Vera heard out the possibly cause of death, and began to process a handful of different causes and scenarios. One was this one was killed by another of his kind, but that would yield more questions than answers and Vera wasn't feeling very investigative. She had no desire in spending time solving a mystery if there was no money to be made. Perhaps, if she was younger and more adventurous, but in these present times everything has a price.

Suicide was another potential reason. Many of the afflicted couldn't bear to live with themselves, so they sought to end their lives prematurely. She couldn't imagine they would have a peaceful death, for they could not age and often the only end for those creatures were violenent ones.

She looked at the sun, and then looked back at the dust. Last sunrise, maybe?

"Maybe this one took its own life," Vera said after a moment. "Some can't take the stress of surviving off the flesh and blood of overs. It gets to them, and they rather die than live an eternity of misery."

But she didn't dwell too much on it. A greater part of her said it was killed.

Vera looked at Kayla, and glanced casually at Aravi. "I'm heading to the cave. If this one got hit with the rays of the sun, then the others are safe in their cavern. If we corner them in their own lairs, we can deal a heavy blow. Flush them out into the open if we can or just drive a blade into their flesh.'

Kayla cracked her knuckles absently. After a few breaths, she said to the other two women, "I think we should corner them. If we flush them out, they could find some shade and head to the inn, or find a nearby settlement."

She stared at the remains for a few seconds, then looked back at the other two. "What do you say?"

"Let's get them," Aravi agreed. "Which way is the cave? North?"

Abiene was lost in thoughts of her own, and never responded. Maxical sat in uncomfortably still silence, not sure if movement would be a further disturbance to the inner turmoil the pretty Breton was obviously mulling over. It was a relief when Eyja sidled up and poked her in the back.

"Come on, my friend will be waiting."

With a quick apology to Abiene for disturbing her peace, Maxical slid quietly from the bench and followed Eyja down the side hill, then turning to follow the westerly winding road toward Chorrol.

Maxical murmured an apology and slipped away with her Nord friend.

Divines, thought Abiene, I’ve been so rude! I hope Maxical can forgive me.

The two women headed toward Chorrol.

Perhaps I can catch them on the road.

Abiene collected her things from the inn, cast a spell to quicken her steps, and hurried after them.

Irvana yawned beneath the covers, nestled above a soft pillow. Her eyes opened, and she hastily discarder the silk cover and swung over the side of the bed. Sitting down, she rubbed her eyes and blinked. She had her rest, and it was good. She was restored to health by a day’s long slumber.

She looked at herself on the vanity and marveled at the sight; her skin seemed moist, radiant, a veil of black hair falling down the sides. Unlike the sight of a woman who was attacked by bloodthirsty vampires.

The room remained unchanged since she last saw many hours ago. The tablecloth was still stained with wine, and a small bottle stood half empty among used spoons and bowls. Despite his love for a clean enviornment, Hethilion no doubted must respect the privacy of the tavern's patrons. This did not bother her at all.

With a fresh mind, she flexed her fingers and headed over to the door. She unlocked it, and opened it and peeked outside. She couldn’t hear too many commotion going on, and the distant sounds of crickets told her it was already night time.

Irvana stepped out of her room, and headed downstairs dressed in a fresh draping made of burgundy linen that was provided for her before her bath. Gold-trimmed shoes comfortably clothes her feet as she made each step.

She walked down the stairs, her hand sliding on the armrest as she looked about for who might be working at this time.

“Hello?” She called.

The strangest sounding footsteps she had ever heard caused Maxical to spin around, then gape at the sight of the Breton woman Abiene as she sped toward them. Maxical had never seen anyone move so fast, and stopped short to watch.

"How did you do that? Is it a spell? Can you teach me?"

Eyja groaned. "Use it on me even once and it'll be the last time you are able to cast for a while."

Maxical flushed beet red. She actually had pictured Eyja barreling down the road instead of her slow stroll that always caught the men's eyes. Still, it would be funny to use in town and see people galloping around.

Abiene, on the Black Road

Abiene brushed a stray curl out of her eyes. “I’d be happy to teach you, Maxical. It’s an apprentice level spell to fortify a person’s speed, though I often use it under a veil of invisibility at times when dashing through the streets might raise an eyebrow. I’ve used it since my university days. Otherwise I’d always be running late.” She smiled up at Maxical’s friend. “Also it helps me keep up with long-legged Nords. Are you two walking to Chorrol? May I join you?”

Abiene reached out to give Maxical’s arm a quick squeeze. “I apologize for my poor manners earlier. I let my thoughts overtake me.”

Auguste

Lleris cleared the last of the plates away. Auguste wiped the bar, checking his remaining customers to be sure they all had something in their cups.

“Dancing Day is a Breton vanity,” Bograk declared, continuing their argument.

Auguste glanced over at his employer. She stood with her arms crossed and a tankard in one hand. Her expression was unreadable but her tone conveyed mounting annoyance.

“We could bring it to County Chorrol as a new traditional,” said Auguste. “We already have the tents, and Laegon could provide the music. You could sell all of the ale in the cellar, I’d wager.”

Bograk snorted. “The tents just dried out from Mid-Year Celebration, and we won’t be getting more ale until the end of next week. What would you pour until then if I let you empty the barrels in one night? There’s more to running an inn than picking up the coins that are right in front of you.”

Auguste ground his teeth. She isn’t completely wrong, he admitted. It was hard to take lessons from an orc.

“Bring this up to me again Rain’s Hand next,” she said. “Then Riad will have time to place an order.” Bograk dropped a heavy hand onto his shoulder. “And remember we’ll host a fair for Merchant’s Festival. That should bring in travelers and locals alike.”

Auguste tried not to stagger under her reassuring gesture. “Yeah.”

“Hello?” came a voice from the stairs.

It was Irvana.

Irvana stepped down the stairs at the noise of voices. As she climbed down with a carefully measured pace, she saw the tavern's workers there together. The Breton, the Orc and the Dunmer. No immediete sign of Stefania, however.

She brushed aside a rogue strand of black hair, and walked up the bar with a charming smile as she greeted everyone around her. "Evening."

She said as she took a seat at the front of the bar, and set her hands delicately upon it. For the fraction of a moment when coming down the stairs she seized up the workers there once more, as she did the night before. An insconspicious analysis, as she called it.

The Orc woman might have had the largest hands Irvana remembers seeing. It was large enough to fit around the throat of a man. The club at her side was a menacing weapon for one's eye to look upon it. It was made of wood, and dressed with metal rims brandishing sharp spiked that could easily puncture the skin of one, and kill them in one fierce blow. But would an Orc woman use such violence? Only if nescessary. Irvana was aware that a club could also be used in a non-fatal way such as using the very head of it to knock an unruly patron unconscious. Nevertheless, it was quite the weapon.

Not something I would personally use, she reflected. Plenty of ways to kill or maim someone . . .

The Breton man was there also, and he had a habit of constantly wiping the bar. He didn't seem all that tired, and Irvana suspected he either drank potions to keep himself working, or he must have taken a bit of rest in the morning or in the early afternoon. From what Stefania told her, perhaps not every worker here worked all day. Only few taverns allow such a thing.

The Dunmer was an odd one. Irvana remembered seeing him last night when she came in. He still had that wide-eyed look about him, as if he'd drank a dose of skooma. Unlike the Orc, who had that imposing look that could frighten off grown men, the Dunmer seemed cheerful and happy.

Irvana smiled to them, showing a set of white teeth that made her face shine with sympathy. "How does the night find you?" she asked no one in particular.

Maxical flushed in embarrassment. "I'm the one that should apologize. I disturbed your thoughts. It's just...you kind of looked sad, I thought you might want them disturbed. I'd love to learn the spell if you don't mind, being able to move faster would be a big help to me."

She poked Eyja in the side. "Eyja, this is Abiene. She is a friend of Jerric's."

Eyja seemed to make a point of visibly sizing up Abiene, then tried to mitigate the offense by giving one of her cheeky grins and hiking one eyebrow at the pretty Breton. "Are you the healer I'm supposed to be finding? I seem to have contracted a few unwanted passengers from my stay at the Gray Mare, you wouldn't happen to have a cure for that, would you?"

Maxical gasped and turned beet red, taking a leap back from Eyja that put her a good distance away. "Dear gods! Wait, I thought you said you were staying with a friend? What were you doing at the Gray Mare?"

Abiene

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” said Abiene. “Sometimes I just have one of those sad kinds of faces.”

Maxical introduced her friend, and Eyja looked Abiene over as if taking measurements. Competition, or is she interested?

Before Abiene could really start to wonder, the Nord gave her a disarming grin. “Are you the healer I'm supposed to be finding? I seem to have contracted a few unwanted passengers from my stay at the Gray Mare, you wouldn't happen to have a cure for that, would you?”

Abiene opened her mouth and then closed it again, afraid she would laugh. It was too soon to guess at this woman’s sense of humor. And Nords were admittedly more prone to body parasites than other races. She may not be jesting.

Maxical leaped away as if she had been scalded. “Dear gods! Wait, I thought you said you were staying with a friend? What were you doing at the Gray Mare?”

“Oh my,” said Abiene. “Are the passengers external? A mild shock spell should do the trick, and then I’d be happy to heal any remaining irritation. A potion with a slight shock effect would also be effective. I’m afraid I don’t have one on me, though. Shall I shock you? It’s not a healing spell, but… well if you know Jerric then I don’t need to explain.” Abiene felt her face heat. That sounds like I’m confessing something. “I mean, not that I’ve ever— That is to say, I’ve had some practice—” Abiene had a sudden thought. “Wait, is Jerric at the Gray Mare?”

*

Maxical:

Maxical gaped at Abiene's jumbled medley of half sentences, it sounded like Maxical herself did when she had a guilty conscience. What was that all about? When the girl faltered to a stop Maxical broke in before Eyja could respond, holding her hand up and straight out as if trying to ward evil spirits from herself. "WAIT! If you shock them off her, aren't they going to jump on us?"

Eyja's lack of embarrassment about her condition was evident by her peal of laughter, but she was obviously just as intrigued as Maxical by Abiene's confused speech. The difference was that Eyja seemed to have come to some conclusion over it. Her eyes had flickered an instant understanding and then amusement after Abiene's last blurted question about Jerric.

