The first things I wanted to do this morning were to put some of my recently acquired funds into the Bank of Vvardenfell; I also wanted to deliver the Amulet of Infectious Charm to Louis Beauchamp. To that end, I opened a portal after breaking my fast and stepped though into the dusty streets of Ald’ruhn.

“The amulet,” Louis gasped when I handed the twinkling charm over to him. He listened with a distracted air as I relayed the fate of the missing airship: somehow I think the loss of the craft and its crew was of secondary importance to him. He did, however, pay me two thousand Septims for recovering the amulet and finding out what had happened to his aircraft.

From there I returned to Tel Vahl where, reluctantly, I donned the uniform of the Legion before opening a portal to Ebonheart. Captain Carius had informed me that Varus Vatinius has issued an instruction that I am to report to him. The Imperial Dragon was easy enough to find, he was the ill-favoured Imperial that I’d seen at the side of the Duke Dren when I applied for my construction contract ~ the one with a low opinion of Telvanni honour.

“So, the Telvanni returns,” he sneered when I crashed to attention in front of him and snapped off a salute. “Finally decided to get on the winning side, eh?”

When I made no response to his barb, he snorted and said, “you’ve turned out to be a decent soldier Telvanni, and several commanders speak quite highly of you. Do right by me and I’ll make sure that you get what you’re due.

“Now then,” he continued, “I have a job for you. Until a day or two ago, the Lord’s Mail was displayed in the Cult Shrine here. Somehow somebody got in and stole it ~ none of the guards saw anything. Take the key to the Shrine and see what you can learn. Bring me the Lord’s Mail and I’ll give you a promotion.”

My first step was to visit the barracks, housed in the lower levels of Fort Hawkmoth. Most of the guards were unwilling to talk to me but one; a Redguard by the name of Sader was disposed to talk. He told me that Furius Acilius had recently been passed over for promotion and had gone AWOL. I hardly thought it coincidental that Furius Acilius had gone missing two days before the Lord’s Mail vanished. I took a look around Acilius’ quarters but, apart from a scribbled comment about Vatinius that make me smirk, there was nothing of any interest.

Both of the Troopers assigned to the Shrine snapped to attention, clenched fists crashing against their cuirasses as they saluted me. Despite my time with the Legion, that was one thing I still hadn’t gotten used to. The door to the Shrine clicked open and I stepped into a fairly typical Imperial Cult Shrine. Multi-denomination tapestries hung from the walls ~ except for behind the altar, where a rich green and gold tapestry depicted Julianos. There were the usual sacred objects on the altar, a small silver platter for collecting donations and a large silver chalice. The green and gold cloth that covered the cold stone block confirmed that this was a Shrine devoted to Julianos.

I understood why the Imperial Cult adopted this multi-denominational style in Morrowind but I missed the majesty of the individual Shrines that I remembered from my travels around the Illiac Bay. Not that I was particularly moved by the idea of the Divines any more ~ the things I had experienced in my time here had seriously undermined my faith in the religion of my childhood. Shaking off the melancholia that my childhood memories always seemed to induce, I returned to the task at hand.

There were no windows in the Shrine, nowhere that somebody could have clambered in and stolen the artefact. The heavily reinforced door couldn’t have been broken down without attracting the attention of people nearby. Nor had I missed the flare of magic when I’d inserted the key into the lock ~ such locks (requiring both mundane and magical means to open them) were extremely rare and notoriously difficult to pick. And, given that Furius Acilius was, by all accounts, a career soldier it was unlikely that he’d have the skill to pick such a lock.

Something had been tugging at my subconscious while I examined the door. Turning I surveyed the small, austere chamber. A close-fitting door and no windows… So, where was the breeze that was fluttering the edge of the tapestry nearest the door coming from? The wall behind the wall hanging looked solid enough but a quick chant of “Ostendo sum” soon revealed the truth.

The flare of reddish-purple light settled along the outlines of the hidden door, a loud click denoting the fact that the unlocking spell I’d just read from the scroll had done its work. The heavy stone door creaked open to reveal a small stone cell barely big enough for me to get into. The floor of the cell was covered with dried mud; the rough reed mat that covered it caked with the stuff. Since there was no obvious other exit, I placed my hand against the back wall of the cell and pushed. There was a click and a large section of stonework moved backwards to reveal a dark opening.

The muddy floor of the cave left me in no doubt that the thief had used this secret way into the Shrine and that it would take someone who knew Ebonheart extremely well to have known of this hidden access ~ someone like, let’s say, a career soldier who’s been stationed at Ebonheart for years and has, for the sake of argument, recently been passed over for promotion.

The dimly illuminated tunnel meandered through the rock coming, at last, to a meeting place where three other passageways met. With a shrug, I turned to my left and pressed on down the rocky passage. I had gone barely a hundred paces down the tunnel when I was confronted by a snarling legionnaire. He wasted no time on words, the Imperial broadsword already sliding from the scabbard at his waist as he rushed towards me.

The crash of steel on steel echoed through the cave as I blocked the scything blow Acilius aimed at my head, the impact making my arm quiver. I retaliated, pushing his sword up and away with the Blodskal and slashing the heavy blade inwards. He danced back a step, bringing in his broadsword to deflect the blow. Now it was my turn to back-pedal in order to avoid his upward cut.

We eyed each other warily for a moment, each taking measure of our opponent. Acilius was strong but lacked finesse ~ like so many in the Legion he relied on his training and had no… style. With a grunt, he proved my point, slashing in a powerhouse blow that would have done serious damage if I hadn’t blocked it. My return blow scored a mark across his cuirass. Gripping the sword tightly, he aimed a series of vicious overhead blows at me, forcing me backwards.

Sensing, rather than seeing, that he’d changed his grip on the hilt, I swung the Blodskal downward, the greater mass of the Nordic blade knocking the broadsword from Acilius’ hand. I had barely registered that I’d disarmed him when a thunderous punch to the face drove me backwards. I blinked, my vision blurred from the blow, and saw him stoop and pick up his sword again. I gave him no time to prepare.

“Never,” my sword crashed into his upraised blade with a force that made my arm shudder.

“Hit,” I blocked his blow, the blades singing as they crashed into each other.

“A,” his steel blade shattered as I smashed the Blodskal down on it as he raised it to block the blow.

“Lady!” I finished, driving the point of the Nordic blade into the Imperial’s throat and slamming him back against the wall.

Rolling Furius Acilius over, I undid the silver clasps that held the glittering cuirass in place. The armour came off after a few minutes struggle and I held the heavy, padded cuirass up to examine it. It was made of some dark metal and appeared to be overlapping scales. The edges of the armour were decorated with fine gold scrollwork. That was not, however, what kept me there holding the heavy armour. Visions of combat danced in my head, snatches of scenery that I almost recognised, the crash of steel on steel and the screams of the dying mingled with the triumphant cries of the victors.

Shaking myself all over, I looked at the armour and licked my lips. The overwhelming urge to put it on and just… well, take charge had faded. With a shaky sigh, I placed the cuirass on a rock and opened my pack. Handling the scaled Lord’s Mail as little as possible, I dropped it into my pack. A careful exploration of the caves revealed the rest of Furius Acilius’ belongings ~ a sack containing a couple of hundred Septims, a pair of pauldrons made of the same dark, scaled metal, and a glass-bladed sword. My exploration also revealed a water-filled passageway that led to a door. This egress opened out onto a small sandy beach at the foot of the cliffs: above me loomed the bulk of the castle and keep. It must have pleased Acilius to have stolen the Lord’s Mail and, quite literally, hidden it under the noses of those he felt had cheated him.

Varus Vatinius’ eyes lit up like lanterns when I unpacked the armour, he could barely wait to get his hands on it. Somehow I suspected that the artefact wouldn’t end up in the Shrine or, despite what Vatinius’ mouth was saying, in the strong room beneath the castle. His eyes were telling a very different story.

When he’d stopped (metaphorically) dribbling over the armour, he snapped a new set of orders at me ~ seemingly having forgotten his promise to promote me if I fetched the Lords Mail back. “The Paladin’s Blade has passed into the hands of a powerful sorceress by the name of Dramamu Hloran. You will travel to Sadrith Mora and recover the blade. Shouldn’t be difficult for you to accomplish that, should it Telvanni?”

Stalking away from the Man, I opened a portal to Sadrith Mora and stepped through it. If I wanted information on this Dramamu Hloran, my Mouth would be a good place to start.

“Good job you came to see me bo… Sed Vahl,” he said. “Most of the folk around here wouldn’t want to discuss her. She’s a pretty powerful Mage from what I’ve heard and she’s got some magical sword or other.”

“The Paladin’s Blade,” I said.

“Chrysamere?” he gasped, “the actual, genuine Chrysamere Paladin Sword? Like, erm, wow.” I grinned at his enthusiasm, wondering what he’d make of the large collection of artefacts securely located below Tel Vahl. Now that Eddie had named it, I knew what it was I was tracking down and could understand why Vatinius wanted it. A true hero, wielding Chrysamere, was supposed to be unstoppable in combat ~ or so the old tales went. Personally I figured that anyone or anything could be stopped in battle. You just needed to know where to stick the pointy bit of your sword for the best effect.

Abanabi was darker than any place I’ve ever been in, and not only from the lack of light. There was an oppressive feel to the place that spoke of dark magics, frequently performed. Fast Eddie had repeatedly warned me that Hloran was a powerful sorceress and had a reputation for dabbling in things that, to use his words, were better left undabbled with. So, it was with as much caution as I could muster that I made my way down the dark, unlit tunnel that led into the depths of the cave system.

The flickering glow on the rock ahead told me what was likely to be around the corner and, forewarned, I carefully constructed the intricate shape of the Blizzard spell before advancing any further. The Fire Atronach had barely registered my presence in the tunnel when I spoke the words of the spell, “Dywyll chymylau, yn nadu bwrw eira, angheuol brythwch.” The fires of the Atronach’s form dimmed as the icy wind swirled around it, the hiss of ice-shards flashing into steam clearly audible as two totally disparate elements fought for supremacy. Gritting my teeth, I poured more magicka into the spell, the cyclone of arcane forces around the embattled Atronach screaming and howling. I gasped as, with a suddenness that was startling, the flames of the Atronach were snuffed out and, with a despairing wail, the creature vanished back to the fiery depths of the realm that had spawned it.

It was with a shaky hand that I drew the phial of restorative liquid from my pack and drank deeply of it. Then came that strange ballooning sensation, as if your mind is swelling, as the raw magicka that surrounds the Mundus roared into me. Revitalised, I dropped the vial and edged further into Abanabi. The first off-shoot of the tunnels that I chose led to a deep hollow in the rocks, a ladder leading down into it. This cavern seemed to be some sort of storage area, if the stacked urns and crates were any indication. Backing away before the Ice Atronachs that were roaming around the hollow noticed me, I backtracked and took the other branch of the tunnel.

This led to another large chamber, wherein a Breton had set up her abode. Like all such lone practitioners of magic that lack the drive and discipline of Telvanni mages, the solitude and her studies had combined to erode her social graces. Her response, upon seeing me, was to summon a large and grotesque Bone-Walker and press it to the attack. There is a little know fact about Summoned creatures ~ if you take care of the Summoner, then the Summoning is instantly consigned back to whatever nether region it hailed from. That was why I drew the longbow from the top of my pack and opened fire on the Bretonian mage instead of advancing to meet the Bone-Walker as it descended the stairs.

The steel-tipped arrow smashed into the sorceress, the force of the impact throwing her backwards onto the raised platform even at this distance. I grinned, the sparkling motes of the Bone-Walker’s dissolution telling me everything I needed to know about the fate of the sorceress. Which left me with one problem; namely, that there was no way out of this cavern save the way I had come in. having looted the few meagre possessions of the deceased magic-user, I retraced my steps until I came back to the junction.

I knew that the tunnel to my left led back to the surface and that I’d passed no side tunnels on the way down. That means that the way forward was through the storage area directly ahead. I cursed softly; I hadn’t thought to bring either Clanbringer or the Last Wish, both of which inflicted fire-based damage, which would have been extremely useful at this juncture. Still, fireballs were always a handy option…

Standing atop the rickety ladder that led down into the storage area, I lashed out with a stream of incandescent spheres, the thunderous impacts of their detonation echoing through the rocks halls as the Ice Atronachs withered and dissolved under the barrage. I couldn’t have announced my presence more clearly without hiring a runner to deliver a message. Speed was, now, of the essence. Scrambling down the ladder, I found the tunnel leading downwards directly under it and, all hope of stealth abandoned, rushed down it.

