to hurl it in our direction.

I’m not ashamed to say that we ran. We didn’t stop until we were some way back into the sewers, and were sure that the goblin wasn’t following us. “Phew,” Calvus panted. “Think that was one of the warchiefs?”

“If not, I dread to think what the actual chiefs are like.” I shook my head. “I’ll be honest, Calvus. I’m not sure we can handle that one. If it’s both of us against him, we’d have a chance, but if he has reinforcements…”

“Mmm. Think he has any weaknesses?”

I closed my eyes, trying to think. “Hang on. Do you think, if we both tried to lift that boulder, we could lob it at him?”

“Dunno. You’re the one with the super-strength gauntlets.”

“Well, it’s worth a try.” I patted my Amulet of Shadows. “Time to get transparent!”

Under cover of invisibility, we returned to the caves and crept up behind the warchief. It was pacing the corridors, glancing around suspiciously, and I couldn’t help feeling nervous in case it saw through the enchantment. As soon as its back was turned, Calvus and I seized our chance. We lifted the boulder, with a certain amount of grunting and groaning – luckily the Chameleon enchantment masked sound as well – and hurled it as hard as we could at the goblin’s head.

This was probably the hardest-headed creature you’d ever see, but even it couldn’t survive a blow like that. It went down like an ugly green bowling pin. Calvus and I exchanged a triumphant smile and headed quickly back to the sewers before any more goblins could arrive.

Not wanting to waste the charge on my amulet, I used an Invisiblility potion to scout out the rest of the cave. This time I went in the other direction, and luck was with me: the other warchief was only a short way away. But it had company.

“This one has a durzog with it,” I told Calvus once I got back to the sewers. “We can use the boulder trick again, but we need to get out quickly afterwards.”

We re-cast the Chameleon enchantment – not much charge left now, so we’d have to work fast – and managed to carry the boulder through the corridors to the other warchief. By the time we reached him, the spell was about to wear off.

“Quickly,” I whispered to Calvus. We lifted the boulder one last time and, with a final effort, heaved it at the goblin. As both of them smashed into the ground, the durzog whirled round with a ferocious growl, snapping at the air and straining to see where the boulder had come from.

At that exact moment, the enchantment wore off. Calvus, who was wearing my Divine Intervention amulet, quickly cast the spell – and I did the same with my Almsivi amulet. But before the spell could take effect, the durzog had launched itself straight at my face.

There was a moment of pain and sheer heart-stopping terror before the Intervention took effect. I found myself in the Temple courtyard, bleeding from deep scratches where the creature’s claws had dug into my face, and looking and smelling like – well, someone who’d been battling goblins in a sewer for two days. A few passers-by stared at me in astonishment and barely-disguised horror. I healed myself and stood there, feeling a bit embarrassed, waiting for Calvus to join me.

“Guess where I ended up?” he asked, when he finally arrived. “Right in the middle of the Palace. I’d forgotten that was where the nearest Imperial shrine would be.” Then he spotted the blood on my face. “You okay?”

“Just about. That thing nearly took my nose off.” I tried to wipe my face, and just ended up smearing the blood everywhere.

We didn’t go straight into the Temple – that might have looked suspicious. Besides, I needed a bath and everything else took a very definite back seat to that. By the time we’d got ourselves clean, fed and watered, I was ready to go back to bed.

“Just one thing,” Calvus said, as I settled back on my pillow. “Who’s Varvur? You said his name when you were having that ‘bad dream’.”

I sighed, steeling myself for the inevitable. “My fiancé.”

“The Redoran bigwig?” I nodded. “So why isn’t he here in Mournhold with you?”

“I told you. It’s complicated.”

“Well, I wouldn’t leave my girl to tackle the Dark Brotherhood by herself.” He shrugged. “Just saying.”

My eyes were beginning to smart, and I rolled over so that he wouldn’t see my expression. Why did he have to remind me of Varvur? Every time I thought of him now, I felt my throat tighten and my chest ache painfully.

I thought of him again after I got up and Calvus went to bed. I was quite used to being around hunky warrior guys, but seeing his shirtless body sprawled across the bed made me long for Varvur’s. It was hard to be away from my boyfriend for weeks on end, while sleeping in the same room as another attractive man. I wondered if Calvus did have a ‘girl’, and whether he was finding it hard as well.