Eyja's eyelids dropped halfway over her eyes in a sleepy way that put her at her most sultry look, the one that made Maxical's stomach feel like butter melting. It was the look Eyja always used when she was trying to get information from someone, why was she using it on Abiene? The girl had already told her how to get rid of those critters.

Eyja raised one of her mobile eyebrows twice rapidly at Abiene, then gave her an even longer and slower appraisal than she had on first meeting her. She covered a fake cough, and in a voice that sounded too innocent to be believed she asked Abiene, "Is Jerric a tallish Nord?"

Maxical gaped at Eyja, wishing she could throw a bucket of water on her. Why was she acting that way?

Eyja glanced at Maxical's aghast expression and brayed out a laugh, then gave Abiene one of her boyish grins that just missed being contrite and made a lie of her apology. "Sorry. Just playing around. A man that rode into the stables just now challenged me that I couldn't make you blush. Scaring Maxical was just a bonus."


*

Abiene

Abiene laughed, bringing her palms up to feel her cheeks. “It’s not easy to make a healer blush, but you did it!”

Eyja had one of those smiles that promised more mischief. Abiene felt her troubles lifting. Maxical and her friend were lively company.

“Anyway, all of you Nords are tall to me. You’d know if you’d met Jerric. The first thing he’d say is ‘I’m Jerric.’ And he’d be looking right here. He’d introduce himself to your bosom.”

Abiene kept her focus on Eyja’s twinkling eyes to keep herself from making the same blunder.

“Will you be in Chorrol long? Are you really staying at the Mare? I’ve heard folk say there’s something shady going on at the Oak and Crosier, but I have no idea what they mean. It seems like a nice place to me.”

*

Eyja grinned, indicating Abiene’s flushed cheeks. “I just earned a Septim the easy way.”

“Dear gods, Eyja!” The heat rose in Maxical’s cheeks too, but instead of the maidenly blush Abiene had achieved her entire face reddened to a shade a tomato might hope to achieve.

Since Eyja’s blouse was deliberately low cut to display as much of her huge breasts as possible without baring them completely, Maxical could readily believe Jerric (or any other man that crossed their path) wouldn’t be the able to stop staring at them. Eyja readily confirmed Maxical’s thought aloud to Abiene.

“That wouldn’t make him different from any other man I’ve met, I’ll need a better description than that.” Eyja gave her cheekiest grin.

Maxical moved back in closer and dug her elbow into Eyja‘s side. “No wonder they look. That blouse is so low cut it looks like someone is bent over mooning on your chest. They’re probably all just watching in anticipation that one wrong movement would reveal everything.” She turned to Abiene.

“I’ve heard that about the Oak and Crosier too! Eyja and I overheard two men talking about it not an hour ago outside the Inn. They said some thief had broken in there and when he was arrested he fell on his knees and thanked the guards for rescuing him. He said something evil was in the basement.”

Eyja nodded agreement at Abiene. ”They said originally it was a man that bought the Oak and Crosier decades ago, and the Publican who runs it now was just hired to wait tables. Next thing you know she's working behind the bar, and not long after that they married. Then shortly..."

Maxical interrupted. "Then the owner just up and disappeared soon after they wed!"

Eyja dug her meaty elbow into Maxical’s side. “Quit interrupting!” She turned back to Abiene. "He supposedly went away on a business trip over a decade ago and never returned. The Legion...”

“They think she killed him and buried him in the basement!” Maxical interjected.

Eyja covered Maxical's mouth tightly with one hand. “The Legion sent in one of their top investigators pretending to be a traveling merchant. After the Publican went to sleep he searched the place. When the investigator went into the basement he said...”

Maxical yanked the hand off her mouth and broke in. “He said the hair stood up on the back of his neck and he got a real creepy feeling, like it was haunted down there...OW! Let go of my ponytail!”

"But the investigator couldn't find any evidence." Eyja finished, then released Maxical's ponytail.

"HMPH!" Maxical flipped her freed ponytail to the other side so Eyja couldn't reach it, then turned back to Abiene. "I won't be caught dead at the Gray Mare. I heard they really do have fleas in their beds, and no bathing facilities. Eyja said her friend who lives in Chorrol will let me stay with them. I'm kind of low on Septims right now."


*

"Just fine," the Orc woman replied to Irvana. The others returned the same, but in different words. It seemed the night was the same old night they had for days. People come and go, they serve, and chat and tease and make plans amongst themselves. It ws tranquil. There was none of that loud tavern noises that Irvana came to know few times in the course of her life. This was much more soothing and friendly, and it suited her just fine. The less violence, the better.

"How are you feeling?"

Irvana turned her gaze to the Breton man. She smiled and sucked her lips in. "Better. Much better."

And then she remembered that the two women were absent. Their presence was non-existant. They were still on the hunt . . . or worse. Irvana couldn't imagine two vampire hunters slain by a pack of shrieking beasts that dwelled in those caverns but then again numbers can be overwhelming. The thought of losing them would be most . . . unbearable.

Before any of them could respond to words of improved condition, she added. "The two women. Have you heard from them?"

"Three women. The blond Imperial woman with the temper went with them."

Ah . . .

"No," the Breton said again. "They haven't returned. I'm guessing they're still out there."

That or they are sitting in plates . . . Irvana thought with a bit of regret, but out loud she said. "I hope they're safe."

"I do too," the Dunmer chimed in. "I believe they'll come back in one piece."

If they do, I hope they were succesful in executing the task.

Irvana nodded in silent agreement.

The topic brought too many negativity, and Irvana didn't feel like sticking on the topic of death for too long. Only time would tell if they came back alive, not speculation. The inn had much more to worry about.

Like, say, plans for the festival?

"I overheard you were thinking of bringing in a festival to the county," she looked at the Breton. "Red Prince Atryck's holiday would be a wonderful merriment brought to this side of Cyrodiil! I had family who spent time in High Rock and they told me so much about it. The influx of foreign people from the neighboring provinces was overwhelming. I can help sponser such an event if you truly seek to do it."

There was a bit of the girlish happiness in her voice, but she still composed herself as a mature woman. Though she didn't want to admit that she was indeed too excited to see such an event come to pass. That would be simply delightful.

Ah, Chorrol.

Stefan LeRoi took a deep breath of the clean air and stood a moment in the moonlight to appreciate the sensations he was experiencing.

The breeze caressing my skin like that of a gentle, warm maiden's trembling hands. The rustling of the soft grasses as the wind-maiden ran her loving fingers through the hairs of the earth. Her sweet breath before she laid a gentle kiss on my lips. The-

The sound of a throat clearing from behind him pulled him from his reverie. He opened his eyes and sighed, giving the woman behind him a mournful look, his dark brows knitting together.

"Must you interrupt me? It's Stefan time at the moment."

The woman behind the red cowl did not speak, only looked at him. Her light blue eyes regarded him not quite coldly, but there was little warmth behind them. Stefan often appreciated the way the leather armor hugged her body, but without knowing how her face looked, he often stopped himself from pulling the armor off in his mind.

"Shiva, one day your incessant chatter will drive me mad!" he said. She stayed silent, only staring at him. He sighed and began walking down the road, talking the whole way.

"I've got an idea for my latest book." His thick green cape rustled against a stray patch of grass as they walked down the road toward The Wobbly Goblet. Shiva stayed silent.

"Of course I'll tell you what it is. I'm so glad you asked!" He shot her a white-toothed grin, the one that disarmed many a woman in many a town. Shiva's eyes looked about instead, an odd glow in them.

She has her detect spell on. He thought. He continued anyways.

"It's about a group of friends that spend their childhood together, but an awful creature takes their memories from them when they leave the town. The twist? The creature has been feasting on the children of the town for hundreds of years. I'm going to set it nearby. I wonder if the people of Hackdirt will want to collect royalties if I use their town as inspiration."

Shiva said nothing, only cast a spell to illuminate the road ahead. Stefan again, for the umpteenth time since traveling with her, wondered what race she was. She wasn't tall enough to be a high elf, but not small enough to be a wood elf. He figured she was human, but one could never tell.

They came upon the inn, and Stefan passed the stables, as he had no horse, and threw the doors of the inn open, a wide grin on his face.

"Greetings! I desire a meal from this establishment." He sat on the barstool as Shiva took her usual place in the corner, keeping an eye out for trouble. Stefan nodded and gave a charming grin at the young raven-haired Imperial woman. She looked to be in her early twenties with a smooth face and delightfully plump lips.

"Hello." He purred. "Might I ask what your name is, my raven-haired goddess?"

Irvana was about to get a response when the front door had opened wide, and a tousled-hair man entered along with a red-robed woman that Irvana had trouble discerning her race for a moment. She had clear azure eyes that stared from an inspective face.

The man on the other hand was handsome, and wore distinct green attire that covered his body. He was human, and Irvana could guess he was an Imperial. He had the gait of a fellow with dreams, and a charmer at best. Irvana turned her attention from the two newcomers and set her eyes on the menu.

The night does bring in an array of characters . . . she wondered if people feared traveling the night now as they did many, many years ago. With all the dangerous out and about, the safest time to go would be during the day. The most malicious of creatures seem to favor the night, and only the darkest of people like witches and necromancers took to liking the dark.

But she could see that the man and the woman were simply two travelers. And by his words she could see he was very hungry, but as he approached her with that smile on his face and took a seat beside her, Irvana knew from then on that maybe this man wanted more than just food.

He fixed his eyes on her and nodded, giving her a charming smile that confirmed her initial suspicion. She’d come across many of his kind during her years, and her appearance only made them flock in like flies to the flame. Additionally, she had her own relative that was a bit of a hot-headed womanizer, though more subtle.

This one, however, went full on his seductive attempts as he gazed at her lips and smiled. Irvana did not flinch for a second, as she also studied the man. Everything about him, and after her eyes registered everything did she allow herself a slight smile, though it was more of a smirk.

He greeted her, and asked her what her name was. Irvana felt her shields go up, as natural instinct. His white-toothed smile was of course stellar, and Irvana was sure many women would be swayed. She flicked a rogue strand of black hair aside, and returned a smile that was equally as charming.

“You do me too much honor. I am no goddess,” Irvana said, and addewith a forced emphasis on her last word. “But I am flattered.”

She extended a cold hand to the man. “Irvana. And by what name do you go by?"