I ran into a storm of spells ~ mostly fireballs and poison clouds ~ from the sorceress. Since I still had my longbow to hand and more than a few arrows, I skidded to a halt near a rocky outcropping and fired. Dissolving the spell she was in the process of casting, Dramamu Hleran dived for cover as the arrow clattered off the wooden railing. I risked a quick look around the grey stone I was hiding behind and damn’ near got my head blown off for my trouble. Loading up an arrow, I took up tension on the bow-string and risked another quick glance, snapping my head back as I spotted the incoming spell.

The fireball had barely dissipated when I stepped out of cover. Seconds later Dramamu stepped from behind her chunk of rock, the glow precursor to a fireball already forming between her cupped hands. Resisting the urge to fire immediately, I watched the fireball swell and grow. When I judged the thing was as powerful as it was going to get, I fired. The steel-tipped arrow flew straight and true, transecting the glowing sphere just as it left the sorceress’ hands. There was a brilliant flare of light as the spell detonated around the arrow and a scream as the now molten steel arrowhead plunged into Dramamu Hleran’s breast.

Chrysamere wasn’t the only treasure Dramamu Hloran had hidden away in Abanabi: I found several phials of exotic poisons, a purple Ioun stone, a green Ioun stone, several of the large golden Soul-Stones, and a couple of apprentice scrolls.

Having taken the precaution of placing a Mark in the Grand Council Chamber, I cast recall and returned to Ebonheart. Needless to say, Varus Vatinius was delighted to get the Paladin’s Blade. He claimed it was time the artefact was returned to the Legion but, from the way he spoke, I suspected that he considered the blade as much his as he considered it the Legion’s. Possibly more so. True to his word, he promoted me to the rank of Knight of the Garland, putting me on a par with the commanders of the various Forts around Morrowind Province.

“So,” I said, looking at the chitty that would get me the coveted silver cuirass, “how do I go about getting promoted to the next rank?”

“There can be only one, Telvanni,” Vatinius said, his voice turning cold and deadly. “And, since you think you’re so much better than me, I hereby challenge you to a duel. Your choice of weapons.”

“Very well,” I said with equal coldness. “On the morrow, at the Arena in Vivec City. Swords are the weapons of choice, magic ~ if a dullard like you can cast a simple spell ~ is also allowed.”

“Why wait until the morrow, Dark Elf?”

I gave him a totally humourless grin, “so that you can make peace with whichever gods would listen to a scum-sucking low-life like you.”

After a brief and Guild-wars induced hiatus, I'm back and caught up. New posts will start on the morrow...

AWWWWEEEEESSSSSOOOOOMMMMEEEEE!!!!!
Nice battle scenes with the sorceress.

Please continue.

You have Guild Wars Override? Cool. What's your char's name?

And great addition to the story

Hey lone wolf u should thank me cuz i got u a Master special unit in last knights

I did? cool thanks

EDIT: Hey i haven't got any special unit

Go to beach or lands to get him and keep refusing till u get it. u got it cuz ima captain now, btw what rank, Country are you

Edit: Ugg....U Dang Swedish *Cesored* Quit Trying to fight China and THai!!

just joking btw imin CHina

I was up afore dawn and putting the finishing touches to my equipment: beating the last few dents out of the Nordic shield, sharpening my silver blades, polishing Blodskal ~ you know the sort of thing. I also took the opportunity to flex and exercise, moving through a series of twin blade exercises that the Skaal had taught me ~ much to the general approval of the House Guards who whistled and cheered as the silver blades flashed and sparkled in the rising sun.

Having bathed and, on the advice of Kallin Basalius, taken a light meal that consisted mainly of honeyed bread, I prepared to leave for Vivec City. As I summoned the portal that would take me to the Foreign Quarter Canton, I couldn’t help reflect on life’s little ironies.

The gondola deposited me at the dock of the Arena Canton and, even from down here, I could hear the hubbub of the crowds above me. There were an equal number of cheers and boos as I stepped off the ramp, the crowd parting before me so I could make my way to the walkways. As I started up, I heard a clear voice yelling, “two to one on the Imperial, ten to one on the challenger.”

I was escorted to the fighters’ chambers and the doors were closed behind me, two Ordinators standing guard outside. A soft knock sounded and, at my invitation, the door opened and Edward Theman stepped in. “Morning Sed Vahl,” he said, with obviously forced cheerfulness. A moment’s thought made me realise why ~ if I lost, he’d be out of a job. And, in the cut-throat world of Telvanni politics ‘Fast Eddie’ would get a chance to show how fast he really was ~ before he got his throat cut.

“Are they still offering good odds on Vatinius?” I asked.

“Two to one,” he said, the smile slipping slightly.

“And what are the odds on me winning?” I asked.

The smile slipped a little more as Eddie replied, “down to eleven to one against.”

“Go down and put this on me to win, will you?” I said, handing him a jingling purse with seven thousand Septims inside. His eyes went wide, and he grabbed the purse. “Should I put money on you too boss?” he asked.

Letting his slip go, just this once, I raised an eyebrow and said, “Surely you mean ‘put more money on you’ because, if you haven’t already bet on me, I’ll be somewhat offended.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, almost running towards the door, “that’s exactly what I meant.”

Alone in the chamber for the moment, I set down my pack and fetched out one of the tightly corked phials I had taken from Abanabi. With great care I smeared the colourless goo on the edges of the silver blades, slipping them into two leather scabbards at my waist: scabbards I’d brought along specifically for this reason. When Eddie came back and handed me the marker, he seemed slightly more cheerful. With a little help from me, he made sure my armour was in place and that I had everything I needed. As the door swung open and the two Ordinators gestured for me to accompany them, he whispered, “Good look Sed Telvanni Vahl.”

Resplendent in my Nordic chainmail, I accompanied the guards to a small door. Beside the door was a small dish, raised up on a stone pillar. The dish brimmed with powdered chalk and I took the opportunity to liberally coat my hands with powder. From behind the door came a noise I was trying hard to ignore: a dull surge of sound, the roar of a crowd.

I knew that power wasn’t going to win me this battle, and my skill with a blade was unlikely to match his ~ add to which, I was willing to bet that he was wearing the Lord’s Mail and carrying Chrysamere. So, not skill and not power ~ that left speed and guile. Hence the twin blades from Solstheim and the spider-toxin on their edges. I would have preferred to be wearing light armour but I needed the edge that the heavier chainmail would give me. With a deep breath I nodded to the Ordinators and they swung open the door.

There was an explosion of sound as a section of the crowd surged to their feet and roared their approval. I noticed many a brown robe or glittering House sigils on those currently chanting my name. With a nod to the Duke Dren, I retired to the sandy area by the door and waited, arms crossed. When the door opposite opened, the roar of the crowd was deafening. Varus Vatinius made a great show of saluting the Duke, slamming his clenched fist against his cuirass. I grinned, totally without mirth ~ I should have put money on the Lord’s Mail and Chrysamere being on the Imperial Dragon.

As tradition dictates, we stood in the centre of the Arena Pit and saluted each other. The wickedly curved Paladin Blade whispered from its scabbard as Vatinius gave me a totally blank stare. “Let’s dance old man,” I whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear as my twin blades hissed out of their scabbards and cleaved air.

He aimed a crosscut at me that I deflected easily. Before I could retaliate, he’d swung the Chrysamere around and slashed a second blow at me ~ one which I also easily deflected. Bored of being toyed with, I thought I’d remind Vatinius that this was no sparring match. Spinning away from the ponderous blow he’d aimed at me. I slashed out with both blades in a criss-cross pattern. The left blade missed its target, instead scoring a deep groove in the back of his bracer. The quickly moving point of the right hand blade opened up a shallow but bloody cut along his forearm.

He hissed and then retreated a step as I rained a fusillade of blows on him ~ most hammering into his shield, the rest striking sparks from the Paladin’s Blade as he parried. As our blades locked, Vatinius drove his head forward. I staggered backwards, momentarily blinded by my helm. Fortunately, the heavily protective Nordic design had blocked most of the force of the impact.

I danced to one side, avoiding the worst of Vatinius’ blow even though the glancing impact drove the rippling rings of armour into my side and made me gasp. Shaking off the effects of the blades enchantment, I sliced the air betwixt us with the silver blades, weaving a humming net that promised extreme pain. Spinning away from the probing point of Vatinius’ blade, I slashed a series of cuts at him ~ the rapidly whirling blades making the burly Cyrodiil flinch backwards as the fine edge of one blade opened a deep cut on his cheek. In retaliation, he hammered his shield into my side, slamming me back against the wall of the pit.

His blade struck sparks from the rough wall as I slipped away from him, driving my elbow into his helm as I went passed. He drove me back to the centre of the pit with a series of scything blows that fortunately didn’t connect. Locking blades one more, we glared at each other until his fist took me on the point of the chin. Staggering, I felt my feet slip from under me and I crashed down onto the sandy arena floor. Furious at falling for such an obvious ploy, I rolled to one side ~ grabbing a sword as I went passed ~ and gained my feet. Shield covering his side, Paladin Blade extended, Vatinius advanced towards me with a grin on his face.

“Exuro Meus Hostilis,” I snapped, extending my free hand towards him. I had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes widen as the incandescent sphere screamed towards him ~ the explosion of the spell against his blocking shield sufficiently powerful to drive him from his feet and several feet across the Arena Pit. I used the time I had thus gained to scuttle towards my lost sword and grab it. Vatinius had regained his feet, slinging aside the broken remnants of his shield with a snarl.

“Forgot who you were dealing with didn’t you… old man?” I taunted. With a roar, he rushed in, the Chrysamere aimed like a lance. Dancing to one side, I laid the edge of the poisoned blade to his bare forearm, cutting deep. Slashing back with the Paladin Blade, Vatinius struck me hard ~ the blow sending me several steps forwards. There was an uncomfortable wetness on my back ~ the nerves hadn’t yet had time to start screaming. With a low curse, I span and blocked a killing blow more by instinct than anything else. Our blades crashed together repeatedly as we strove for advantage.

“Feeling the strain old man?” I hissed him his ear as we locked blades again. “Or is it something else?”

He punched me, a blow I was prepared for. With a quick twist of the wrist, I drove the point of one of my blades into the joint between his cuirass and his pauldron ~ smirking as Vatinius yelled in pain as the blood began to flow. Driving the hilt of the Paladin’s Blade into my face, he broke free. As he retreated I flicked out a blade and nicked his other cheek.

“Poison, by the Divines,” he gasped. “You’ll never get away with this Telvanni scum.”

“Getting slow old man,” I sang out for the benefit of the crowd, closing to lock blades with Vatinius so I could hiss, “this stuff? I could pour it into your mouth in front of the crowd and they’d still not find a trace of it.”

Slashing his blade down into my shoulder, he cut me deeply before breaking off and stepping back. I saw his blade come up for a killing blow. Tumbling forward, I came up under his guard and drove both silver blades into the glistening scaled cuirass. One point skidded off but the other took him deep, catching just under the cuirass and slicing into his gut. Yanking the blade sideways, I enlarged the wound before ripping the blade free in a shower of bloody droplets. Dimly, from far away, I could hear the crowd roar its approval.

Mortally wounded, Vatinius staggered back a step, twisting to face the ducal box. I knew what he was about to claim and, even though the words I’d spoken were true, I couldn’t let him make the accusation. Summoning the last reserves of my strength, I leapt forwards and thrust out with both blades. There was a crunch as the right-hand blade punched into the back of his skull, the left-hand blade cutting deeply into the back of his neck. With a cough that sprayed the wall in front of us with blood, Vatinius pitched face down on the Arena floor.

There was a moment’s deathly silence and then the roar of the crowd broke over me like thunder. I couldn’t tell if it was roaring in approval or disapproval and, quite frankly, at that point I didn’t give a damn’.