After breakfast, we went to see Fedris Hler at the Temple. He seemed a little surprised to see us there at all, let alone to hear our story.

“You’ve killed the warchiefs and their Altmer trainers? And you live to tell the tale...” He nodded slowly. “Interesting. And surprising.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Surprising?”

“Perhaps I’ve underestimated you, Ada.” He shrugged. “Rest assured, it won’t happen again.”

I’ll say, I thought. Why couldn’t people get it through their heads that I was the Nerevarine? Okay, so that had been a tough mission, but it was a piece of cake compared to the Ash Vampires.

Hler cleared his throat. “Take this as a token of our Lady’s appreciation. Well done… and don’t forget to come back once you’re done with Helseth’s tasks. We may well have more work for you.”

Once outside, I opened up the money-pouch he’d given me, and could barely suppress a gasp. If I was correct, I counted 150 hundred-septim coins, gleaming brightly. Fifteen thousand septims.

“Zenithar be praised,” Calvus breathed. “That’s, what, seven-and-a-half thousand each? I could retire on that!”

He might have been exaggerating a bit, but I knew what he meant. Even considering how wealthy I was now, that amount of money was nothing to be sniffed at.

Calvus was pawing the coins greedily. “Screw Helseth and his chicken-feed. We need to do more work for this guy!”

“Oh, definitely.” I closed the pouch with a reluctant sigh. “We’d better see what the King’s people want first, though. Otherwise they might get suspicious.”

He nodded. “Do you think those actually were the warchiefs we killed? I mean, it’s not like they had it stamped on their foreheads.”

“Well, if they weren’t…” I sighed again. “Sod it. Hler can deal with them himself.”

We went our separate ways after that. Calvus wanted to kit himself out with some better armour, and I went to Sunel Hlas’ store to buy provisions. To my immense astonishment, the normally gloomy Sunel was all smiles and cheerfulness.

“Ada!” he exclaimed, as soon as I approached. “It’s good to see you again. I hope your business in Mournhold has prospered?”

“Er, yes,” I said, wondering just what kind of happy-potions he’d been guzzling. “Very much so.”

At that moment I heard soft footsteps on the floor above, and looked up to see Marena Gilnith standing at the top of the stairs, wearing a nightdress. When she saw me she retreated quickly, her cheeks turning pink. Oh.

“I take it the date went well?” I said to Sunel.

He shook his head. “Ada, I don’t know what to say. Marena is just what I needed in my life, but without your help, I’d have been too blind to see it. Thank you so much.”

“That’s quite alright,” I murmured. Another triumph for my matchmaking skills, I guess. Who’d have thought it?

Sunel was looking a bit embarrassed. “I know it’s wrong to offer you something, as if in payment, but I want you to take this. It’s sort of valuable, I guess, except that no one has ever wanted it, and… well, just take it and think of me. Or something.” He coughed. “I don’t know. I’m not very good at this sentimental stuff.”

He handed me a large, very weird-looking sword. “It’s called the BiPolar Blade,” he explained. “It’s got two different enchantments that cancel each other out. Not much use for fighting, but it’s quite famous, so it’s probably valuable? I… guess you could sell it, or something?”

“I’m sure I’ll find some use for it,” I said. “Thank you very much, Sunel.”

At that moment Marena appeared again on the stairs, wearing a robe, and beckoned me to join her. I went upstairs, feeling a bit uncomfortable about going into Sunel’s private quarters. But the look on her face made it all worthwhile.

“I have to thank you for helping me to find Sunel,” she said, in her soft voice. “At first, his attitude was a little off-putting. But as we talked, I really got to know him, and he’s just so kind. He’s had some bad experiences, but I know we can work through them.”

“I’m really happy for you, Marena,” I said sincerely. It was always nice to know I’d genuinely been able to help someone. Much better than lopping goblins’ heads off, even if it was less exciting. Sigh… maybe I ought to have chosen a different career?

I left the two of them together, hoping very much that they’d be happy. If I got the time, I might go to Mara’s shrine to say a quick prayer for them; meanwhile, I had revenge to plot. And relationship problems of my own to deal with. Sigh…

Welcome back Helena!!!!

Ah, our Neveragaine is everagaine in all kinds of romantic trouble!!!

Hello again, Foxy! Glad to see someone is still reading this. I'll try and update more frequently in future.

More than one person is still reading it.

I never did figure out what the Bipolar Blade was good for.