Ten years. The Dunmer thought to himself walking down the dusty road north to Chorrol,as he nursed a sealed urn that contained the reason he was here.

His feet began to feel the distance that had brought him here, as his eyes took in an inn near the Weynon Priory.

Don't remember that place.

For some reason his direction started to pull him there, he could smell the reason why as he neared. Burning logs, and the delectable smell of mutton that he hadn't had in over a decade. Guar, nix-hound, and other Vvardenfell creatures were fine, but they didn't compare to the tastes of home.

Perhaps less chance of being recognized here, anyways. Didn't come up this far, or this west a whole lot. He recalled his days of banditry ashamedly.

Probably think I'm an Ashlander anyways. He further thought, only to realize that he alone would probably know what that was anyways. Or just some Morrowind native... He realized the irony of the statement.

His loose, flowing garb was indeed traditional Morag Tong armor and clothing. He realized that perhaps made him a target for the local Brotherhood. He didn't care. The contents of the urn had once been a member as well. Though he wasn't the one who took it's life, he had taken the lives of plenty of other members.

But he was tired now. He wasn't here too fight, only to grieve and honor the fallen. Let come what may.

As he approached the outskirts of the Inn, a younger looking Bosmer approached him with a beaming smile.

"Good Afternoon, Sir! Welcome to the Wobbly Goblet! I'm Lowren! I'm the stablehand here, if you need anything with horses, come see me!" he started. "Uhh..do you have a horse?" He asked.

"I am..Velas...err, Sethyas. Seth is fine, if you prefer. No, I'm afraid I do not own a horse." he replied, not losing the stoic expression, realizing just how far he had actually walked.

"Well, Inn's up there, plenty of folk, food and drink right now,...if you got the coin." he smiled.

Money was the last of his concerns, as he returned the smile ever so slightly. "Sounds good."

He walked past an Argonian tending to one of the gardens, and the man stood up; stretching his back, as Sethyas passed. He gave him that neutral, calm gaze that all the Black Marsh natives seemed to possess, and nodded ever so slightly. The Dunmer returned the nod, and hoped his attire didn't offend or give the wrong message. He had freed many slaves and worked adamantly against it's institution since he was sent there. Then again, perhaps he was finally free from these misconceptions and barbaric practices while he was here.

Entering the Inn proper, he took in the residents and patrons as they did him before going about setting towards his aim. Ordering food and a room.

An Orsimer maiden approached him, introducing herself as Bograk gra-Mugshak. "I'm the proprietor of the Inn, play nice as Arbiter don't" She said bringing a hand to the very menacing club's handle, and giving an eye to his bowset and various blades.

He was so used to carrying them it didn't dawn on him that they perhaps sent a message where none was intended, he simply nodded and asked for the bill of fare and raised an eyebrow in appreciation to its selection.

"Most certainly the roast mutton, and some Tamika’s West Weald White, please." he requested. "Plus, a room for the night, if one is available." He said, as he produced a small coin bag, and produced the amount required with a small but appropriate tip.

Finally, he settled into a small table and waited for his order.

Maxical:

Eyja's head swiveled to follow the progress of a Dunmer man with an intriguing face tatoo as he made his way up to the door of the inn. "I just remembered something I meant to get at the inn."

Maxical glanced from Eyja's obvious target of interest to Abiene. The girl seemed lost in a fog of thought. Whatever was troubling her, she was too distracted to be walking alone; even if it was just the short distance to the Chorrol gates.

"Go on ahead, I'm going to escort Abiene. I think she is going to the Mages Guild in Chorrol. I'll probably be there whenever you are ready for me."

"The two of us together are a bit much for anyone this time of the morning." Eyja grinned. She gave Abiene a brief nod that went unnoticed, then set back off in the direction of the inn.

Maxical took Abiene's arm a bit protectively. "Come, Abiene. Let me help you get where you are going. Looks like you aren't well right now, I'll see you get there safely."

Eyja:

Eyja gave a quick glance around the room before spotting the Dunmer seated at one of the smaller individual tables a little farther back in the dining room. His armor was exquisite, like nothing Eyja had ever seen before. Everything about him was unusual, from the tattoo on his face to the fact that he was traveling so well armed he could have started his own war and finished it in the same afternoon.

Eyja remembered her first glimpse of Sir Damien Reynard, decades ago now. He had struck her the same way, everything about him unique when stood against other men. Who was this man? Without a doubt he came from another Province, or Eyja would have heard of him by now.

She sidled over to his table and turned at the last minute so her back was to him, but close enough that he would hear her.

"The meat here isn't that tough, no need to come so heavily armed to the table." She remained facing away from him, but turned her head back to see if her sally would bring a response from the intense Dunmer.

If he ignored her, she could walk away without the snub being witnessed by any of the other patrons, whose interest in the man's appearance was as obvious as her own; though as yet they hadn't approached him.

The Dunmer's head raised as he listened. Silent for a moment, his shoulders moved up and down as his chuckling raised.

"Aye?" He said looking over his side. "Good to know." he said as he turned around to the side.

"It's not the meat I have contest with. It's the scores of bandits on the way here. By my count, if they had united they could have taken Chorrol threefold. Pay the weapons no mind, they are of no threat to anyone. It's just a habit to carry them, and I have to provide my own security on the road." his gravelly Dunmer voice was friendly enough; if not strangely accented, it was Cyrodiilic certainly, but also heavily influenced with Dunmeri.

"I certainly wouldn't attend a formal dinner with them. Nothing beyond a traditional belt knife for bread and such." He offered, removing the ebony shortsword 'Shimsil' and placing it on the table along with his bow and quiver, the daggers; which were many, seemed too much of a pain to remove and some deeply ingrained habit seemed to refuse them being removed from his disposal.

"Sethyas Velas, formerly of Cheydinhal." he introduced himself.

"Stefan LeRoi, at your service."

He took her hand gently and lightly kissed it, then turned his attention to the door when another traveler came in. he released Irvana's hand and made mental notes of the man's appearance, jotting them down in the parchment of his memory.

The ebony sword. The robes. The extra weapons. Surely this man was a warrior of some sort.

Even if he wasn't, Stefan was already scripting the events that had led him here.

Long lost lover? No, too generic. Vengeance? Overplayed. Fallen honor?

Perfect.

Stefan's brow knit together as he watched the man's mannerisms, the young beauty beside him forgotten. A smirk raised one side of his mouth as he watched the way the man's hair brushed against his armor as he talked to the beautiful Nord woman.

Ah, a fiery affair, one night stand. I'll show that Scribonia wench how to write a novel!

He absently took a sip of the wine beside him.

Oh this is most precious . . .

Stefan LeRoi. The name evoked a series of written works in Cyrodiil that gave Irvana a good reason why she still was a fan of the works and poetry. This man's work, however, was so controversial that his books had been taken off the shelves for being downright disturbing, offensive and overwhelmingly lewd. But vulgar and offensive material is not what lured Irvana to his works. The macabre inspirations, dark tales and horrors is what attracted her to his stories.

From what she has read she understood that LeRoi took inspirations from various sources, often based on reality and true events, and molds them into his own legends with a spark of his imagination, thus crafting a yarn that has been considered either horrifically terrific to slovenly distasteful.

As the door behind her opened and another person entered, Irvana's focused was shifted from her freshly kissed hand to the man himself. She watched as he looked at the door with curiosity. His brows furrowed, and he studied the man who entered, which she already registered by the reflection on the silverware on the table.

The man who entered sat, made his order, and introduced himself to a Nord woman who initiated conversation with him. He was a Dunmer, and either a warrior or some rogue. Heavily armored to the teeth to prevent certain doom from the infestation of bandits around these areas.

Irvana had the desire to cast a smile, but she continued to look at LeRoi with her alluring eyes. Two swords is enough for her to defend herself against a pack of brigands or her own bare hands. Lightning and fire often worked best, or having them tear their own eyes out in the illusion of fear was useful, too. But as a modest young woman, killing directly was never the best way to go about things. Sometimes, doing things by oneself was too dangerous, and sometimes there were those days where people were simply dying to lend a bow or an enchanted sword to help. And that was fine, nay, it was perfect. A good reason hiring bodyguards was useful, or a mercenary-for-hire.

She blinked once and flicked aside her hair, exposing her swan-like throat. "A pleasure, Stefan. You have me sitting here curious as to what brings you to this tavern."

She bit her lip. "If you'll allow me to guess, wheels to help set your latest story into motion?"

Then came the smile, and the white set of perfect teeth of Irvana that said: Oh yes, Stefan, I know just who you are.

Eyja:

"Hail then, SethyasVelas. I am Eyja." She pounded her fist to her chest lightly in salute. Eyja's eyes fell to the blade he'd removed. Ebony, and honed sharp enough to cut a hair from the look of it. This man didn't just carry blades, he knew them.

Eyja's eyes slid expertly over the man for other weapons. The unusual cuirass blocked checking any he may have hidden higher than his waist. Her eyes scanned his waist sash and down to his boots counting hilts. Daggers, lots of them; and each as unusual as the next. Jeweled hilts, beautiful inlay and etched patterns.

One dagger is defense, this many is an expert. Eyja guessed he was a higher echelon assassin, and good at what he did.

Sitting on the seat next to him was an urn. Eyja scanned her mind for any Dunmer she'd killed that had relatives in another Province. There were none. She breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't here for her at least.

When Sethyas followed the shortsword with his bow and quiver, Eyja held out her hand to stay him from removing anymore.

"Please do not feel you must remove them. It was just a tease to start a conversation. You wear them very well, and if you remove more people will think I am holding you up."

While she talked she sized up the bow and arrows he'd laid out. The arrows were longer than any she had seen before.

The bow showed mellowing of age. This man had been using this bow for some time. Eyja made a quick calculation in her mind. The way that bow was made, and the length of those arrows; these could kill from a great enough distance that the archer would never even be seen or considered.

How strong Sethyas must be to pull that bow back. His armor and gauntlets covered the arms, but there was no doubt he was built well under that armor.

"I've no doubt the next travelers through will not be held up, I'd wager you've done Cyrodiil a service in making the roads safe for others. I'm actually tempted to take a walk south just to count bodies."

She gave a cheeky grin to distract him while she studied his face. His eyes were as intense as he was, that quiet demeanor was no act. His eyes looked tired, but not the kind of tired sleep would cure...and not too tired to act if needed.