Ordinators rushed in, two of them supporting me as I staggered out of the Pit and back to the preparation room, two lifting the dead body of Varus Vatinius. Meanwhile, two functionaries sprinkled fresh sand over the blood-soaked sand of the Arena.

“Thought you might want these Sed Telvanni Vahl,” an Ordinator said, dropping two wrapped bundles on the table as I sat there enduring the healing process from the potions I’d taken. “Bloody good fight,” he added as he turned to leave, “and one in the eye for those bleeding Dren.”

Awesom Override I love how she keeps taunting him all through the battle. Way better than mine.

Ahhhhhh..........amazing description of the duel with Vantinius........my dear.....what a fight!

Were there any screenshots taken perhaps?



wow......

Oh yes! OverrideB1 is back. Its been a while, but what a return.

Spectacular mate, just spectacular.

As I unwrapped Chrysamere and the Lord’s Mail, I chuckled at the ironic situation I now found myself in. As Arch-Magister of Great House Telvanni I was nominally in charge of a group of Mer who hated and detested the empire and all it stood for and who would, without a moment’s hesitation, burn every Imperial structure (and Imperial) to the ground if they could see a route to power by doing so. On the other hand, I was now in charge of the Legion, Imperial Dragon Sudhendra Vahl ~ Knight Commander of his Imperial Majesty’s forces on Vvardenfell. And, as such, I was supposed to be guarding against and suppressing people of the very sort I represented.

There was one other thing delivered while I took a meal and recuperated. A curt, single line instructing Sudhendra Vahl to report to Balmora as expediently as possible. The signature, a scrawled ‘CC’ told me whom it was from. I had no problem with that, truth be told I knew that I had been putting off speaking to Caius Cosades for far too long while I pursued personal power. The sooner I dealt with whatever new nonsense the spymaster had a Cliff racer in his helmet about, the sooner I could get back to living my own life. And my plans for that were very definite: return to Tel Vahl and complete the fortifications there; spend the next several hundred years studying the application of magic, and perhaps the occasional foray into an interesting tomb or cave.

“So,” Cosades said when I presented myself at his squalid hovel just before the Twelfth Hour. “Seems you’ve been taking the idea of establishing a cover rather too far. What in the name of Oblivion were you thinking Apprentice, taking on the head of the Legion?”

Not so long ago such spontaneously aggressive behaviour would have disconcerted and rattled me. Hah! I’d duelled the head of the Legion, fought one of the deadliest and puissant Mages I’ve ever encountered, and faced down a Daedric Prince ~ not to mention assorted elementals, Daedra, Goblins and other equally unpleasant forces, and I’d spoken to Therana twice and lived to tell the tale. Yet here I still stood: scarred and bloodied but unbowed and undefeated. An irate Imperial spy barely even began to register.

“Living my life the way I want to, that’s what I was thinking Cosades,” I snapped with equal acerbity. “Not that I see it is any concern of yours.”

“Yes, well,” he said, taken aback by my ferocity. “There is still the matter of the Emperor’s orders concerning you. There is some additional information I need, and you are my only agent at the moment. You are to travel to Vivec City and seek out three contacts: it matters not which order you speak to them in.

“The first is Mehra Milo, a Temple priestess. You’ll find her in the Library of Vivec ~ that’s in the Hall of Wisdom. The second is a Suthay-Raht by the name of Addhiranirr. She will be difficult to find since she’s a Thieves Guild operative, however she seems to be based in the Saint Olms Canton. Lastly you’ll need to speak to an Argonian by the name of Huleeya. It can usually be found in the Black Shalk Cornerclub in the Foreign Quarter Canton.

“I want any information they have on the Nerevarine Cult,” he said, adding, “or on the Sixth House Cult. I’ve written your contact information here.” I took the sheet of parchment from Cosades and, with a look of pure contempt in his direction, crumpled the paper and threw it into the small hearth. Then, without a word, I stepped outside and opened a portal to Vivec City. Standing on the bridge leading into the Foreign Quarter Canton, I took several deep breaths to centre myself. I was annoyed with Cosades but allowing that to spill over into a clandestine mission wouldn’t be sensible.

Nor, for that matter, would parading around Vivec City in full Nordic armour. A handy rock nearby made an impromptu changing area and, a few moments later, I stepped out from behind the rock clad in a simple dark blue robe. Of course, not being a complete idiot, I still had my greaves and cuirass on under the voluminous garment. Nearest point first, I thought ~ so that means the Black Shalk. Making my way along the walkways and ramps of the Canton, I entered the Upper Waistworks and headed for the local hostelry.

The sound of a commotion was immediately audible when you stepped through the door. It echoed through the stone chambers of the Inn and seemed to be coming from the lower levels. Loud, raucous laughter exploded and I distinctly heard a voice say something about an ambulatory shield covering. My suspicions were confirmed when I went down the ramp into the lower area and found three burly Dunmer deriding an Argonian. Ignoring the thugs, I walked across to the Argonian and confirmed that this was, in fact, Huleeya.

“Hey lady,” one of the thugs slurred, grabbing me by the shoulder. “Why don’t you look for someone who can give you real pleasure?” I stared at the Mer until I was certain I had his full and undivided attention. Then I glanced down between us. His eyes followed and he blanched, trying to pull away. Holding him steady, I whispered into the cloud of Sujamma that surrounded him, saying, “we don’t want any trouble here do we?”

“No ma’am,” he gasped, staggering away as I released my grip. He and his friends, suddenly far more sober than they had been, bolted out of the door. It’s always surprising how many men will do anything you want when they realise just where you’re aiming that fireball. Dismissing the small sphere of roiling flame I’d held in my left hand, I turned to the Argonian. “What can you tell me of the Nerevarine or Sixth House cults?” I asked.

“No here,” it hissed. “Jobasha friend. Jobasha safe. There new friend talk Huleeya.” with a shrug, I turned and ascended the ramp and exited the Black Shalk ~ the faint scritch-scritch of the Argonian’s claws on stone telling me that Huleeya was following. We walked to Jobasha’s bookshop and, once inside, I broached the question again.

“Sixth House, Huleeya nothing knows,” the Argonian said. “But Nerevarine, yes. Careful now listen…” The Argonian proceeded to speak of the Nerevarine Cult. Much of it I didn’t understand although I wrote every hissing syllable into my notes. What I could gather, however, was that the cult had something to do with an ancient grievance between the Great Houses and the Ashlanders. The Argonian also suggested that I might find out more in a book entitled ‘The Progress of Truth’.

“Yes, Jobasha have a copy of this book,” the Suthay-Raht said. “Most popular.” We dickered over the price for a while and I soon found myself the proud owner of a sumptuously decorated, leather-bound volume. Taking my leave of the shop, I made my way down to the Canalside and got a gondola to the Temple Canton. Cutting across the bridge, I made my way to the plaza of Saint Olms and started searching.

Nice Update, Override, i like the low aimed fire ball...*Snigger* really good though i wonder how Casius will take the rudeness...

Nice update as always, but isn't it Mehra who tells you about The Progress of Truth?

I’d made my way down into the upper Waistworks when I was accosted by an Imperial. “Pardon me for troubling you ma’am,” he said politely. “But I was wondering if you knew the whereabouts of a Khajiit named Addhiranirr? She and I have some business to complete.”

“I’m sorry,” I replied, “but I know of no one by that name.” He nodded his thanks and continued to wander around the Waistworks. Now wasn’t that interesting? Why would an Imperial have business with a Suthay-Raht ~ other than the obvious? And the Imperial had certainly exhibited no signs of Skooma addiction. Abandoning my search in the Waistworks, I headed down into the depths of the building. If I were in hiding from an inquisitive Imperial, my first instinct would be to disappear into the maze of sewer tunnels underneath the Canton.

“Addhiranirr I am,” the Khajiiti I’d encountered confessed. “But Addhiranirr no tell Dunmer anything about anything until IRS agent not here to seek Addhiranirr.” Imperial Revenue Service ~ that explained what business the Imperial had with the Khajiiti, unpaid taxes and lots of them.

“Suppose I were to get rid of the IRS agent?” I said. “Perhaps then we could talk?” Addhiranirr nodded uncertainly, eying my prominently displayed swords uneasily. “Get rid of as in made to go away, not cut into hunks of rotting flesh,” I reassured her.

“Excuse me Muthsera,” I said to the IRS agent, “but were you the Man looking for a Khajiiti?” he nodded eagerly and I told him, “I don’t know if that was her name but a Khajiiti just hired a gondola to take her to the docks. I think she was bound for Ebonheart and then the mainland.”

“Ma’am... Muthsera,” he corrected himself, “I am indebted to you.”

“Hehe-hehe,” Addhiranirr chuckled when I told her what had transpired. “That should IRS keep out of Addhiranirr’s fur for a while. What Dark Elf wanted to know?”

I explained that I was seeking information about the Nerevarine Cult of the Sixth House Cult. “Addhiranirr know nothing about either cults but Addhiranirr know something about Sixth House. Many, many smugglers smuggle crates into Vvardenfell for Sixth House. Big boasters these smugglers are. Yet all very, very quite about Sixth House they are. Makes Addhiranirr wonder, yes it does, what they smuggle that’s such secret.”

I thanked Addhiranirr for the information ~ I have a hunch that this is exactly the sort of information that Cosades was looking for. Making my way back topside, I crossed back to the Temple Canton and made my way into the Library of Vivec. Mehra Milo was easy enough to find ~ Cosades’ description of her copper-coloured hair had been spot on.

“Not here,” she hissed, “meet me at the back of the library in a few minutes.” That was fine by me, it gave me a chance to browse amongst the books ~ and a finer collection of books I’ve rarely seen. Working my way around the shelves I came, at last, to the small alcove at the back of the library. While I pretended to make notes from one of the volumes of Imperial history, Milo filled me in on the information she had.

“Listen carefully, I shall say this only once,” she murmured. “About the Sixth House cult I know nothing. But I can tell you this about the Nerevarine cult…” Mehra Milo proceeded to tell me that the Temple persecutes the cult because they claim the Temple worships false gods. In addition, the Temple disputes the dissident priests’ interpretation of the Nerevarine Prophecies. She suggested that I obtain a copy of ‘The Progress of Truth’. Mehra then told me that I could steal a copy from what she called ‘the secret library’ but suggested that it would be safer to purchase a copy. “Now stay there a while and keep scribbling notes,” she said.

After making notes from another couple of books, I went out onto the promenade and opened a passage to Balmora. Caius was pleased with my work and eagerly took my scribbled notes and the copy of the book. He rewarded me for a job well done, as he put it, with a promotion to the rank of Journeyman and two hundred Septims. He said he needed some time to study the notes and decide what had to be done next. He suggested that I return on the morrow for new orders.

Dura gra-Bol’s house would serve for the night, and made a secure place where I could study my own copies of my notes and the scribbled information I’d copied from the book. Not that I could make much sense of the information ~ most of it seemed contradictory. With a shrug, I locked the information away and retired to bed for the night.


I awoke with a start, stifling a cry of fear. The dream had been particularly intense and very vivid but, for the life of me, I couldn’t remember how it had ended.

Nice ovverride...will Very interesting...now i gotta update mine...

You are simply a master at writing good, immersive combat scenes. I'm talking about all these latest updates as well as in your former chapters. The scene with Edd Theman was a great addition for an Arch-Magister and fitted naturally in. Witty dialogue, too.

I had spent a most unsettled night following the dream and was feeling irritable and out of sorts as I made my way over to the spymaster’s house. “‘Morning Vahl,” Cosades said, unconscionably cheerful at such an ungodly hour. “I have a small job for you today. Based on the notes you gave me yestere, I think I need to find out more about this dispute between the Great Houses and the Ashlanders.

“I know of an Ashlander in Ald’ruhn,” he continued. “Fellow by the name of Hassour Zainsubani. Left his tribe and became a successful trader. I’d like you to speak to him if you will and find out what you can about the Nerevarine Cult from a uniquely Ashlander perspective.”

I knew enough of the Ashlanders to know that I wouldn’t be welcome if I turned up empty handed and the usual ‘gift’ of coinage wasn’t likely to appease this Zainsubani if he was as wealthy as Cosades said. So I’d need to discover what his interests were and respond accordingly. Such were my thoughts as I opened a gateway and Void-Walked to Ald’ruhn. The ‘Rat-In-The-Pot’ wasn’t a likely venue for a rich trader so I headed over to the Ald Skar inn.

One of the patrons in the main bar told me I was likely to find Zainsubani in his room downstairs, or in the backroom with a book. I made my way down into the guest rooms where a quick search turned up a bed with a collection of books stacked beside it. Since it was the only bed with any books, I immediately knew what gift I should bring. There is only the one bookshop in Ald’ruhn: Collonus’. Codus confirmed that Hassour Zainsubani was a regular customer whenever he was in Ald’ruhn and, once he understood what I was after, he suggested a few titles. I knew that I hadn’t seen a copy of ‘Words of the Wind’ in Zainsubani’s room so I purchased a copy of that.

“Muthsera,” I said in a respectful tone of voice, “I would like to present you with this small token and request a boon.”

“Well,” the richly-clad Dunmer said in a whispery voice that betrayed his origins in the Ash Wastes, looking up from a book and taking the small volume from me, “this is most unexpected. You have, I think, spent time with the People?”

Recognising it as both a question and an invitation, I sat opposite the bearded Mer and confirmed that I had, indeed, had dealings with the Ashlanders. “Now, it was a boon you craved,” he said, “what can this unworthy one do for you?”

“I would like to know about the Nerevarine cult,” I said.

“Very well,” he said, sitting back in his chair and gesturing for the proprietor to bring us some Sujamma, “ask your questions and I will answer.”

Our discussion wasn’t limited to the Ashlander’s beliefs or the Nerevarine cult; Zainsubani and I spoke of many things ~ including my recent dreams and his fears about his son.

“Of your dreams I can say little,” the Ashlander said, “save that they are obviously powerful messages. I am, alas, unqualified to decipher such sendings but, if you can persuade one, a Wise-Woman might give you some answers.”

“Yes, I am afraid for my son’s safety,” he said. “I am too old to travel now… no, it’s true but you are kind to say so. My son, Hannat, went seeking a new source of Ebony in the underground caverns of Mamaea. He has not returned…”

“If I should meet your son in my travels,” I said, not so discreetly marking the location of Mamaea on my map, “I shall tell him you asked after him.”

“Tell him his father longs for news of his son and heir,” the Ashlander said. I nodded; I knew a code-phrase when I heard one. It was with some regret that I took my leave of the Ashlander merchant ~ he was excellent company and a well of useful information. I learned much about the customs of the Ashland tribes from him that morning.

Cosades was in a pensive mood after I’d delivered the information from Zainsubani, pacing back and forth in the tiny room he rented. Finally he turned to me and said, “It’s time you had some greater understanding of what is going on. Before I do that, I am pleased to promote you to the rank of Finder within His Imperial Majesty’s Blades. Now, what I am about to give you is the decoded orders you brought from Seyda Neen. Needless to say,” he added, handing over the oilskin package, “what you read here is highly classified and not to leave this room.”

I read the enclosed paper, feeling the blood drain from my face as I did so. What I was reading was pure insanity ~ proof positive of the rumours that Uriel Septim had gone insane. “Surely you can’t expect me to believe any of this… this… twaddle!” I exploded, throwing the package down on the table and scattering Moon Sugar everywhere. “It’s insane!”

“That’s what I thought at first,” Cosades said ruefully. “My initial reaction was that you were being used to distract attention from the Imperial presence here, a sort of lightning-rod to attract trouble…”

“Or a sacrificial Alit,” I snapped.

“Sadly also true,” Cosades admitted. “But it was an easy thing to arrange for the Empire ~ an Outlander, a Dunmer Outlander at that, born under the sigh of the Apprentice and of uncertain parents. That is to say, an orphan who never knew her real parents. You fit the details so well it was inevitable you’d be sent here to diffuse the situation.

“The problem is,” he continued, “that you fulfil the prophecy a little too well. And, according to the last communiqué I had from Cyrodiil City, the Emperor now believes that you may well be the genuine article.”

“Madness,” I whispered. “Pure, unadulterated madness.”

“Be that as it may,” Cosades said firmly, “my orders and yours are perfectly clear. You are to travel to the Urshilaku Camp, there to speak to the heads of the Nerevarine Cult ~ a warrior by the name of Sul-Matuul and the wise-woman Nibani Maesa. You are to tell them everything except the Empire’s involvement in this and ask to be tested against the Nerevarine Prophesies. When you’ve done that, you are to report back to me. By then I should have…”

“Listen!” I shouted, interrupting him. “I am me, not some reincarnation of a three millennia-dead Dunmer General.”

“Which is an interesting comment to make, Finder Vahl,” he said, squatting opposite me. “Tell me, how did you know that Nerevar was a General, and how did you know he’s been dead for three thousand years? Nothing in any of the notes you brought me said anything about that, and I’m damn’ certain I never mentioned it…”

Hehe cool

I am inclined to agree with the above poster.

Ditto.

Good update. Now how did Sudhendra know that about Nerevar Indoril? /joking. I'm looking much forward to read her take on the rest of the main quest.

He waited for my answer, but I just sat on his bed and stared at him. How in Azura’s name had I known that? When it was obvious that no answer was forthcoming, Cosades continued his briefing. “I’ve arranged some supplies for you at Fort Buckmoth, see Crulius Pontanian and Somitus Vunnis. It’s nothing too special I’m afraid, just some potions, scrolls, water, and food. As far as they are concerned, you’re heading into the Molag Amur to reconnoitre the area in preparation for Legion manoeuvres there.

“When you’ve done that,” he said, ignoring my continued silence, “I would head to Maar Gan. Nuleno Tedas is a scout who knows the Ashlander camps well and she’ll be able to give you directions on how to reach the Urshilaku Camp. Again, she knows nothing other than that you’re part of a prospective trade mission, looking to establish commercial links to the Ashlanders.”

I shook my head as I stood up. “No,” I said flatly, “I will not be a party to this madness.”

“Listen Finder… Sudhendra,” Cosades said softly, “I know this is all something of a shock and I appreciate that you’re feeling rather put upon at the moment. Look at it this way, if you’re not…” He held up a hand to forestall my vehement comment. “…the Nerevarine, this Maesa woman will be able to tell you. Then you can come back here and tell me ‘I told you so’ and tell me to stick the job where the sun doesn’t shine. On the other hand…

“House Telvanni is all about power: personal power and power for the House. Tell me Sudhendra, how powerful would the Telvanni be if they had the actual, living reincarnation of Nerevar living with them?”

“I’ll go,” I said softly, quietly. “And when this Wise-Woman tells me what I already know to be the truth, I’ll return here and tell you. Then I expect to never hear from you, the Blades, or any agent of the Empire ever again. If I do…” I left the threat unspoken, feeding magicka into the construct I’d envisioned, causing the temperature in the room to plummet. With a disdainful flick of the hand, I dismissed the cantrip and slammed out of the bed-and-basket Cosades called home.

I stormed into Fort Buckmoth and got the scrolls and potions ~ mostly cure common disease and cure blight ~ along with enough food and water to last a couple of days if I was frugal. Banging back out of the Fort, I opened a passageway to Ald’ruhn and void-walked to the dusty main square. From there I took the silt-strider up to Maar Gan.

By the time I arrived in Maar Gan, I’d simmered down enough to think rationally about what was going on and the part the Empire wanted me to play. The obvious conclusions that could be drawn were: one, the Emperor has gone completely stark-raving mad; two, this is all some plot to get me into trouble with the Temple and the Ashlanders; three, this is all some plot to cause civil strife in Morrowind, enabling the Empire to tighten it’s stranglehold; or four, there is something else going on to the Empire’s advantage that I’ve not yet figured out.

Even good, healthy Telvanni paranoia couldn’t convince me that the whole point of my arrest, trial, and subsequent exile here on Vvardenfell was just some plot to get me executed as a heretical troublemaker. Likewise, I couldn’t manage to convince myself that the Emperor had gone completely around the bend ~ that would surely have been noticed. I could, however, believe that this was some plot to gain advantage for the Empire in this notoriously troublesome Province, probably by inciting strife by some method I hadn’t yet guessed. There was, of course, a fifth option but that was even more ridiculous than the idea that this was just a plot to rid the Empire of one Sudhendra Vahl, and I refused to consider it for a moment.

The Tradehouse in Maar Gan provided food and lodgings so I booked a room for the night, as I didn’t fancy the idea of wandering around the ash wastes of the Molag Amur at night. The food was simple, plain and plentiful ~ all of which were exactly what I wanted. And the scout was perfectly willing to give me directions, having been paid by the East Empire Company to provide them.

“So you’re looking to establish a trade-route with the Ashlanders, eh?” Nuleno asked. I gave no answer so she shrugged and said, “you know the Foyada Bani-Dad?”

“So,” she continued when I said I’d travelled along it before, “travel right up the Bani-Dad until you reach the end, you’ll know you’ve reached it because you’ll have reached the northern coast of Vvardenfell. There’s a shipwreck just to the east, you’ll need to swim towards it, around the headland, and make for the beach. Head due east from there, past the ruins of the Assurnabitashpi Shrine. Just a little further to the east, almost in the Shrine’s shadow, is the Urshilaku Camp.”

Nice...I thought cassius would be missing a few limbs when Sudhendra left but i guess not...

Yestere’s journey along the Foyada Bani-Dad had little of interest. Basically, if you’ve travelled along one Foyada, you might as well have travelled along them all. What had made the journey tiresome was the silence, silence in which one’s mind could turn over and sift everything that it has learned, and everything that it fears.

Still, the pair of sorceresses that I’d found in the caverns of Ibar-Dad had provided a more than welcome distraction and, after I’d dealt with them, Ibar-Dad made a suitable resting place for the night. Before departing the cosy hole this morning, I’d looted it of everything I considered valuable ~ a thousand Septims, an apprentice scroll that taught the spell Dedres’ Masterful Eye, a shield, and a helm. I say a shield and a helm in such an insouciant manner: they were both extremely unique artefacts.

The silver-coloured shield was decorated in such a manner as to appear to be a widely grinning face and it bore deep and ancient magics woven into its fabric. It had been hanging on a wall inside a crypt deep inside Ibar-Dad, the door bearing the simple inscription ‘ELEIDON’. In the same crypt I had found a Daedric helm: according to the tattered note that had been stuffed inside it was The Face of Inspiration. Quite what the helm was supposed to inspire was uncertain ~ unless it was nightmares.

As I tramped across the barren and desolate beach, giving Assurnabitashpi a wide berth, I realised that bore no gift to present to the Ashlanders of the Urshilaku Camp. However, the spartan landscape gave me an idea. “My pardon,” I said to the warrior who’d been watching me slither down the ash-covered dune west of the camp, “but I would like to make you a gift.”

My heart pounded as the Ashlander looked at the large Kwama egg I was extending towards him. Then, with a brief flash of white teeth, he took the egg from my hands and said, “What do you do here, N’Wah?”

“I wish to speak to Sul-Matuul,” I replied, puzzled by his use of the word I had come to view as an insult. When the Ashlander had spoken the word, it had the ring of a title rather than a pejorative word. I had a couple of heartbeats to wonder if there was, perhaps, a different meaning to the word before the Ashlander replied.

“You will need to speak with Gulakhan Zabammund,” he said, “and he will decide if you are worthy to speak with Sul-Matuul.” With some ill-grace, obviously feeling he had discharged his obligation for the gift by giving me the information that he had, the warrior pointed out Zabammund’s yurt. My heart pounded as I walked towards the Gulakhan’s tent, I had little that would make a suitable gift for such a powerful figure.

“I have had dealings with N’Wah before,” Zabammund said when I confessed that I was uncertain what would make a suitable gift, “although few that are so polite. I usually accept a gift of gold from them; a… what do you call it? Ahh yes, a bribe.” Well, at least he was refreshingly forthright I thought as I gathered some of the heavy 100-Septim pieces from my purse and offered them to him as a gift.

“Please, be seated,” he said, indicating a low cushion. Gingerly lowering myself into it as he effortless folded his lanky frame into a sitting position on another, he asked the question that I had been dreading. “And what may the champion of the Sul-Matuul do for his gracious visitor?”

Deciding that beating around the Trama Bush would be a waste of time with this Mer, I stated, quite baldly, “I wish to be tested against the Nerevarine Prophesies.”