The tattoo caught her eye again. She tried not to stare, but the tattoo...it almost looked like a black hand covering his mouth.

Eyja felt a slight shiver as that thought hit. The Black Hand. Maybe the Dark Brotherhood had sent an assassin after her. This guy looked like he could get the job done.

He had stopped after shimsil, but acquiesced at the statement.

"I needed to take them off anyways. They grow heavy." He studied her face carefully as her eyes flitted over the weapons, he took a quick glance over at the pair seated.

A Cyrodiilic-looking man seeming to flirt or otherwise engage in conversation with a woman. She pretended too keep interest in the man, he perceived. But she was a dangerous sort he suspected. There was such a thing as being *to good* of an actor. She seemed as though she could convince a Nord to buy snow.

"I doubt they will either. They seem to be rather aggressive out here. I'm more used the option being given of surrendering my gold before they attack. I even met one once, years ago that became a friend of sorts even." He replied, thinking of Nels Llendo in Pelagiad.

"But, I don't litter the countryside with them, the bodies have been taken care of." he said matter-of-factly. "Um, buried that is. As I have respect for the dead, and it would make my journey here a bit ironic if I did not." he gestured to the Urn.

He suspected that there was something on his face in what seemed like a flash of something behind her smile. He realized that there was always something on his face.

"The tattoo? Aye. It's not war paint which would have been kinder by whoever put it there. I've had it since before I walked. I didn't even know what it meant until I arrived in Morrowind, and that was only a handful of years ago. Something to do with local custom and religion apparently." he offered.

"I may not look it, but I was raised as a Cyrod. By the Stendarr orphanage as a matter of fact. Given the tattoo and the fact I was in Cheydinhal very near the border, I suspect my forebears were a very traditional type." Though he had in fact no clue to who his parents really were.

"And." he lowered his voice a bit. "They are of no threat to anyone, so long as they are of no threat to me." he said as he placed a hand gently on one of his blades, but maintained a tone in his voice making it clear that he was not issuing a threat, a friendly warning at worst, sensing some sort of discomfort. He could just have been reading too much into things.

*

Eyja raised her brows when she heard he'd buried the bandit's bodies. Not many would, unless they were covering a trail that may be followed. Even she could tell when a bandit had been killed by an expert instead of in a brawl they were overcome in. Then he mentioned Stendarr.

Her brows knit. He could be religiously inclined. He did have a quiet way about him that bespoke of someone who followed those paths. Eyja came to a quick decision. She was going to come clean with him, and hope for the best. If he was here to assassinate her, she would prefer to know it before he had one of those daggers at her throat.

"I know nothing of the Stendarr beliefs or worship. My only gods have been survival and revenge. I am no threat to you unless someone has paid for it to be so, and none have. If they did, I would give them their gold back before attempting it. I am no match for you, and know my limitations."

Eyja watched his eyes carefully before finishing her thought. "The tattoo does your face justice, it wasn't meant to be offensive if I stared. You see, I have made some enemies, and they use a black hand as a symbol of their organization. Your tattoo has the look of that black hand. My concern is that you are here for me."

He may not tell her if in truth he was here to assassinate her, but there was an unwritten honor among assassins that she hoped her honesty with him would provoke. If he was, she was going to bolt like a rabbit and hope to outrun him.


*

He raised his eyebrows in surprise as her sudden confession. Fear certainly wasn't something he was expecting he inspired, which seemed to be the motivation. Then again he knew how assassin's were. They were paranoid by nature. They expected the worst, because they caused the worst.

"Well then. I don't follow the Nine, though I'm well aware of their lore." he started.

"I'll tell you plainly. I follow Mephala." he said, seeing if she knew the implications. Whether she did or not, he continued. "This garb is commonly seen on agents of the Morag Tong in the east."

"That means I'm not here for you. Only the Dunmer under the Temple, and outland members of the Great Houses are subject to a writ of assassination. Unlike the Brotherhood, we deliver justice not indiscriminate murder." His eyes looked off to the side for a second. "Usually."

"Black Hands are an ancient symbol for all Assassins, dried blood, innocence lost, dirt from shame, hidden in shadow. The interpretations are as innumerable as the methods for their trade."

"The tattoo is actually a relief of the Tribunal Temple's symbol, indicating Mephala, notice the different shape." he said pointing to the outlines briefly. "Which wasn't my choice for it to be placed there, nor is it required upon joining the Tong. It was simply coincidence, fitting, perhaps poetic, but still coincidence."

"As far as the Brotherhood goes, well, I suppose you may say the enemy of my enemy is my friend..." he mused. "But as far as killing you; or anyone else for that matter, it is not the reason I am here. I am tired of the slaughter, and only wish to complete my duty for this funerary rite."

"You might want to use this information for leverage. Myself, I would certainly at least consider it. But, if the Dark Brotherhood learn I am here, blood will most certainly be spilled. If it happens that I am fortunate enough that it is not mine, then I might consider an attempt on your life." he finished.

"Besides. If I've learned anything, it's that anyone can die." He glanced at the urn. "I wouldn't underestimate you in that scenario, why should you underestimate yourself?"

"Armor, weapons, magic. Meaningless when death is on the line, unless you know how to use them to stop it. Read the person, and not the cards they're holding. I suspect you already do as well, anyways. No, by being open to a certain extent and folding my hand, I hope to make it clear that I'm not here for the grand game. Though, I could be either very stupid or very brave all the same." he smiled slightly.

"As far as making enemies of that magnitude; I don't know your story in that regard, but you very well could be as well. The fact that you're alive and telling me all this also speaks well of your skills. Another reason I would not be so quick to dismiss you." He said with a slight squint.

Stefan's attention was drawn back to the beauty as she spoke to him. the raven hair that framed her face set off her pale skin in the most delicious way. He found himself studying different parts of her face, memorizing each moment and storing it away.

She mentioned his book, and he gave her a grin. Ah. A fan.

"You caught my, my dear." He gave an innocent shrug and sipped the wine again. "I am, once again, finding myself roaming the Cyrodiilic countryside in search of that perfect heroine. That one woman that every man desires to bed in that fit of passion, that one woman whose beauty and charm and and wit is matched by her unforgettable beauty." He ran his eyes up and down her form briefly.

"Tell me, what do you know of daedra, dear heart?" He sipped his wine yet again and set the glass upon the bar and leaned in close so only she could hear him.

"Have you ever felt the cold, unforgiving grip of a daedra lord as they seared their desires, their longings, into your soul? Choking upon their will as it's forced down your throat, the bitterness and ecstasy of being completely dominated by someone much...more...powerful?" He whispered the last three words into her ear before pulling away, a languid smile on his face. he reached over and lightly brushed a stray lock of hair from her neck.

"You have lovely skin, dear heart. Unblemished, pure. Tell me, would you like your beauty immortalized in one of my works?"

*

Eyja:


Eyja felt the relief wash over her. He made it clear that unless she turned on him, he could be trusted.

She shook her head. "I know nothing of Mephala other than she is considered one of the good Daedra and connected in some way with the Morag Tong. What little I know of the Morag Tong is that their assassinations are only done by writ, like government contracts." She paused, glancing back at the other patrons to make sure they hadn't come closer.

"Any information I gather on others stays with me unless they become enemies; and then only use it as leverage against them to their face, blackmail. I've never turned over any innocent or friend to another for my own gain. I spoke of my gods being survival and revenge. The revenge is why the Dark Brotherhood has become my enemy. One of their members killed my sister, and I sought revenge. I was but a child when it started, made some mistakes I wish I could take back. I too am tired of the slaughter, but...you live what you have become. This is my life now, and I have to embrace it with no regrets because regrets won't change anything. As long as your blade is not intended for me, you can count me as friend should you need one. If trouble finds you, find me and we'll end it together." Eyja pounded her chest as a vow.

She indicated the urn at his side. "I take it this was a friend you cared deeply for. You have my deepest sympathies for your loss. I carried the ashes of my sister with me for the first decade, but by then the war had become my own. I finally had to let her rest and carry out the battle I started alone."


*

Irvana seemed charmed, interested and captivated by the man's charming words and seductive demenaour. She knew that he found her attractive, that much was certain. The way he set his eyes on her entire body from head to toe, and the gentle touch of pushing aside a strand of hair spoke volumes of this man just as his books did.

"Tell me, what do you know of daedra, dear heart?" Stefan asked before sipped his wine, and then he set it down to speak within inches from her face. "Have you ever felt the cold, unforgiving grip of a daedra lord as they seared their desires, their longings, into your soul? Choking upon their will as it's forced down your throat, the bitterness and ecstasy of being completely dominated by someone much...more...powerful?"

What do I know about the daedra? She asked herself. Entirely too much. Books upon books, notes over notes and novels on top of novels and experience after experience granted her a vast knowledge of the daedra. But why brag? Why tell the world one's knowledge of something when the truth can be spoken in just a few words. Words which Irvana heard come from her mouth. "I know some things about the Daedra." She confessed with a sheepish smile.

When the question came if she would be long remembered in his book, she clasped her hands together and released a light gasp. "Stefan! We've barely met and already you desire to give such a privilage to a woman you hardly know."

She wasn't complaining. Rather, making a loud observation. "I am not sure what I have done to deserve this . . . Oh, fie! I would be honored to be the instrument that will aid in your next novel."

She excused herself, raised her finger, ordered a bit of non-alcoholic drink and turned her attention and her body to Stefan LeRoi. She set her hand on the counter and rested on her elbow as she spoke. "I am a fan of your works, Stefan. They rival the bestselling novels in the empire, and though they have attracted much negative attention from the public, there are those who respect these fictional tales."

"You know," she added with eyes glowing bright with enthusiasm of a young child. "There is an old story, long forgotten in the mists of time to the majority but preserved by a handful. A legend here in Cyrodiil of a young Breton woman. It is a story meant to frighten children told by superstitious villagers but it is quite a dark tale, full of omens that speaking of it is said to rouse curses. It always intruiged me when I heard about it as a little girl despite it giving me nightmares for hours on end in the middle of the night."

"Perhaps you may want to borrow ideas from it and weave it into your story?" She drank half her cup. "Would you like to hear it?"