“You!” he exclaimed, wide-eyed. “You wish me to believe that you are the Reborn?” His booming laughter masked my gasp of surprise; ‘Reborn’ was the title that Elvil Vidron had claimed for himself in Suran, a title that had set the whole weight of the Temple against him. The true nature of the stakes I was playing for suddenly became apparent to me ~ if even a whisper of this got back to the Temple my life expectancy would be that of a Mud Crab in boiling water.

“You are serious,” he said, leaning forward to stare at me. “These are matters that are too deep for a simple Mer such as myself. Go, speak to Sul-Matuul ~ tell him that Zabammund sent you. Leave now, N’Wah.”

I scrambled to my feet, unsure whether the Gulakhan was eager to get rid of me because the matter was too important for him or because I had offended him. As I quickly thanked him for his time and left his yurt, I heard him sigh, “That I should live in such times.”

Sul-Matuul was even less amused by my explanation of why I was there, scowling at me as his hand dropped to the hilt of his knife. I stood my ground, unmoving even when he stalked around behind me. Having circled me, he returned to the skin-strewn chair and sat in it. Still glowering at me, he said, “I am uncertain how to proceed. There is an air about you that I cannot identify, quite apart from the stench of the settled people. My heart says I should gut you where you stand for your effrontery, yet my spirit tells me that you may be more than… the others.

“I am unqualified,” he said, passing a hand over his face, “to test you against the prophecies N’Wah, only the Wise-Woman may do that. But one not of the People may not speak to the Wise-Woman. A quandary, to be sure.” I sat, quietly, awaiting whatever decision Sul-Matuul would make. Finally, he spoke again. “My father’s spirit haunts our burial place. Go there and return to me with the bow of Sul-Senipul, Bone-Biter. When you have done this thing, I will name you Clanfriend of the People. Then you may speak to the Wise-Woman of the Tribe and she may judge you.”

Sul-Matuul gave me directions to the Urshilaku Burial, which lay close to the camp but deeper into the trackless wastes of the Molag Amur. “Travel along the edge of the sea until you come to a cairn, raised by the People many generations ago. From there, strike south through the Ashland. There you will find the door to the Urshilaku Burial.”

The directions proved to be excellent. I followed the shoreline to the east until I discovered a moss-covered pile of stones. Turning south, I headed into the desert of the Molag Amur, eventually discovering the door to the burial site on the southern facing slope of a small hillock.

The nondescript door and the gently sloping tunnel that led down into the Urshilaku burial chamber didn’t prepare me for the sight that met my eyes when I got further inside. I couldn’t help but cast nervous glances at the mummified, armed, and armoured, figures that sat, ancient and dignified, atop the pillars that lined the entrance tunnel. I could feel it in my bones, this was a place of unquiet dead and the proximity of so many dead and preserved bodies was a reminder that, proof against all disease and ageless I might be, but there was no protection from the skilfully wielded blade, the dagger in the night, or the poisoned cup.

Up ahead, the passageway narrowed and, as I approached this bottleneck, I could hear the faint splash of water. Pausing, I looked around, noticing the two massive rocks that formed a natural bridge high overhead. The splash of water seemed to be coming from up there. Muttering the cantrip “Aer Amo Calx “, I rose up into the air, pirouetting as I arced over the stone bride and coming to rest of the solid stone just as the spell collapsed. I had been correct, directly in front and directly behind me were two pools of water, along with the entrances to two caverns. Eager to explore, I headed towards the cavern directly in front of me.

The rats were of no consequence, and I gazed at the chamber. Hewn from the grey rock, this almost-circular chamber was dominated by a large stone obelisk, the tool-marks still visible on the shaped and smoothed sides after the Gods alone knew how many centuries. Arranged around the rock was a series of small pools ~ over each pool was an ossified skull, presumably the last remains of various Urshilaku warriors. The stink guided me to the food the rats had been surviving on, the rotting remains of a female adventurer.

The chamber opposite was virtually identical, only lacking the decaying corpse and with a trio of aggressive skeletal guardians instead of a couple of rats. The crushing blows I dealt them shattered bone and broke them into pieces. Three I could just about deal with ~ these were obviously not Summonings but were some form of reanimated creature of the sort you often find in tombs.

Returning to the lower passageway, I pressed deeper into the caves, arriving at last at a large chamber that was partially filled with water. Opposite me was a simple doorway, blocked with a warped and slightly rotted wooden door. The large, open, water-filled gap between where I was standing and the lip of rock that led to the door was deceptively narrow. I quickly realised that, if you failed to make the jump, the sides of the water-filled pit were far too steep to clamber up. Without magic, or a potion, you would be condemned to a slow and lingering death, treading water until exhaustion set in, and then drowning. My admiration for the deviousness of the Urshilaku rose a notch.

Floating across the gap, I glanced down and saw that there were, indeed, several sets of rusting armour and bleached bones residing in the bottom of the pool. With a grin, I probed the door blocking my way with a great deal of care, nodding in satisfaction as I located the tiny, needle-sharp pins on the underside of the handle. No doubt they were coated with something decidedly unpleasant. Telekinetically pulling the door open, I entered the chamber beyond.

Another sloping tunnel, this time free of any watchful dead, sloped downwards. As I made my slow and careful way down it, I became aware of the soft lapping of water from up ahead. Slowly, the shape of the large chamber ahead of me became visible, the dancing flames of the torches set into the walls reflecting from the dark, still water that lapped at the brink of the passageway I was in.

Large stones, flat-topped, offered an inviting path across to the small rocky outcropping opposite me but I was not fool enough to believe that it would be so easy. Once more taking to the air, I floated effortless across the water, taking a moment above each stone to push the point of Chrysamere against the flat surface. My paranoia was soon rewarded ~ as I put the point of the blade on the edge of one stepping-stone, the whole stone flipped over. That would have put a serious crimp in anyone’s day.

From here, I had a choice of two directions. Once more casting the levitation cantrip, I floated to my right. Ahead, a row of round rocky stubs rose out of the water, bordering the entrance to another part of the cavern. Inside the bowl of this second chamber, there rose another of those stone plinths and, seated on top, was a mummified body. The glint of metal from the figure, plus the sweet song of powerful magic, drew me closer and I drifted across the water and upwards until I was level with the corpse.

Clasped between its withered hands was a long sword, the glittering blade undimmed by the passage of time. It was from this that the magic sang. Quickly I probed the blade, receiving back an odd sensation of nullity. As I examined it on the astral plane, I was scrutinising it on the physical level. There were runes etched into the blade, partially obscured by the clasped hands of the figure, runes that read “…GEBANE”. I realised what my magical probe had revealed, this was the Mage-Bane Blade, a sword imbued with a powerful spell of silence that would still any magic-user’s tongue. With trembling fingers I reached out to take it…

And stopped, my outstretched figures a hair’s breadth from contacting the blade. Skeletal guardians, the eerie sensation of being observed, the pit trap, the rotating stone, the poison needles… It was all too neat. I cast my mind back to the entrance, the silent figures with their armour and weapons ~ nothing too ostentatious, just enough to draw a greedy adventurer in with the promise of greater treasures. Then the traps, cunning and devious ~ but oh so obvious to any seasoned adventurer. And then this, the Mage-Bane, one of the most sought after blades of all time. Any mage would pay a fortune to possess it, secure that he would never be on the receiving end of its baleful spells and knowing that he could stop any rival dead in their tracks. And here it was, on display for any brave enough, or foolish enough, to venture so far. Ripe for the taking.

Floating back out of the chamber, I quickly tested a nearby rock for stability and ~ finding it safe ~ I touched down. I drew my bow and took careful aim. The first arrow missed its mark by several feet, the second by less than a foot. The third was the charm, flying straight and true and ricocheting off the hilt of the artefact. As the sword slipped from long dead fingers, there was a grinding noise as, almost faster than you could blink, the round stone stubs rose out of the water to become very effective prison bars. With a smirk, I reached out telekinetically and took the sword from the water where it had fallen. Whoever had designed this place had never anticipated that a Telvanni would venture inside.

The door at the end of the other chamber opened up onto the most astounding sight. I found myself at the edge of a steep drop; dozens of feet below me water foamed and surged against needle-sharp rocks. To my left, a narrow stone passageway wound up the outside of the chamber ~ in the centre of which was a massive stone spire. Water crashed from ledges and protruding rocks, roaring down into the churning foam at the base of the rock. Niches cut into the rock walls and the face of the massive stone mountain that, in defiance of all common sense, rose from the centre of the chaotic pool. More of the watching dead filled these alcoves and I fancied I could hear the Spirit-Tongues, a faint susurration of sound whispering and moaning, even over the roaring water.

Unnerved by the sight, I clambered up the water-slicked rocks to the first of what would prove to be a series of doors. The small series of interlinked stone chambers behind the door, known as ‘The Fragile Burial’, were eminently defensible and mercifully free of the dripping water that is present in so many of the other burial areas. In short, it would make an excellent place to spend the night.

Two great updates. It's very different to read about a main character who doesn't warm to Caius Cosades, as almost all of the others in fan fics do. In this and in other encounters Sudhendra doesn't seem to be the social type, quite the opposite.

You describe the Urshilaku Burial Caverns so good that I relive them in my mind. The added details about the various traps (at doors and at Magebane) heighten the suspense and I felt myself being keenly interested in how Sudhendra would proceed.

Ditto to him but with out all the words.

The muted thunder of the waterfalls in the main chamber had meant that I spent a disturbed and restless night and, well before the sun rose and cast its light on the world outside these stygian chambers, I was awake, fed, and moving. A narrow stone bridge spanned the gap between the central spire and the ledge outside the Fragile Burial. Looking at the water-slicked surface, I sat and removed my boots. Then, slightly more securely, I walked ~ with infinite care ~ across the span and onto the ledge that ran around the monolithic central stone.

Following the ledge, I quickly came to another door: the cartouche identifying it as Kefka. Since Sul-Matuul had neglected to mention where in these labyrinthine chambers I would be likely to meet the shade of his father, I resigned myself to having to explore each and every passageway and chamber. Kefka turned out to be a long, winding passageway that led to a large chamber guarded by four powerful skeletal warriors. For a while things got very exciting, the clash of steel on silver echoing through the chamber as I struggled to disarm and destroy three of the skeletons whilst trying to avoid being skewered by the bow-wielding fourth.

There were several tempting items in Kefka but I was mindful of the traps I had encountered yestere, being careful to touch nothing. Leaving the heaped gold coins and glittering gems behind, I backtracked to the central chamber and cast a baleful glance at the slender path of stone that led from Kefka upwards around the rocky spire. There have been few moments in my long and eventful life that were as nerve-wracking as that ascent ~ often the stone pathway was barely as wide as my foot, and the glistening stone, slick with droplets of water from above, was unforgiving. Nearly as unforgiving as the milk-white foam that surged and swirled hundreds of feet below me.

So you can imagine my relief when, a long time later, I stood panting on the stone platform in front of the door marked Kakuna. I could, I suppose, have made the whole job a great deal easier by simply levitating from one rocky platform to the next. However, given the traps and trials that existed in the mausoleum, I had no intention of running the risk of being… caught wanting at a critical moment. It’s all very well having a nice selection of restore magicka potions but, when you have a trio of skeletal guardians hacking away at you is hardly the time to be going digging in your pack for a potion.

Kakuna was radically different to the other burial chambers I’d been inside; it was ankle-deep in water to start with. The thunder of the main waterfall was overpowered in this echoing void in the rock by the thunder of a smaller, but much closer, waterfall. The burials here were all atop a long rocky ledge that dominated one side of the chamber. Since I could detect no sign of any ghost up there, I didn’t bother levitating up. I did, however, get quite a nasty shock.

The cascading waterfall was ice-cold and the water rich with minerals. Quickly confirming that the water wasn’t rich in harmful salts, I went over to the waterfall to fill my canteens. What it was that made me duck and flinch backwards from the steel blade that suddenly scythed through the tumbling water, I have no idea. A premonition, the flicker of a shadow where there shouldn’t have been one? Whichever it was, it saved me from the worst of the blow, the blade crashing into the heavy Nordic armour rather than slitting my throat.