*

Maxical:

Maxical wrapped an arm around Abiene and guided her carefully, talking quietly to her as she did. "Come along, dearest Abiene. We will get to the Mages Guild. I think you may need healing. I can't heal at all, not even myself; or I would help you. Come along dear, not much further."

Maxical glared at the gate guards for staring interestedly rather than offering assistance. "Where is the Mages Guild here in Chorrol?"

The guard pointed straight ahead, but a large statue was in the way.

"Thanks for all your help there, yeah." Maxical fumed.





***********

Earana elbowed Honditar. "Looky looky what we have coming. Today is looking up for me already."

Honditar eyed the Khajiit steering their healer around the statue. "A white one, never seen that before."

"Looks like she's already drunk, the healer is having to all but carry her."

"You've got it wrong, Earana. She is helping the healer." Honditar hurried forward to help, followed by Earana.

"Has something happened to Abiene? Here, let us assist you."

***********




Maxical gratefully accepted the help offered without taking her eyes from Abiene's face. "She is unwell. I am trying to find the Mages Guild, can you help me? I do not know where it is." She glanced up to see two Altmer, a man and a woman.

The man slid into position on the other side of Abiene and put his arm around her the same way Maxical had. "I'll take her, give your arm a rest. My name is Honditar. My friend here is Earana."

"Thank you kindly for your assistance, Honditar." She turned to thank the Altmer woman and found the woman eyeing her like she was looking at a sweetroll. "Earana, thank you."

"Think nothing of it, my pleasure, really. What brings you to Chorrol? Will you be staying with us?"

Maxical stayed on the other side of Abiene and kept pace with the man Honditar's guiding of Abiene. She called over her shoulder to the Altmer woman, "My friend Eyja and I are staying with a friend in town."

The man Honditar gave an unreadable glance at Earana. "Looks like you'll be a guest in my house." He gave a brief smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Earana seemed to be infuriated by it for some reason. When we reached the Mages Guild porch I noticed Earana hung back in the street. Honditar held the door open while Maxical led Abiene through.

"Would you like me to wait, and escort you to my house when you finish here? Eyja knows where it is, she will come when she is good and ready if I know her."

Maxical shook her head. She didn't want to go to a strange man's house. And he kept shooting that Earana looks as if he'd won a prize in a raffle.

"Er...no, she is to meet me here. If she is delayed I'll stay in the Mages Guild. Thank you so much for your help, Honditar."

Honditar nodded and let the door close slowly between them.





***



An absolutely huge Argonian man was fidgeting nervously in the far end of the lobby while a beautiful Imperial woman seemed to be chattering his ears off, if Argonians have ears, that is.

"Hello? Hello, can someone help me please?"

The Argonian's face showed obvious relief at the interruption. "Greetings, citizen. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Miss Abiene is unwell. I think she needs a bed and a healer."

He wasn't relieved enough to help me escort Abiene, instead he insisted on seeing my identifications to enter the Guild.

"I'm graduated from the Arcane, but have not joined the Mages Guild as yet, although I plan to."

"You have declared yourself now, it is that simple. Very well. You are now an Associate of the Mages Guild. Here is your key and charter. I am Teekeeus, head of this Guild. For your first task, take Miss Abiene to the third floor, the bedroom on the far left."

Maxical gaped at him. "Isn't there anyone that can help me escort her?"

"Membership in the Guild is quite an honor, but also a responsibility. You must learn to face your tasks head on, and without complaint."

The beautiful Imperial woman was eyeing Maxical with interest. "I've heard of you, the white Khajiit. Hello, my name is Casta Scribonia, writer of..."

Maxical gasped, nearly dropping Abiene. "Casta Scribonia! You are my absolute favorite author in the entire realm! I have read every one of your books! 'Women Gone Wild' was one of my favorites, I nearly got sent down from school for reading it aloud in the dorms at the Arcane! Oh, meeting you has to be one of the greatest moments of my lifetime, I so wish Delphine was here to meet you. She is the one that got me started reading your books."

Casta beamed, opening her mouth to respond. Before she could get a word out Teekeeus interrupted.

"You have a task, Associate." Teekeeus tapped a long finger nail on the table beside him.

Maxical glanced from Teekeeus to Abiene, then longingly at Casta Scribonia. What a moment to have this happen.

"It was a pleasure to meet you Miss Scribonia. I hope to meet you again one day, and make a better impression; not babble your ears off. I'm sorry, I'm just such a big fan."

"ASSOCIATE!"

"Yes sir. Come along, Abiene dearest."

Maxical eased Abiene onto the bed and removed her shoes. She pulled the covers over her and felt her forehead.

"You don't have a fever. I think what is bothering you is in here." Maxical bumped her fist against her heart and took Abiene's hand in hers, brushing her hair gently from her face with the other hand.

"I can't heal you, but I'll sit with you till one that can comes."

Maxical leaned back in the chair, still holding Abiene's hand. "I can't believe I actually met Casta Scribonia in person!"


*

The similarities of their stories made him raise an eyebrow. For it was his own sister's remains in the Urn. She was the former member of the Dark Brotherhood.

"Well. If I come across a situation I cannot handle alone, I doubt I'd be able to return for your assistance. But, fair enough."

"You don't know of Mephala, which is good and bad." He commented. "And I know of the regret that leads to the ashen expressions and the masks we wear. I quote from the guildbook: 'The Black Glove': 'Do you have your friends and your finery, but no place to go? Do you laugh and cry, but no longer feel? Do you wear these masks? Then, perhaps, your oath and service may please the Black Glove.'

"The doctrines of my guild can be strange, even terrifying to those who don't know the true meanings behind them. Murder is a sacred art, despite being legal we maintain our traditions of secrecy and skillset...deception..." He started thinking aloud.

"It wasn't until I joined the guild that the world started to make sense to me. When I made my first kill; in self-defense mind you, what truly frightened me wasn't the the blood or the death. What frightened me was my hands. They were still, calm." he recalled with a measure of regret to his own tone.

"When I met my former tutor and master in the Tong; a traditional and native Dunmer, and priest of Mephala, he was the first person who ever told me that there was nothing wrong with me. Indeed, he called me talented. My self-loathing would not hear him of course. Not until much later. One of the first things he taught me was causality."

"Cause and effect is the only truth that lies behind our perceptions. When the rain falls, we call it good because it is beneficial for our survival. But if that same rain were to not stop in balance with our need, and caused flooding and ruined our crops, we call it bad. But the rain is still just the rain."

"In order to deceive, there must be a need. If a venomous snake were to crawl under a table with many patrons, and we knew that the sudden motion would inevitably cause at least one to be struck and likely die, the need for a deception would be present. We would immediately make a game, offering large amounts of gold for the last person who would not move, while the other secretly take care of the creature."

"These blades have two sides. One could be called good, the other bad. But it is still just what it is. It is what you do with it, that defines it's state. Otherwise, it is only what it is."

"Ruthlessness, cunning, deceit. I am capable of these things, when and where they have a need." Sethyas offered.

"But I also never do anything that goes against my own sense of honor. Maybe not sense of right and wrong. But, honor. Then again, there are some things that truly wrong, things that would not be palatable to the worst of us. If you witnessed a child slain by a soldier, would you feel nothing? Or would that Soldier be able to count his final breaths on one hand?"

"Act in accordance with your own honor, and though the world may call you what they wish, you alone know that you hold your honor. For you alone must always be with yourself. You can walk away from other people, banish them from your life, but you can never do this to yourself." he said with a sense of regret to his voice.

*

Eyja looked him fully in the face, showing him what the mask she always wore hid. Without the cheekiness and flirtation she looked like she may have decades back before all this started, a frightened child whose only tie in this world lay in the sack of ashes she cradled.

"It was like you said, no where to go. I know that mask well and have worn it long. I'd stopped feeling before I turned fifteen. A man much like your tutor pulled me from the mess I'd gotten myself into that year, but couldn't stop the war I'd started. So he taught me well how to fight it."

She shivered and when she looked back at him her face was once again the poised beauty that had approached him originally.

"None but my mentor have ever seen below that mask, till you just now. It takes me back to places I don't want to ever go again, but they are always there beneath the surface. This mask I wear; yes it is a deception needed for my job; but it is also a protection for me. It keeps me from feeling what you just saw."

Eyja took a deep breath and exhaled it before finishing what she was saying.

"Yes, I am sick of the slaughter. But have you ever wondered what you would do if not this? We who have lived this are not made for the life others enjoy. Marriage, having a home and children. That is something I have long since realized. The alternative, to hole up in an isolated cabin and spend the rest of our days in hiding and alone...I would hate that worse. So I keep working. And actually, the last years have been without killing. I am acting as bodyguard to a young girl who is in the service of Cyrodiil."

Eyja gave her boyish grin. "And must do it without her realizing I am there by commission."


*

Stefan's interest was piqued.

"Do tell, dear heart. Any story that is so horrid, that it brings ill will to those who speak of it, is worth hearing. Though, one might wonder, if the story is cursed, how was it passed down so willingly?" He gave her a genuine smile, devoid of any charm or flirtation, changing his dark eyes from piercing to playful and a split second. He showed her his own white teeth as he let out a throaty chuckle, enjoying his own observation.

He saw a flicker of something in her eyes. She's on to me. He thought. He leaned his own elbow on the bar, mirroring her movements from earlier. It's always more fun when they know. he turned his charming smile back on, still showing his own straight, white teeth.

She was a smart one. Oftentimes the younger ones didn't catch up to his game until after they woke up the next morning, his side of the bed long cooled, clutching the parchment with words describing their beauty, penned by his own hand, clutched to their breast.

"Tell me this story, dear heart, and do not leave a word out."

"What I would do?" He stop and considered, it was odd as he was...unique.

Theoretically he would live much longer than even Dunmer were supposed too. He could die by violence, but never from disease or age. In fact, if what he perceived and lived through in that Dragon Break was real, he was already 372, and not the thirty-one years of age he measured for continuity's sake. Then again, there was no way to say if all of it was real or a hallucination within the jills of Akatosh.

"If you survive long enough. All this becomes history. Ink on parchment gathering dust on a bookshelf." he thought, fingering a journal in his satchel.

"If you choose to carry it past that, you are the only one who suffers." he mused.

"There is a concept that is strange and alien to our kind. Forgiveness." he thought aloud, stroking his chin, then looked at her.