Back-pedalling quickly, I hurled a fireball at the skeletal figure that breached the waterfall ~ the detonation of the spell shockingly loud in this enclosed space. As dust sifted down from above, I followed this magical attack with a more direct approach. The steel of the skeleton’s blade clanged against the curved edge of the Wish. Lifting its blade, I hacked in a brutal blow, gaining the satisfaction of seeing the ribs of the guardian crack and fall to dust. The flat of the axe-blade smashed into the skull on the back-swing, making the hollow dome spin on the top of the skeleton’s spinal column.

Behind the waterfall was a dimly lit chamber, at the back of which was a raised platform. On top of this platform sat another of the mummified Urshilaku elders. Flanking the corpse were two urns, each containing a quantity of reeking mulch. These had, I guessed, contained flora of an alchemical nature but time had been as unkind to the contents of the urns as they had to the tattered and decaying mummy. Nearby lay a Telvanni Cephalopod Helm, of the sort worn by House Guards and a chest of gemstones. Leaving those, I reclaimed the guard helm and stuffed it in my pack before taking my leave of Kakuna.

There was but one door left and I knew that I would find the spirit of Sul-Senipul behind it. There was just the one problem ~ there was no physical means of reaching the last burial chamber. With a sigh, I became airborne once more, bridging the gap on the unsteady currents of air that rose from the waters so far below. The instant I touched down I dissolved the spell and took a restorative potion to replenish the levels of magicka I had at my command. The Juno Burial Chamber beckoned and I was under no illusions ~ I would need every ounce of guile, skill, and speed I could muster.

The winding passageways of Juno proved to be every bit as difficult as I’d feared. As with all of the burial chambers (with the exception of the Fragile Burial and the main chamber) there were skeletal guardians in here too. As I battled with them, smashing them to dust, I fancied I could hear the howl of Sul-Senipul’s spirit. With the mundane guardians vanquished, I pressed on ~ coming at last to a large chamber whose walls had been smoothed and painted.

And there, skeletal fingers extended towards me as the distorted face screamed its hatred of the living, was the ghost of Sul-Senipul. Eldritch fire swirled around the grasping fingers as it drifted towards me. Deadly whispers of razor-sharp silver hissed from the leather scabbards at my waist, their wickedly sharp edges cleaving the air with a keening sound. As the first blade passed though the spectral form I felt a slight tug and ectoplasmic material was torn from the shade. It screamed in my face, mouth opened wider than an Alit’s. Unfazed, I pressed home my advantage, keeping those clutching, fire-limned claws as far away from me as I could as I wove a net of metallic death. Slash after slash bit home, tearing the ectoplasmic form to ever more tattered shreds until, no longer able to manifest itself, it collapsed into a brilliant spark of light and winked out of existence.

As the otherworldly howl of Sul-Senipul’s spirit echoed around the chamber, there was a decidedly mundane clattering sound as a Bonemold longbow suddenly dropped from the sparkling motes of the shade’s dissolution and bounced off the nearby rocks before coming to a rest on the floor. Picking up Bone-Biter, I admired the workmanship that had gone into the bow, the delicate engraving and carvings that decorated it and the pale, almost golden colour that the Bonemold had assumed over the years. It was, truly, a handsome piece.

“You return,” Sul-Matuul said with a mixture of surprise and pleasure on his face.

“More,” I said, “ bowing my head and extending the Bonemold bow, “I return to you the bow of your father, Sul-Senipul.”

With a bow, he accepted the longbow from me. “I name you now, Sudhendra Vahl, Clanfriend of the Urshilaku. Now, I think, you should speak with our Wise-Woman.”

“And you are the N’Wah who believes she is the Reborn?” the Wise-Woman said, looking me up and down critically after I had answered her questions.

“I believe… I believe I might be the Reborn,” I said.

“No you do not,” she snapped standing in front of me, her crimson eyes flashing with anger. “Your heart, your mind, your spirit ~ they all rebel at the thought. You are not Nerevar, War-leader of the Great Houses, and Clan Master of the People. You are not the Reborn.”

I gasped, a deep sigh of relief at being vindicated, at proving that Caius Cosades was wrong. Now all I had to do was return to Balmora and tell the spymaster what he could do with his job, in loving detail, with diagrams if necessary. And assistance for those things that were physically impossible for one person to do alone. Nibani Maesa’s next words, therefore, were like a dagger in my heart.

Ahhh cruelty thy name art Override....

You just had to huh? Even if we sort of "know" what Nibani Maesa´s words would be..we can´t be absolutely sure you haven´t changed anything.....just for the thrill....can we?


It´s a pleasure to read a story that well written.....so I hope you´ll update pretty soon..as you usually do...

Have a

kool...i dont think i got the water fall thing...now i gotta go back to getit...

To express my admiration and enjoyment of this story would take more words than I have. Now that Sudhendra has moved into areas that are "safe" for me to read, I do so with great pleasure. The fight with Vantinius was one of the best I have ever seen- anywhere. The rocky relationship with Caius is a breath of fresh air- Sudhendra is Arch-Magister and Knight of the Dragon- no surprise she has no interest in being a flunky. And particularly no surprise that she has no desire to further the Empire's interests.

Yes, I remember this part. It's good to follow Sudhendra's reasoning when she hears it. But no one escapes the Spanish Inquisition...ehm, the Empire.

"What you are is someone with the potential to be the Nerevarine,” she said, not unkindly. “Your birth under the sign of the Apprentice and the uncertainty surrounding your real parents are clear enough signs that you have that potential. But those alone are not enough to prove that you are the Nerevarine. Indeed, many are those who have met these criteria and assumed the mantle of Nerevarine ~ all have failed. Your reluctance to claim the title may be the one thing that marks you out as the true heir to those ancient titles.”

“Great,” I groused, “damned if I do, damned if I don’t.”

“Such is often the way of the Mundus,” Nibani said with a smile. “Come, sit and listen and I will tell you what I can.”

I sat and listened as the Wise-Woman told me what the prophecies said. About how the Reborn would be immune to disease and old age; “even,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, “beyond the talents of those you have aligned yourself with.” She went on to explain that the Reborn would bear the mark of Nerevar’s House ~ the Moon-And-Star device of House Indoril.

“The Wise-Women of the People,” Nibani said, “have kept alive the prophecies and tales of the Incarnate but, alas, many of the tales have been lost down the years. We know that those known as Dissident Priests study the Nerevarine Prophesies and record the words in books. Mayhap they will have answers I cannot give. You, who straddle both worlds, can go to the settled people and get them to show you these books. Then you can bring back the words you have learned.”

If anyone knows how to get in contact with these dissident priests, it would be Caius Cosades. When I returned to Balmora, I would have to ask him. I then spoke of the increased activity I had observed amongst what the Temple called ‘The Sixth House Cult’ and of my strange dreams. Nibani feels that there is some connection between the recent attacks by what she calls ‘sleepers’ and the Nerevarine Prophesies, although she wouldn’t discuss that with me. As to my dreams, she said that these are being sent to me by ‘The Sharmat Ur’ and are designed to tempt me from my course. I should resist them at all costs.

Her final words to me were accompanied by a gift, two ancient scrolls that the Wise-Woman said would help me understand. These were ‘The Seven Visions’ and ‘The Stranger’. I had no doubt that Cosades would be deeply interested in these scrolls. Thanking Nibani Maesa, I left her yurt and wandered a little way into the Ashland before opening a portal and crossing the void to Balmora.

Oddly, my conversation with Nibani Maesa had calmed my nerves somewhat. While Cosades’ belief that I may be the Nerevarine Reborn could be written off as his desire that I serve the Empire; even at my most cynical I couldn’t ascribe such motives to the Urshilaku Wise-Woman. She really and honestly believed that I had the potential to be this Dunmeri General, reborn after countless centuries. Not that I was, but that I might be. I could take certain satisfaction from the fact that there was an equal chance that I might not be.

“I will study these carefully,” Caius said, taking the two scrolls from me when I related what I had learned. “But first, I have a new task for you. Following up reports of cultists near Gnaar Mok, a patrol encountered a powerful force of cultists, deformed beasts, and something even worse. The survivor, the only one to make it out of Ilunibi, was unable to describe what it was they found deep in those caverns and he died, raving and diseased, before we could get much more out of him.”

“Diseased?” I asked.

“Yes, some disease none of our healers have encountered before,” the spymaster said. “Although I suspect you may know of it… the locals call it Corprus.” He nodded as I gasped, almost as though he was expecting the response. “I want you to go to Fort Buckmoth and speak to the Champion there, Raesa Pullia. She knows what you are, not who, and is under orders to tell you whatever she can about the patrol. Find out what you can, find out where this base is located, and wipe them all out Finder, every last one of them. It’s a filthy job, I know, but someone’s got to do it.”

Raesa Pullia was distraught, to put it mildly. Clad in a black robe with a black cloth covering my face and the hood pulled as far forward as it would go, and bearing no trace of Legion armour whatsoever, I questioned her in the gruff accent of the Skaal. “Of the patrol, tell me,” I demanded.

“A patrol up near Gnaar Mok,” she said, carefully not looking at me directly. “Sent to investigate reports of cultist activities there. Six of my best men,” she added sadly. Then, pulling herself together, she continued. “They found a cavern ~ Ilunibi ~ and entered. They fought their way through the cavern; the survivor said that they fought mad cultists and terrible monsters. He described them as man-beasts. They came to something else, deep under the rock. The survivor said only two words about whatever it was they faced, just before he died.”

“Those words, what?” I growled.

“Dagoth Gares,” she replied.

“The survivor,” I pressed, “of him, tell me.”

“He turned up the day before yestere,” she said with a shudder, “after being missing for a week. We scarcely recognised him, so disfigured was he. It was only by his… his uniform…” Pullia paused for a while, obviously mastering her emotions. I didn’t press, I had seen the hideous results of Corprus-infection and could imagine, all too vividly, what the poor damned soul must have looked like. “We only recognised him because of his uniform,” Pullia continued after a while. “He was raving, something about dreamers and sleepers awakening and the time of the lost ones.”

That gave me another nasty start, the Dunmeri woman in the sewers beneath Vivec City, the one who’d killed seven people two months ago, she had been raving about ‘the time of the lost ones’. And, my memory prompted, she’d been toting a dagger with Sixth House sigils all over it. “Ilunibi,” I snapped, “where?”

“We don’t know,” Pullia said. “All we know is that they were patrolling north of Gnaar Mok. Tell me,” she pleaded as I turned to go, “is it true that the survivor had Corprus?”

I glanced over my shoulder and nodded curtly, leaving as she gasped in horror. Donning the ring, I returned to Tel Vahl. To be honest, part of me wanted nothing further to do with Cosades, Nerevarine Prophesies, or disfigured horrors raving about ‘Sleepers’ and ‘Dreamers’. The more civilised portion of me realised that the Sixth House Cult was becoming a problem. They’re obviously the source of the foulness known as Corprus and, if they’ve established a base near a population centre, even one as small as Gnaar Mok, then they have grown very bold indeed. Ignoring the problem wouldn’t make it go away ~ in fact, ignoring the problem meant that, sooner or later, disfigured monsters would be knocking on the door of Tel Vahl.

As to the Nerevarine Prophesies themselves? I was uncertain whether or not I believed in them but I was pretty certain that they weren’t about me. The whole idea was laughable, a no-name Dunmer born thousands of miles away, beaten daily and kept in abject poverty by adopted parents, a petty thief, an exile from her own land and reviled by the inhabitants of her ancestral home ~ this, this was supposed to be the life of some great battle-leader born anew? Please, don’t make me laugh.

Ahhh just wonderfully described here.......I just love it......no need for more words....just some

Ooooooooooooooh!! i like...Hey, u haven't mention what has changed at Tel Vahl...I mean she was gone a long time.

Good links back to the 'Dunmer woman clad in netch leather' from two months ago and Sudhendra's recollection of how corprus affects the body from seeing other diseased victims. Those two links make her patience with Pullia and her reasoning about the prophecies fit in well. And the disguise? Great detail.

Like Neck' Thall, I'd like to hear about Tel Vahl, too. You portray your retainers and the running of your stronghold really well.