"Forgiveness is not the same thing as forgetting or accepting. I've heard it said the naive forgive and forget, the foolish neither forgive or forget, and the wise forgive, but not forget."

"When you forgive, be it yourself; which is most important, or others, you are not saying what happened was right. You are saying we are all mortal and capable of mistakes. If as a child you were too weak to prevent what happened, be grateful for the motivation it gave you to become strong."

"But, forgive yourself for being a child. It was unfair certainly, but such things should not be brought upon children in the first place. And the weak of mind and poor of spirit would only sink so low as too terrorize innocents such as these." he said with a dark tone.

"Rise above it. Aye, easier said than done, I know. But you are what you do. As actions follow thoughts, so our thoughts stem from us. The pain can make you better, or it can make you bitter. It's a choice. But we are not our thoughts, we can identify with them, act upon them, but...we can always change our mind. The gift and the burden of our Free Will."

"As to what I would do...everything. I'd be a penniless Alchemist living in a shack. I'll join a shipyard and become a dock worker. I'll sail to distant lands and take on local customs and adventure. Until I do any of these things, how can I say I wouldn't like them?"

"We....we're good at what we do. It doesn't have to define us. Though our hands may be black, they can also hold other things. A shovel, a spoon, a quill. It doesn't matter what shade we see, a scar is word written on our skin and our minds. But you are the page."

"When the time comes for this life too pass on and I must wear another set of roles like so much robes, I will. I'm free to be anything I wish. As are you."

"But, fulfill this...interesting contract. It seems you are part of something greater. Where there is need for our kind, we answer the call. We don't have to be evil. We can be a part of causality. And sometimes, death is the only answer to the question at hand. Indeed, we can be agents for a noble cause. If my hypothetical soldier were to live on, who knows what other evils he might visit upon the world? We exist for a reason. We take on the burden that other's cannot bear. I see a mixed blessing in this. Even predator's must have a predator to keep them in check, this is how I see it anyway."

*

Eyja took in everything he'd said. In many ways it could have been Foxy speaking, they were much alike in their thoughts; in their advice.

"May I live long enough that all this becomes naught but dust on a parchment then. We Nords don't have the long life expectation that you have, being Dunmer. As you said, what we do for a living shortens any expectancy we may have had. It is too late for forgiveness over the death of my sister, that time has long since passed. They don't even care why I battled them now, they only know I did and that has made me a target of theirs just as they were mine once. Now it is only survival that I continue to fight the Dark Brotherhood. One of us must survive, I want it to be me."

Eyja glanced out the window, and was surprised to see the sun had traveled well behind the inn. The rays of light were slanted almost horizontally.

"The years have given you wisdom few possess, you have given me much to think about. I hope we meet again some time, Sethyas Velas. I could learn much from you. I do not make vows lightly, should you need me send a signal and I will come. You have my pledge on that." Eyja pounded her fist firmly against her chest, reconfirming the vow she'd made earlier.

Eyja paused for a minute as a thought struck her. She untied a pocket of her pack and felt around till she found what she was looking for. She held out a tiny child's ring to him.

"This is the signal. This was mine as a child. It has no value, but I've never seen another like it. Send that with anyone and a coded message of your location. I can break any code, and I'll know it comes from you no matter what name you sign. If you send this, I will find you."

Eyja's cheeks flushed as she continued. "I am known widely, notorious as a prostitute. It is a role that gets me in anywhere I want to go. Many men from all over send me jewelry with boldly flirtatious notes attached. It is the best way messages can be sent without alerting anyone that you are sending one. If you want me to bring a platoon with me, tell me to bring a certain pair of boots you like to see me in; choose any kind of boot. Boots on the ground is what I'll bring, my own men. They were trained by the same man I was, my mentor. I can access them within hours. If you request more than one pair of boots I will bring an army, but it will take days to amass them. If you don't mention boots, I come alone."

Eyja put the ring into the palm of his hand, then tied her travel pack closed.

"You are right, my charge awaits, and has a penchant for falling into trouble where none existed till she arrived. I had best take my leave and go find her. It has been a pleasure talking with you, Sethyas Velas."


*

He took it with a nod and a smirk.

"Then, it would be a pleasure to make use of your services." he chuckled.

"There is a rare form of magic not often seen outside Morrowind." he said taking out a simple amulet on a leather cord. It was a simple silver coin with a hand that matched his tattoo's shape.

"I don't know if your familiar with 'translocation', the Mages Guild and the Telvanni Mage-Clans out there teach it under the College of Mysticism. They have scrolls called 'Divine Intervention' and 'Almsivi Intervention' that will magically transport the user to the closest Imperial Cult Shrine or Tribunal Temple. These are usually used by travellers out there for a last ditch effort to save their skins."

"A more advanced aspect is the 'Mark' and 'Recall' spell. You can anchor yourself to any point in the world with the Mark spell. You can then return at anytime to that same spot; instantly, by casting 'Recall'. This amulet works along those lines. Except I myself am the 'Mark', and activating the amulet will 'recall' you to wherever I am, while simultaneously casting a 'Mark' from where you left."

"Meaning, if you ever have need of me and my services, you have but to activate the amulet, wherever I am, you will be translocated there and then we can return to where you were."

"But." He warned. "The material is not highly enchantable, so using it destroys the item. Meaning you can only use it once, so be certain of your need before using it. But, if you're too scared too think it through, that probably does mean you need it. Plus enchanting them is expensive, almost prohibitively so, as I know of only one enchanter that is capable of making them." The Altmer in Indoranyon, no less. He thought, thinking of the reclusive wizard that he almost killed in the ancient Dunmer Stronghold.

"I do not have access to an army, but...I have taken the lives of many, many beings. Be they mortal or otherwise, if death is possible to grant, I usually find a way to impart the gift. Now, if your facing down an entire army...well...that's a bit out of my league I am afraid. There is strength in admitting that one is outclassed."

He handed the amulet to her, and granted her leave.

"It was a pleasure to speak with you as well, Eyja."

*

Eyja gave a genuine laugh at his joke. Her brows raised in surprise at the amulet and her cheeks flushed deeply, feeling the honor of him bestowing something he may need himself.

"I will pray to Mephala that you never have need of this yourself since you have bestowed it on me then, and that I never need it so I can return it to you intact one day. If you are facing an army, send for my boots and they will fight on your side. You have my promise on it."

Eyja slipped the amulet over her neck and held the coin in her hand as she gave him a small hesitant smile. "Maybe fate brought our meeting, that when the time comes neither of us will part this realm. I hope that is so, I would not want to know I still lived and you were not on Nirn because I wore your amulet. Hail, Sethyas. Hail, and long life to you."

Eyja made her way across the dining room toward the door, feeling the heaviness of that wish. If he got in a bad situation now, she held his means of escape. She may need to become a devout worshipper of Mephala just so her prayers for his safety be heeded.


*

*

Maxical:

Maxical was startled from her daydream of Casta Scribonia by the door opening and a Bosmer man popping his head in.

"Please, Sir." Maxical waved him in.

"You must be the new Associate. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I'm Athragar. How can I serve you?"

"Miss Abiene took ill after drinking some tea at that inn outside the Chorrol gates. I think someone may have slipped something in her drink. Can you heal her? I have no healing magic at all."

"Teekeeus said you are from the Arcane University. Maybe someday I'll be able to move there. Training and spells, training and spells. It gets so boring here after a while."

"Yeah, yeah. Sounds real boring. Now will you look at Abiene please? She may have been poisoned. There were lots of men there, a pretty Breton woman alone. Maybe one slipped something in her drink."

Athragar's eyes lit with intrigue. "Ah, I see what you mean. Let me see what I can do." He stood over the bed and appeared to be more ogling Abiene than diagnosing her.

"Sir..."

"Yes, I see. I see." He started casting a white mist over her.

Maxical breathed a sigh of relief. An older Redguard woman tiptoed silently up to the door and peeked in.

"Are you the new Associate? Teekeeus said you were a student of the Arcane Arts. Perhaps you know my husband? Alberic Litte. I'm Carmen Litte. My husband is the sorcerer here, in fact; my husband is the Advanced Trainer in Conjuration for the Mages Guild."

Maxical scowled at her. Why did she keep opening every sentence with 'my husband'? Was she marking her territory?

"Let me stop you before you feel the need to start urinating on the bedposts. I am married, and have no interest in your husband or any other man."

"I don't know what you could mean..."

"Listen, if you can heal, will you come in here and help poor Abiene? I think someone slipped her poison at that inn across from the south gate. There were many men in there, a pretty woman like her..."

That was the wrong thing to say, Mrs. Litte's lips drew into a tight line. Maxical's temper was starting to build.

"Perhaps I'd best call your husband in here to check her."

"No need for that, Restoration is not his field."

"Well if it isn't yours, then please make yourself scarce. Find someone to help Athragar, will you?"

Maxical poked Athragar in the ribs. "Keep going, you're doing great. I'll get someone up here to help you."

She didn't have to wait long. Teekeeus came thumping up next. "What is going on here? Carmen tells me you were rude to her!"

"I...she...you don't understand! She was marking her territory around here like a dog, I was afraid she'd lift her leg next. And Abiene has been poisoned, some man at that inn across the road put something in her tea, trying to knock her out and have his way probably."

"These are serious charges, can you prove it?"

"I will go investigate it myself if you can heal her. I can't, I have no healing magic."

"I thought you said you were university trained?"

"Well...I am, but I couldn't pass everything."

"OUT! You connived your way in here on a ruse, a lie! And I want your key back, and that charter I gave you!"

Maxical dropped the key and book in his hand and fled down the two flights of stairs to the lobby. She ground to a halt there, glancing around for Casta Scribonia. She was gone. The idea hit Maxical that she may catch her outside walking. She hurried through the doors and scanned the streets, empty with the exception of the Altmer woman Earana, who hailed her.

"Hey, Earana; did you happen to see the famous author Casta Scribonia leave the Mages Guild since I went in? I was hoping to talk to her."

"Well you're a bold little thing, aren't you? As a matter of fact, Casta Scribonia will be visiting me in my room at the Gray Mare shortly. Come wait for her with me, and I'll introduce you."

"You will? Oh thank you!" Maxical fell into step beside Earana.



*

Abiene in Chorrol

Abiene woke confused. White light blinded her, and something was holding her down. She struggled for a moment before realizing that she was simply tucked into bed.