The Skaal chainmail, repaired and polished by the blacksmith Kalortod, was ready for me this morning after I broke my fast. As were Chrysamere, the Last Wish, my crossbows, and the matched pair of ornate silver blades ~ all freshly sharpened. Once I was clad appropriately, and armed, I packed my backpack with restorative and curative potions and a selection of deadly spells inscribed on parchment. A bundle of faggots strapped to the underside of the pack completed my preparations and I opened the way to Balmora and stepped through the portal. Setting a brisk, but not punishing pace, I trotted along the road to the Odai Plateau and, skirting the now overgrown ruins of Rethan Manor, I crossed the line of hills and descended into the Bitter Coast.

The road towards Hla Oad, little more than a pathway, eased my passage and I made good time to the small fishing village. To my dismay, all the vessels were out on the water so I had no choice other than to continue on foot up to Gnaar Mok. Despite having to take a rest after fighting off a couple of hungry Guar, I arrived in the Redoran Township not long after the Twelfth Hour. I have to admit, my rest along the way seemed to have done wonders for my stamina, on arriving at the wooden planks that span the marshes around Gnaar Mok I was barely winded, even though I’d picked up the pace a little.

My general demeanour, admirably aided by the profusion of weapons that festooned my glistening armour, was sufficient to overcome any reticence the Redoran guards might have had in speaking to me and I quickly learned that Ilunibi was a cave system on the coast, up near Kartag Point. The guards pointed out the landmark ~ a huge spire of rock ~ on my map and I quickly left the town and headed north.

The door to Ilunibi was on the edge of a noisome slime-pool, and accessing it required wading through the stagnant water or edging around the pool on the narrow margin of crumbly soil. Of course, as a Telvanni, I had a third avenue of approach and I simply used the levitation amulet to float serenely a good foot above the stinking pool until I reached the door. Under the cartouche that identified the caverns, another hand had crudely carved the legend: Carcass of The Saint.

The flickering red candles I could see in the tunnel opposite me, across the deep and water-filled pit, were cause for alarm. I’d know that Ilunibi was a Sixth House base but the reality of it hadn’t sunk in until I saw those. I could just make out a route down into the pit, which was being fed by thundering waterfalls, but the slippery-looking rocks promised that the slightest misstep would result in a great deal of pain. I had taken to keeping a few trinkets in a pouch at my waist, and from there I took out the levitation amulet that Talanian had given me. Focussing my will, I activated the charm and floated down into the pit and to the tunnel entrance.

I soon came to a junction, with tunnels leading off east, west, and south. Since straight ahead was as good a direction as any that was the way I headed. And, my Gods, I wished I hadn’t. I was moving as silently and as carefully as I could, intent on the flickering light that was coming from between two stone pylons that constricted the passageway ahead. From the dancing light and the roseate glow, my guess is that it was a fire. And where there are fires in a Sixth House base, there are usually postulants ~ the naked and half–insane adherents that are new to the cult.

With a cry of disgust that attracted the attention of the naked Dunmeri in the chamber, I drew back my hand and screamed “Na Awyra? Ad 'u anadl ddyfrha.” Instantly, the cavern was lit up with the first threatening flickers of the lightning-storm I’d conjured. Teeth clenched, I fed the construct with magical-energy, watching the thick, roiling clouds grow darker and more chaotic as titanic bolts of lightning arced from the underside of the hovering cloud to slam repeatedly into the cultist. When I was certain that he was dead, I entered the cave and, kicking the remnants of his last meal over to join the pitiful remains of its owner, I cremated the half-eaten remains.

Fuelled by revulsion and hate, I drew the Clanbringer and hefted it carefully until I was once more accustomed to the weight of the heavy sword. I would bring fire and destruction upon these foul creatures and cleanse these caverns of their abominable taint. Such were my thoughts as I stalked back along the passage and turned to the east, all pretence at stealth abandoned in my towering rage.

The blind and faceless ‘zombie’ at the end of the tunnel had no chance. As I drew back its hands to cast, I descended upon it, the Clanbringer already moving in a flat and smooth trajectory as I rushed in to do battle. The heavy Nordic blade tore through the creature in a welter of blood and other, less identifiable, gore. The legs and lower torso, neatly cauterised by the awesome power of the blade, remaining standing for several seconds after the upper torso and head had toppled backwards. The door it had been guarding exploded under the impact of the sword ~ I cared not if it had been locked or trapped, or neither.

I now found myself in an area known as ‘The Tainted Marrow’, facing another irate adherent of this disgusting cult. As he rushed from the niche he used as a home, I dug the point of Clanbringer deep into the loose soil and hurled a fireball at him. He screamed as the flesh melted from his bones, the dancing flames that licked and consumed his threshing form providing enough illumination for me to see the other naked Dunmeri inside the small hollow. They seemed oddly reluctant to attack, but I showed no such restraint, focussing on their fire and turning it into an instrument of death ~ the noxious fumes the spell created causing them to claw at their throats as they threshed and jerked their miserable existence away on the dirt floor where they belonged.

Faint whispered voices echoed through the caverns as I stalked towards the door at the end of the short western passageway. Slamming open the door, I descended into Marowak’s Spine. These dark and gloomy caverns were filled with flitting shadows, and I knew I was drawing closer to the black foulness that corrupted this place. Without deviation, I followed the tunnel straight ahead of me, dealing death by magic to the inhabitants, the filth that infested these caves. There were fewer of the postulants here: as I raged through the caves, hacking and slashing, mystic fire splashing the walls, I found that I was facing more and more of the hideously deformed creatures I knew as ‘Slaves’ and ‘Zombies’. Not that I cared ~ all of them deserved death. And that was what I came with.

Panting, I rested against the cool stone and took stock, my boiling rage leeching away. My travelling robe was tattered and torn, smeared with blood and ichors from the creatures I had decimated to reach this point. Not all the blood that stained me belonged to the dead monstrosities behind me; in my fury I hadn’t noticed the wounds I’d picked up along the way. And the dull, throbbing ache behind my eyes bespoke the fact that I was running on my last few reserves of magical energy. Knowing that there were creatures still behind me that had escaped my wrath ~ I could still hear their whispering voices ~ and even more ahead of me in ‘The Blackened Heart’, I took a few moments to recuperate.

Shedding the robe was the first priority; the stink of sweat and blood that rose from it was nauseating. Not wishing to handle the sodden fabric, I used my boot-dagger to slit the front and simply shrugged it off. Now, with the armour of the Skaal exposed, I dug in my pack for three items. The restorative potions soon did their work, the tiny cuts and deep wounds I’d accumulated itching as flesh knitted itself back together. Simultaneously, the restore magicka potion dealt with the dull ache in my head, replenishing the arcane forces I’d need for what lay ahead. Replenished and restored, I tied back my hair and placed the Nordic helm atop my head.

The Blackened Heart was a labyrinth of tunnels, inhabited by the most distorted and disfigured of the Sixth House cultists. My heart pounded, the bitter tang of fear in my mouth. The creatures seemed unwilling to attack, melting back into the shadows as if under orders not to stay my progress. And that thought terrified me ~ what power ordered these creatures, and why would such a power stay their attacks? There had been no such reticence in the outer tunnels of this diseased place so why was there now? Somehow I had the uncomfortable feeling I was being led, like a Guar to the slaughter, to whatever hideous secret this place held.

‘Soul’s Rattle’ did little to disabuse me of that notion; the reeking caves that opened off the main passageway littered with evidence of recent occupation. From ahead I could hear a faint chanting, a solitary voice that rose and fell, chanting words I couldn’t understand. Following the echoes of the voice, I made my way deeper into the squalid gloom until I came, at last, to a large chamber. This room, a natural hollow in the rocks, was arrayed with the trappings and ornaments of the Sixth House cult. Here, at last, was the corrupted heart of the Ilunibi caverns.

The robed and distorted figure that stepped away from the squat and hideous idol was instantly recognisable. The deformities that had been wrought on the Man/Mer in front of me were identical to the monstrosity I’d faced in Hassour. “Hold,” it said in an oddly whistling voice, “stay thy hand. For thou art come to Ilunibi, the least of our refuges where we may share the sacraments of flesh and blood.”

Wooahhh........I remembered how I felt playing that part.....so long ago.....Amazingly described..so utterly vivid as if I was actually playing it ..

Amazing..just amazing...

There was something lascivious in the way the figure piped the words ‘flesh and blood’ that made me shudder. “What do you mean, the least of your refuges?”

“Other lesser shrines art hidden throughout the land,” it whistled, “but beneath Red Mountain lie the citadels of our Lord and his kin. We are but poor servants: Sleepers and Dreamers newly awoken to worship Him, for we are the least of His servants ~ although the Children of His Flesh are deep in the heart of His mysteries. The Poets, Ascended Sleepers, and the Ash-Vampire Lords are blessed, living as they do in the heart of His power.”

“Who is this ‘he’ you speak of?” I asked, my horror growing with every alien syllable the Dagoth uttered.

“Lord Voryn Ur, Dagoth, Master,” it shrieked in ecstasy. “Thou would be as friend received if thou would travel to Red Mountain and lay down your arms. Until that time, His servants will thou treat as an enemy. Dagoth Ur wishes to renew friendships long forgotten Nerevar,” the priest continued, false sincerity oozing from every word it spoke. “To Red Mountain, the path is long and the dangers are many, but there He will grant thee wisdom, wisdom and power so that thou may order the Mundus to thine own liking.”

“To my own liking?” I asked.

“Aye Nerevar,” was the response, “Join with Dagoth Ur and together shrive Morrowind of the greedy thieves and false friends who wouldst bleed us dry. Thou shall water the wastelands with the blood of the outlanders and there, the children of Veloth will build anew the garden of plenty.

“Thrice He was betrayed by you and yours,” the Dagoth hissed softly, “but He doth forgive thee. My Lord commands that I relay this message: ‘Ever we were friends Indoril Nerevar and trusted I was to guard thy treasure. Yet I was struck down protecting that I had sworn to thee I would protect. Yet I forgive thee Nerevar and would raise thee high in mine service. Come to Red Mountain and swear oaths of kinship and we shall sweep all before us. Lay down thy arms and I shall give thee power beyond mortal ken’. These are the words of my Lord and Master; to thee He extends a hand of friendship. How say thee?”

“Here’s my answer,” I said, whipping the ten-pointed star I’d been concealing in my hand at the dark priest. There was a burbling scream as the spark-enhanced shuriken slammed into the Dagoth, flickers of lightning flickering up and down the creature’s form. I was already in motion, closing the distance between us as the silver blades sang their deadly song. The left blade hammered into the beast’s upper arm, blood jetting out as the blade bit deep. The other blade slashed up and across in a Geth-strike cutting a deep furrow across the Dagoth’s chest, the return slash severing the tendril that grew from the centre of its face. Merciless, I pounded home another strike ~ this one cutting short the rising wail from the Dagoth and slicing open its throat.

I grinned, I doubted that this Ur would receive the message but the silence from Ilunibi would be message enough for the Sharmat. Wiping my blades on the priest’s tattered robe, I returned them to their scabbards and looked around the chamber. Apart from the inevitable plinth with its shelves of aberrant statues and the squat and hideous idol, there was little of interest in the chamber. I did find a pair of chitin gauntlets, heavily enchanted with some enhancing spell ~ but this was neither the time nor the place to be investigating the magic woven into the armour.

“Nerevar,” a weak voice said, on the very edge of hearing. Spinning around I watched the bloodied shape of Dagoth Gares raise itself up on an elbow. “My Lord wishes you to go to Red Mountain, if thou will not go voluntarily, then thou shall go in His flesh…”

I screamed as black fire coursed through me, the agony driving me to my knees. Every cell was afire…

I must have passed out for; when next I took note of my surroundings I was laying on the floor several paces from the stinking ruin of Dagoth Gares. Groaning, every join aching, I rose to my feet. I seemed unaccountably weary, far more exhausted than fighting my way through Ilunibi and cutting down Dagoth Gares could account for. I remembered the Dagoth’s final words and my heart skipped a beat.

“Stand right there and do not move,” Cosades said, peering at me closely when I entered his dwelling. Skirting around me, he rushed out of the building, returning a few minutes later with the Blades’ healer Tyermaillin. “Tell me that isn’t what I think it is,” he said.