A bald Bosmer came into view as the bright light faded. “Athragar? Did you just cast a spell on me? What’s happening?”

Athragar jumped in his seat. “You’re awake! I, uh…”

Abiene sat up and glared. “Did you just try to heal me?” she demanded. “Where’s Maxical? How did I get here?”

Teekeeus spoke from the doorway. “That cat tried to weasel her way into the Guild with some story about you being poisoned. Ha! Everyone thinks they’re a Scribonia.” He brandished a key and a copy of the Guild charter.

Athragar’s eyes were traveling. “She thought someone knocked you out so they could have their way.” The Bosmer’s expression said he found Abiene to be an unlikely target.

Abiene pushed herself upright, kicking off the covers. “What in the name of Mara—”

Teekeeus gave a disdainful sniff more worthy of an orc’s nostrils. “She probably did it to you herself. You never know with those furred folk. I saw through her ruse. She won’t get a key that easily!”

“Maxical is a University graduate!” Abiene objected. But Teekeeus had already turned away.

Athragar raised his hands. “Now if you’ll just hold still—”

“Stop!” Abiene shot out of the bed and staggered, her head spinning. “What are you casting? You’re an Alteration trainer! Surely you’re not trying to heal me!”

“It’s a Shield spell,” he lied. Athragar reached out and gave her a pinch to demonstrate, making her jump. “Oops, I meant to grab your arm.”

“Then it didn’t work!” Abiene rubbed her bosom with one hand and smacked Athragar with the other.

“Stand down, Journeyman!” he cried, waving his own hands about. “You probably just resisted the spell! Too bad you didn’t resist whatever poisoned you.”

Abiene sat back down on the bed. “All right Athragar, let there be peace between us.” She ran her hands over her hair, checking for disarray. The signs of assault could easily be removed from the body, but few knew how to repair love-tangled curls.

Carmen Litte appeared in the doorway, silently glaring.

No wonder her husband sleeps so often at the Guild hall, thought Abiene. She looks like she swallowed a lemon. Wait, is this his bed?

“We have the situation under control,” Athragar informed Carmen. He raised his hands again, but a look from Abiene stopped him from casting.

“How long have I been here?” Abiene asked Carmen. The woman was so proud and jealous surely she monitored every female who came into the hall.

“Forty-seven minutes,” Carmen snapped. She crossed her arms under her breasts and boosted them up a little.

Abiene noticed that they were wearing similar tops. She let honey drip from her tone. “Have you seen your husband this morning? I have something for him.” Abiene leaned back a little on the bed.

Carmen left in a huff.

Athragar gave Abiene a reassessing glance. The familiar Bosmer twinkle glinted in his eyes.

“She is needlessly unpleasant,” Abiene explained, sitting back up.

“You don’t need to tell me,” said Athragar.

Abiene lifted her hands to her face, trying to piece the last hours together. She remembered leaving the Goblet in a mental fog, walking with Maxical along the road, and then pressing her nose against the most wonderful smelling male chest. Honditar, she remembered. Goodness, I’ve never thought of him that way before! Then Athragar and his dubious ministrations.

“Where is Maxical?” she asked again.

Athragar seemed to have given up trying to practice on her. “She’s probably chasing down Casta Scribonia. Your friend seemed quite impressed by meeting her.” He clasped his hands together in his lap. “You really should tend to yourself, Abiene. You look pale. Even for you.”

Abiene cast a simple spell, not expecting to find anything.

She gasped out loud. An infection in my blood? How..? One hand went reflexively to her throat.

“What is it?” asked Athragar, leaning forward. “You know, I could have a gift for Restoration. I’ve never been adequately trained or tested! Then I could practice at the Anvil Guild instead of here in cold crappy Chorrol. Oh, the Gold Coast beaches!”

Did I catch it from someone at the Dibella Wayshrine? she wondered. I’ve only healed injuries since then.

Athragar’s face was bright and eager. “Well, could you put in a good word for me?”

“Do you really think someone might have poisoned my tea?” Abiene asked him. “It’s true, there is a taint of something in my blood. I must have been baked out of my mind on the way here.” She blushed when she realized she had used one of Jerric’s expressions.

Athragar’s eyebrows went up. “Do you… indulge? Perhaps as part of your worship? You know, during… rituals?” The mer was practically drooling.

“No! What? What rituals?” How in sixteen realms does he know about that?

The mer leaned back, disappointed.

Abiene breathed a sigh of relief. “If you will excuse me, I’m going to try to make sense of this situation. I’ll need to return to the Goblet tonight in any case. I’ll need to send a message, will you see that it gets to the chapel?” Abiene reached out and took Athragar’s arm. “I appreciate your help today, Athragar. I do not wish to give you false hope about changing fields, but I am more than pleased at your interest in Restoration. I will gladly train you privately, or we can make it a matter of record at the Guild if you wish. I do not need your coin, but I would be grateful for your friendship. And your discretion.”

Athragar patted her hand, beaming up at her in agreement.

Abiene completed her business in the Guild hall. Then she stepped out into Great Oak Plaza looking for a glimpse of her friend, or perhaps evidence of the mayhem that seemed to follow dear Maxical.

Eyja:

Eyja spotted Abiene heading toward the great oak, and hurried forward calling her. "Abiene, have you seen Maxical? I can't find her anywhere, I've asked everyone." She indicated Earana standing idly near the circle of seats.

"That woman Earana said she and Honditar helped Maxical bring you to the Mages Guild hall and haven't seen her since. Is she in the Mages Guild hall? Some big Argonian was quite rude when I tried to question him, wouldn't let me inside the Mages Guild to look for her."

Abiene in Chorrol

“I’m looking for her too, Eyja. Teekeeus chased her out of the Guild hall, apparently. That’s the big Argonian. Athragar said she may be with Casta Scribonia. Do you know her?”

Abiene leaned against a bench for a moment, catching her breath. Whatever happened to me isn’t over yet, she thought. Then she brushed her concerns away. A quick Restore Fatigue spell… She cast it absently while scanning the streets for a redheaded Khajiit.

“I remember Honditar, but I can’t say if Earana was with us. I’m sorry, I’m afraid I wasn’t myself this afternoon. Shall I help you find her? Does she know anyone else in Chorrol?”

*

Eyja:

Eyja felt panic rising in her when she heard Maxical wasn't inside the Mages Guild, but she relaxed when she heard the name Casta Scribonia.

Eyja shook her head. "She has never been to Chorrol before, but I'll bet you are right about Casta Scribonia. Maxical is a rabid fan of her romance novels. If Maxical bugs her too much chattering in her ear, Scribonia is liable to make her next story a murder mystery."

She grinned, but the grin dropped immediately into concern when Abiene leaned on the bench and seemed to be struggling to breathe.

"Say, you really aren't well, are you." Eyja took hold of Abiene's wrist. "Your pulses are racing, you'd better sit down."

Eyja didn't bother with gentleness or permission; but in one swift motion cut her knee under Abiene and slid her forward, plopping Abiene down into the bench she'd been leaning on.

"Sorry about that, just keeping you from falling and hitting your head." She said abstractedly, tipping Abiene's head back and looking probingly closely into her eyes.

"I noticed this earlier when we were talking in the road. Your pupils were dilated. Now the whites of them are a charcoal blue. You have either been poisoned or have a blood disease, one that is not common to this area. Where have you been? What have you been exposed to?"

Eyja dug in her pack, producing a vial. She pulled the corked stopper and handed it to Abiene. "This is an extremely pure potion that will cure poisonings. It was made by Arch Mage Hannibal Traven himself, I have plenty extra. Drink this, if it is any known poison this will cure it. If not...you might want to start remembering everyone you have been in contact with recently."


*

Abiene in Chorrol

Abiene found herself seated on the bench and examined by expert hands. Eyja dropped the Arch-Mage’s name without a trace of self-importance. Abiene had no doubt that she was speaking the truth.

Eyja pressed a potion bottle into her hand. “Drink this, if it is any known poison this will cure it. If not...you might want to start remembering everyone you have been in contact with recently.”

Abiene downed the potion immediately. For a moment she felt as if her skin was on fire and her blood was boiling, but before she could cry out the feeling passed.

“Stendarr’s… mercy!” she choked. “That was intense.” She gazed up at Eyja. “I did have an infection in my blood, but there must have also been poison. I’m a healer! Who would target me?”

She brushed the back of her hand across her forehead. Sweat had broken out on her skin.

“Do you suppose it was meant for someone else at the Goblet? I wasn’t harmed, or I would have felt the damage when I healed my…” she glanced around and lowered her voice “…infection. It just rendered me helpless. I’m sure I was in utter thrall to Maxical. Thank goodness it was she who found me in that condition!”

Abiene offered the empty bottle back to Eyja. “I am in your debt, Eyja, more than I could have imagined. I specialize in injury and disease, not curses or poisons. Oh, I doubt that I was contagious, but I’d like to examine Maxical when we find her just the same. I’m… not sure where I could have picked up an infection. I routinely check myself every night while I’m working, but I’ve been away and only healed wounds lately.” She felt her cheeks heat. “Though I have had contact with a number of people in the last few days.”

*

Eyja sat down beside Abiene, watching her face carefully for reaction as she spoke.

"I don't want to frighten you, but the poison given you escapes detection even in healing. You would have been near death if you were catatonic when Maxical brought you to the Guild."

She gripped Abiene's shoulder tightly with one hand and pressed her thumb hard on her wrist with the other. "Don't faint on me. I am going to tell you something you need to hear, because you may be in danger."

Eyja waited till the stunned look eased before continuing.

"That blue in the whites of your eyes means you were poisoned with some kind of metal element in extremely high doses. I've seen that used before to kill someone in a way that looks like natural causes. The victim dies without ever knowing they were ill. They walk away and are fine for just long enough that the one who poisoned them can be long gone before the victim dies. Whoever poured that dose meant whoever it was intended for to die. Unless you picked up someone else's tea inadvertently, you have an enemy. Scan your mind for anyone who knows alchemy well enough to concoct a poison of this magnitude. It is rarely known or used by any but professional assassins."

Eyja knew Sethyas could not have been involved, he didn't even arrive at the inn till well after Abiene was showing signs of the poison, and he arrived well dusted from the road. He was a pro, would not have sat down to eat after poisoning someone, but been long gone before the first symptom appeared. His stop had been unplanned, so it was doubtful he was the target either.

It would have been quite sloppy for an assassin to pour a poison tea that far in advance in hopes their target happened to stop. This was intended for someone in the inn at the same time Abiene's tea was poured, or for Abiene herself.

Eyja nodded abstractedly at Abiene's last words. "It is good Maxical got you to the guild for healing to be started right away. It may have saved you, restored your organs as the poison was destroying them."

She hesitated before continuing. Healers were usually discreet by nature, but there were no laws forbidding their discussing their cases. Arch Mage Traven was constantly entertaining her with stories of his various cases. She turned back to Abiene.

"Abiene, have you recently learned a secret about someone you have treated? A secret that they may have been afraid you might report to the Legion or even just discuss with another person?"


*

"Verona of Bretony was a young woman surrounded in splendor and riches. She was beautiful beyond measure among her people, and very privileged. Her parents were not parochial people and instilled within her the tenets of patience and the idea that there were superior people and lesser people and that those with provincial minds required guidance, and punishment if so needed and that she shouldn’t hesitate to use whatever means necessary to protect and pursue her interests; that she owed as much to herself, her family, to life itself.”

Irvana furrowed her brow, and leaned in casually. "She was a special woman with a sharp mind that amazed her parents. She also was blessed with extraordinary gifts, so amazing and deadly that she had to keep it a secret from the entire world, lest she be condemned for daedric worship or those jealous of her power. She was the jewel of her father, and loved dearly by her mother and in turn she loved them. But what Verona loved more than her parents, more than her sibling and more than anything else in Tamriel was eternal life. Her parents, cherishing their offspring so much, decided that she deserved both . . . that she could do so much good to the benefit of them if she lived forever."

Irvana's voice took on a spooky tone, and she turned to face LeRoi. "What she did not anticipate was that in order for her to be beautiful for all eternity and with wisdom of ages . . . a price would have to be paid. She did not foresee the currency until it was far too late. The currency, you see, was her very soul. What defined her as Verona.

"Surely you know, Stefan, that virgin girls in nobility are to live in a state of chastity until given into marriage with a gentleman worthy enough. Fate was not kind that day when Verona was given to the Daedric Prince of schemes who took the form of a man and well . . . you can imagine."

Using Stefan's own words, she allowed her tale to continue and roll of her tongue as if savoring the taste of the story. "It was that day that she felt the cold, unforgiving grip of a daedra lord as he seared his desire, his longing, into her soul. She experienced the bitterness and ecstasy of being completely dominated by a being much more powerful than her. She was ravaged until she lost all consciousness. She survived though, as bitter and cunning and dominating as the Daedric Lord who made her."

"The rest of her family were not agreeable and determined her existence and condition to be a rare abnormality that would put them in danger. Panicked by the thought of her, they launched a quest end Verona's life, but she had grown so strong that she could not be destroyed by normal means. They would have to use treachery."

Irvana sighed. "Verona was a bright woman, but to the eyes of her other family members she wasn't. She was young, naive and above all, stupid. So they decided to use her to their advantage and all the power she possessed in hopes she would end up instigating her own doom, and as the years passed they had a growing numbers of problems that only Verona knew of the solutions, so they came to trust her most of all and even respect her. Little did they realize that Verona knew of their plot, she knew their primary passion was to ostracize her from the family and have her life taken. That the problems they faced were caused by her, and only she knew how to fix them and that she was slowly poisoning them until the day came where she killed them in their sleep."

The Imperial woman clasped her hands together and leaned forward. "They saw the flower, but failed to see the serpent beneath it. She outlived them all and inherited everything. But with power, comes a great price, no? That is the moral here. Her beauty became her curse, her immortality had a consequence. To maintain her youthful look she had to feast upon the blood of infants and children or take their lifeforce to sustain her own. The gods saw fit to curse her, and she spent the rest of her twilight years stalking the lands of High Rock in the night hours seeking which child who's eyes she could devour, or which woman who's throat she can tear or which man she could rape as violently as she was raped. Legend had it that children who did not behave, who did not obey they parents or who used their beauty to put others down would be visited by Verona the Pale Lady and be turned into eyeless statues and lose their souls. Her existence so evil that speaking of it can bring curses."

Irvana laughed. "This was pure superistition, a dark tale. One that my mother always told me when I was a child to keep me in line. Not sure if it worked though."

She paused. "Interesting, isn't it?" Irvana mused. "She wanted to live forever and help others but in the end she was condemned, and cursed for all eternity with a daedra-corrupted soul to spread chaos and seeds of discord throughout the eras. To be beautiful forever meant she had to take it from others. Quite a tragic tale."

She turned LeRoi and smiled. "If you'd like to weave this into your story and fabricate a brand new idea, believe that I will be the first person in Cyrodiil to purchase your book."

Abiene in Chorrol

“A secret… Well just last week I discovered a man who was living as his sister in order to inherit her property, I confirmed an awkward paternity result, restored a young woman’s maidenhead, cured the pox of a woman whose lover was away on pilgrimage, cured a case of Porphyric Hemophilia, refused to end a healthy pregnancy, removed a man’s lost jewelry from his housekeeper’s digestive tract and then repaired the site of his piercing… But surely nothing that someone would murder me over.”

Abiene’s eyes widened as she remembered Aravi’s secret. She gave her head a slight shake in immediate dismissal. It was not Aravi.

“I’ve caught people using Illusion spells to try to fool me as I heal them. I suppose I only catch the ones who fail. Perhaps someone thinks I know something about them.” She looked up at Eyja, trying to conceal her fright. “I expect it will become clear if they try again.”

Eyja’s earlier question returned to her mind. “I know a few who could brew such a poison,” Abiene continued. “One would likely punch me in the face before she’d poison me. The other would have shot me long ago if she wanted me dead.” Though it would not surprise me to learn she had been an assassin.

Abiene thought of Irvana with her strange, compelling eyes. A shiver ran down her neck. “The others at the Goblet should be warned. Whoever poisoned me will learn that they failed no matter what I do, so I can’t escape the danger by hiding in Chorrol. But if someone else is the target they might be helped. Oh, and the Goblet itself may have been the target! If I had died after visiting there… Poor Yetta! She would have been the first to fall under suspicion.”

She pressed the Nord’s hand on her wrist. “Eyja, I owe you and Maxical my life. You can see that I am quite out of my depth here. A healer who doesn’t notice she is dying! I feel I’m a disgrace. It’s like the swordmaker’s children going about unarmed.”

*


Eyja shook her head and patted Abiene's shoulder. "Don't feel ashamed, Abiene. That is why that poison is so effective for assassins, because the person can die with a healer at their side or even be one and it go undetected. That metallic blue in the whites of the eyes is the only clue, and only shows after the poison has done its damage. Most people assume the victim is napping and they die without anyone realizing the victim needs healing."

Eyja checked Abiene's eyes again. "The whites still show blue. How capable a healer are you, Abiene? You need an immediate thorough healing by someone who is experienced in regenerating damaged internal tissue, and a way to chelate the metal from your bloodstream or the damage will keep recurring. An expert Alchemist can give you a potion to cleanse the metal from your blood..."

Eyja hesitated with a choke. "Make sure it isn't possibly the one that poisoned you."

Eyja shook Abiene's shoulder gently. "Start healing now. If your magicka runs low I can cast on you till yours returns, but my healing power is only basic. Listen to me carefully, Abiene. You seem to me the type that tries to tough through things and keep going no matter how you feel. You can't play with this poison. If you are incapable of doing this kind of healing, you need to tell me immediately so I can send for help before it is too late. All the best healers are in the Imperial City. Arch Mage Traven would be my first choice. If you know Owyn at the Arena, he is also extremely capable. Jeelius at the Temple specializes in unusual healings, he would be my third choice."

Abiene's fright was evident. She probably led a sheltered life and was not used to having assassination attempts made on her. If she was the target of this one, that is.

"Interesting you mentioned the Inn itself. Being outside the gates it takes a lot of business from the Oak and Crosier. It would be a way to scare business away from the Wobbly Goblet, and if it is true she killed her husband she is certainly capable of such an act. First let's find out if you were the target though, or if you accidently drank something meant for another, eliminate targets systematically so we can pinpoint which suspect to focus on."

Her list of secrets would have been intriguing to delve into at any other time. But were any of those people at the inn this morning? Eyja began casting healing and rally over Abiene while talking, the same way Foxy used to do to Eyja when telling her how close the latest assassin had come before his men stopped them. The Black Hand was sending more adept assassins each time.

"This poison is not quickly made. This was planned in advance in order for them to have that poison with them and ready to dispense. Either that or they are professional and carry it with them always."



It suddenly struck Eyja that she needed to check and see if the poison was stolen from her own travel pack while she was distracted with Maxical. She shook the thought off till she could inspect her bag in private.

"If you were the target, they would have to have known you were there, and been waiting for the moment to put it in your food or drink. Did you see anyone of these whose secrets you hold at the inn this morning?"



*

Abiene in Chorrol

Abiene listened carefully to Eyja’s advice. A cold pit of dread formed in her belly.

“I can restore my tissue,” she said. “But I don’t know a way to remove mundane toxins from my blood. If I had a shard of metal in my body I would remove it with a knife and then close the wound. I don’t know of a magical way to… did you say chelate?” She thought for a moment. “I have a patient who comes in for treatments every third day. I heal the damage, but I cannot seem to stop it from recurring. Do you suppose..?” She passed a hand over her eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m asking you to consult with me on an unrelated matter. I apologize.”

She cast a spell that would begin to heal her as they spoke.

“No one could have known I would be at the Goblet unless they followed me from the Wayshrine. I only stopped there because of the storm. An assassin would have had ample opportunity to attack during my journey there. I travel under a veil of invisibility for the sake of privacy, not to evade professional killers. I do not imagine myself capable of fooling the Dark Brotherhood.”

Eyja’s spell had a steadying effect on Abiene’s nerves. She gave a quick smile of thanks.

“I know a Master alchemist,” she continued, “but he is… not one of Cyrodiil’s great thinkers. He’d have to be told what ingredients to include. Anyway, how quickly should I find a potion? Would I even have time for him to travel here?”

Abiene blinked. “Wait, who killed their husband? Talasma?”