Tyermaillin came close and peered at me, suddenly recoiling ~ the horror written large on his face all the confirmation of my fears that I needed. “Corprus,” I whispered. The Altmeri nodded before turning to Cosades and spreading his hands in a gesture that summed up his helplessness.

As the Healer took his leave, Cosades stood and looked at me. “I… I don’t know what to say,” he said. “Listen, I have some contacts I can speak to, come back in the morning and I’ll see what I can do in the meantime.”

“Why bother?” I said, fighting back the tears. “We both know that I’m as good as dead ~ or worse. Promise me that you’ll kill me before it gets too bad, please…”

“We’ll have none of that,” he said gruffly, “I got you into this and I’ll get you out of it. Now go and get some rest.”

Wrapping a cloak around me, I made my way through the streets of Balmora to Dura gra-Bol’s house. That would do for the night and I no longer cared if the Camonna Tong knew where I was or not. Sleep, as you can imagine, was a long time coming and when I finally fell into a fitful doze, I was plagued by dreams.

Incredible descriptions of Ilunibi. The feeling of Sudhendra's loathing for the 6th House is palpable. The scene with Dagoth Gares was phenomenal. This story is a rare and precious gift. My thanks to you for sharing it.

"of" for "if"

Once more bundled up in a hooded robe, the first signs of the disease now visible on my skin in the form of expanding reddish patches (which itched abominably), I walked through the streets to Cosades’ house. The spymaster took me by the shoulder as I entered and guided me to a seat. Oddly, I felt much stronger than I had yestere, although there was an odd buzzing in my head ~ as though of a voice speaking on the threshold of hearing ~ that made concentrating difficult.

“I have some news that might cheer you,” he said as he sat opposite me. “Late last night I was contacted by an Edward Theman who suggested that I should send a message to some Telvanni wizard named Fyr. Just this morning I got an answer back that suggests that this wizard wishes to see you. According to this Theman, the wizard has a passion for Dwemer artefacts so I’d like you to take this…” here Cosades gave me a Dwemer Cylinder “…and speak to him. Since he and you are affiliated by House, he might be able to help you.”

“Arch-Magister,” Divayth said with a bow, “your Mouth contacted me to say that he feared you had contracted Corprus. I see that his fears were well founded. Tell me Arch-Magister, what do you know of the Divine Disease?”

When I admitted that I knew very little, he nodded. “Very well. Then I shall take the liberty of educating you. Corprus cannot be caught in the conventional sense. I can stand next to you for an entire day and I still wouldn’t contract it. Which makes the steadily increasing number of victims a little odd, wouldn’t you say? It is my belief that Corprus can only be inflicted on someone by a person already deeply infected and that the infection isn’t carried out in any manner I can determine.

“Additionally, Corprus seems to prevent any other disease from taking hold, as well as increasing the victim’s strength…”

“And driving them insane,” I added bitterly.

“Yes,” he said, baffling me totally by then saying, “and no. You see the majority of victims do, as you so rightly say, go mad. Some, however, seem to undergo a strange transmogrification ~ growing incredibly powerful. I did have one such specimen a couple of centuries ago but the changes made it so unpredictable that, in the end, I had to destroy it.”

“All very interesting,” I said.

“…But not what you wish to hear, eh Arch-Magister?” Divayth said with a grin. “Then let us get down to business. I have, I believe, found a cure for Corprus…” he held up a hand to forestall whatever it was I was about to say “…but there is a very good chance it will kill you rather than cure you. As I see it, you have very little choice, but I want you to go down into the Corprusarium and see for yourself what fate awaits you if you choose not to take the potion.”

My protestations that I had already faced the distorted and malformed results of Corprus infection fell on deaf ears: for unfathomable purposes of his own Divayth wished me to visit the Corprusarium. And, when someone is holding out a possible cure to the disease that is ravaging your body ~ and is a four thousand year old and incredibly puissant wizard ~ there is a powerful incentive to do as they wish. Descending from the chambers at the top of Tel Fyr, I made my way down the sloping passageway into the rough chamber hewn out of the living rock that lay at the passageway’s end. There a Khajiiti named Vistha-Kai addressed me.

“The Lord Fyr has told Vistha-Kai that the Dark Elf is permitted to enter,” it said, indicating the heavily studded wooden door behind it. “But listen to the words Vistha-Kai now says. Do not harm those within for, if you do, Vistha-Kai has orders to lock Dark Elf inside and throw away key. And, if Dark Elf will take advise from Vistha-Kai, not to even be thinking of hurting Daughters of my Lord Fyr…”

“Insolent creature,” I hissed, my hand straying towards the hilt of my sword. Vistha-Kai’s words infuriated me and I couldn’t understand why. The Suthay-Raht took a careful step back, reaching for its own sword. With an effort, I crushed the murderous rage and took a shaky breath. “My apologies,” I managed after a few tense moments, “I will take your advice.”

The Khajiiti, still unsure, kept a wary eye on me as it unbolted the heavy door. Steeling myself, I prepared a spell of Shadow-Weave and stepped into the stinking gloom of the Corprusarium. Directly in front of me was another door while, left and right, passages snaked off into the yellow-tinted distance. A bestial roar was all the excuse I needed to wrap the cloaking spell around me and vanish from mortal ken.

The journey into the depths of the Corprusarium is one that I shall never forget. Wrapped in the cloak of a Shadow-Weave, I walked unremarked amidst the shambling ruins that inhabited these caverns. My heart went out to them, so many distorted and malformed bodies ~ impossible to tell if they had been Man or Mer ~ screaming their uncomprehending rage at the indifferent walls. Some of the unfortunates were not too far gone, Meric or Mannish features still visible under that distorted flesh. Others had long since lost any vestige of humanity, little more than shambling, lurching monsters ~ devoid of reason or comprehension. With tears in my eyes, as much for these poor unfortunates as for myself, I stumbled on until I came to the central chamber of the refuge for these damned souls.

Ahead of me was the most bizarre sight I have ever seen. Since the Corprus-beasts seemed to be keeping their distance from the wooden platform, I stood there and stared ~ desperately trying to convince myself what I was seeing was no Corprus-induced hallucination. One of Divayth’s daughters, Uupse I think it was, stood near a large cupboard from which she was fetching various herbs. But it was the outlandish creature next to her that half convinced me I was having a fever-dream.

My first thought was that the Mer was seated in some sort of travelling machine constructed from the lower portion of a type I animalcule. However, the scar tissue that surrounded the join between flesh and metal told me that this wasn’t so and that this fantastic being was actually melded in some fashion with the metallic construct. Once I had got over that shock, I saw that the Mer bore unmistakable signs of Corprus; the weeping lesions and mottled red patches. With a skittering sound, the metallic legs rotated the creature around to face me.

“Ahh,” a deep and melodious voice said, “we have a visitor.”

“Who?” I managed to gasp, a deep and unsettling suspicion overwhelming me.

“I am Yagrum Bagarn,” the meld said with a pleasant smile. “And yes, your suspicion is correct, I am of the race you called Dwemer.”

Ahhh.....Sudhendra.....in the Corprusarium.....as always I revive the moment I played this part......so well described..hehe I could almost sense the odour down there.....


Wonderful, Override!!!!! Just plain wonderful........

"How, where, what…” I spluttered, unable to get my words out.

Uupse provided me with a low stool and I sat, listening in fascination as Yagrum told me his tale. He had been travelling in what he called ‘The Outer Realms’ and, when he returned, all of the rest of his people had simply vanished. He had, he said, searched for them for many years both in the Mundus and in the ‘Outer Realms’, coming at last to the vast halls beneath the Red Mountain. Of that visit he would say nothing other than that Red Mountain was where he’d contracted Corprus. Driven half-mad, he mutilated himself and created the amalgamation of Mer and machine that I could now see. Divayth had rescued him from his self-imposed purgatory and brought him here. While he had not cured the Dwemer of Corprus, Divayth had halted the encroaching madness ~ for the time being at least.

“Now,” Yagrum said in his melodious voice, “are you returning to the tower or are you, like me, consigned to spend the rest of your time down here?”

“I have to see Divayth,” I husked.

“Then I ask a boon of you,” the last surviving Dwemer said. “Lord Fyr brought these boots down for me to look at. Such shoddy workmanship,” he added in disgust as he handed over the heavy Dwemer-metal boots. “I’ve done what I can with them and would ask you to return them to the Lord Fyr. By the way,” he added with more than a hint of bitterness, “there’s no need to cloak yourself ~ my brothers will not attack one with the taint of Corprus on them.”

I wasn’t sure that I trusted Yagrum that far but, preparing the spell just in case, I stepped off the platform and into the chamber. One poor soul, malformed almost beyond belief, turned and started to shamble towards me. However, ten paces away it suddenly stopped and stood there, swaying uncertainly. Then, with a moan, it turned and shuffled off into the darkness. There followed a most harrowing journey as I backtracked my route through the tunnels and chambers that made up the Corprusarium. Yagrum had been correct, the beasts were not inclined to attack, although I had several tense moments.

“Now you have some appreciate of that which awaits you,” Divayth said when I returned to his study. He held up a small gold and glass phial, a startlingly blue liquid sloshing around inside. “This is the Corprus cure,” he said. “But I must insist that you take it right here and right now.”

“Give it me,” I said without a moment’s hesitation. Divayth extended his hand and I snatched the flask and unscrewed the top. In a single, quick motion, I drank the seething blue potion…

“Father,” a voice yelled, “come quickly, I think she’s awake.”

A cool hand smoothed my brow and I opened my eyes to look up into the face of one of Divayth’s daughters ~ Beyte I think. There was a sudden feeling of presence and I glanced at the doorway to see Divayth sweep in. He sat on the edge of the bed and examined me quickly. “Fascinating,” he said, “the potion worked, it has completely removed the symptoms of the disease.”

“Wait,” I said, “removed the symptoms?”

“It was never my intention to cure the disease Arch-Magister,” Divayth said smoothly. “What I have done is removed the symptoms.”

“And you planned to tell me this when exactly?” I shouted, overcome by fear and frustration.

“Calm yourself,” he said. “Corprus has a couple of interesting side effects. The immunity to all known diseases is one that I have already mentioned, I felt sure you would infer the other benefit from your visit to the Corprusarium.”

As he looked at me, the Septim suddenly dropped. “Yagrum is over three thousand years old,” I gasped.

Divayth gave me one of his rare smiles. “Exactly Arch-Magister,” he said. “Without the benefit of Telvanni techniques he has lived ten times longer than he should. Indeed, you will find that, in addition to the blessing of continued good health, you will live a very, very long time. Without the creeping onset of madness and the fear or risk of disfigurement, I may add. Now, if you will excuse me, I find that I suddenly have a large number of patients that need immediate treatment.”

I sat on the edge of the bed, trying to process what Fyr had told me. I really should return to Caius Cosades and let him know that I was cured but I needed time to think. After all, he had sent me into Ilunibi knowing that there was a chance I would contract Corprus: I needed to consider that. There were other problems too.

Dagoth Ur, Caius, Nibani ~ all of them seem so sure that I am the Incarnate, this Lord Nerevar Reborn. Some, like Caius Cosades and Nibani Maesa, have doubts that I am actually the Nerevarine ~ although Nibani seems less doubtful than the spymaster. And then there is the Sharmat, Dagoth Ur. His servant, Gares, addressed me as though I was this Nerevar. While there was a chance that this was some scheme by the Sharmat to trick me into heretical behaviour, there was one major flaw. It was too Byzantine, too complex a scheme.

And then there was the other matter. Nibani had already said that I met two of the criteria that denoted the Incarnate ~ the identity of my parents and the aspect of my birth. Now there was this, and I could still remember Nibani Maesa’s soft voice saying: Neither disease nor age shall wither the Nerevarine.

A truly wonderful remark......in an excellent addition......great Override.....

The fight with Dagoth Gares was every bit as hideous and foul as himself. So very good. Sudhendra's compassion with the other corprus victims was a nice touch.

Yes...i finally caught up with this...but i have a question. in the one where you prepared for Illunbi you said you put faggots under your arms...What the heck are faggots(besides the usual).

By the usual, I assume you mean ~ usually used for a torch or lighting fires. Please note the use of the double "g"

ohhh...thank god...im glad she wasn't strapping somthing else under her arms.

Great updates, but wasn't the guy at the entrance to the Corprusarium an Argonian?