Chapter 14: Never Say Nerevar

When I finally emerged from the Fighters’ Guild the next morning, I was surprised to find that it was almost noon. Up till now it hadn’t really hit me how utterly exhausted I was after the last few days’ events. I decided to spend the day resting and relaxing in Ald’ruhn, jewel of the Ashlands.

I wandered around the city for most of the afternoon. I didn’t hate Ald’ruhn quite as much as I had when I’d first arrived – at least in good weather – but everything about it reminded me of the things I missed from home. Grass, trees, flowers… anything green.

In fact, there were dozens of little things I was starting to miss about Cyrodiil by this time – food being a major one. Morrowind food wasn’t bad exactly, but it was a bit too exotic for my tastes. I found myself longing for good old Cyrodiil fare – not just expensive luxuries such as venison, but ordinary, everyday stuff like apples and potatoes. Kwama eggs and ash yams just weren’t the same.

By late evening I was feeling so depressed that I realised I needed something to distract myself. I went to Neminda to ask if she had any more Redoran duties for me. “Indeed I do,” she said, sighing. “The Andrano ancestral tomb has been robbed.”

Andrano ancestral tomb? My mouth suddenly felt very dry. “That’s… terrible,” I croaked, visions of Llevule Andrano’s skull floating before my eyes. “Who would do a thing like that?”

“As a matter of fact, we know who did it.”

I gulped. “We… do?”

“Yes. A Hlaalu guard named Alvis Teri stole a Founder’s Helm from the tomb.”

Huh? I hadn’t seen anything like when I took the skull for Sharn. Either this Alvis Teri had come along before me, or she was talking about a different Andrano tomb. Relief washed over me.

“Would you be willing to recover this Founder’s Helm from the godless Hlaalu?” Neminda continued.

“Sure,” I said hastily. “Er… how do I know a Founder’s Helm when I see one?”

“It looks like a normal closed bonemold helm,” she told me. “He is boasting of the theft at the Eight Plates inn and wears the helm openly. Confront him and demand it back – but do not shame House Redoran by murdering him.”

I hadn’t been thinking of killing the guy, for crying out loud. Why did people keep assuming that I’d be ready to commit murder at the drop of a hat? Did I really look like a ‘stab first, ask questions later?’ kind of person?

The next day I arrived back in Balmora via the Mages Guild and my new friend Masalinie Merian. “Ada!” she exclaimed. “How very nice to see you again.” For a brief moment I was quite touched, until she went on, “You don’t seem to have visited your ‘friend’ Caius in a while. Trouble in paradise?”

I gave her a look which ought to have frozen her to the spot, but only made her snort with suppressed laughter. I marched out of the building in haughty silence, trying to salvage at least some of my dignity. Clearly this rumour wasn’t going to die down easily, no matter how long I spent away from Balmora, but what could I do? I could hardly tell people the truth – and even if I did, they weren’t exactly going to believe me.

“No, I’m totally not sleeping with Caius. You see, I’m actually a top agent for the Imperial secret service and he’s the Grand Spymaster.”

“Yeah, right. Hahaha.”

Alvis Teri was easy enough to find at the Eight Plates. He was wearing a full set of Hlaalu guard armour, and as Neminda said, he was wearing the Founder’s Helm openly. I thought it made him look like a bit of a pillock, to be honest.

As I approached, he looked at me with narrowed eyes from beneath his visor. “If Alvena Lleram's father sent you, tell him it’s not mine. I never touched her.”

“I’m not here on behalf of the Legion,” I said, keeping my voice low as I sat down beside him. “Or Alvena’s father, for that matter. I’m a member of House Redoran.”

“Oh, great,” he said, scowling. “Just what I need. Another stupid Redoran.”

I ignored the insult. “I think you have something that belongs to us.”

“This helm, you mean?” I could only see his eyes, but I could tell he was grinning. “I stole it fair and square.”

“I really don’t think it works like that.” I leaned towards him slightly. “Come on, Alvis, let’s be sensible about this. I’m sure neither of us wants things to turn nasty.”

“Twist my arm, will you?”

I grabbed his right arm and gave it a sharp twist. Alvis let out a yelp. “You s’wit!”

Ah, now that word I recognised. My old Fighter’s Guild boss Modryn Oreyn used to use it whenever he was in a bad mood (which was most of the time). “Just a small warning,” I told him, with a mirthless smile. “Come on now, just hand it over. Or would you like me to have a word with my friend Larrius Varro at Fort Moonmoth?”

I could see him hesitating, trying to work out whether or not I was bluffing. Finally, with great reluctance, he pulled off the helm and handed it to me. “Fine,” he muttered. “Take the stupid helm. Just like the Redorans to send a girl to do a man’s job.”

I couldn’t help it, I fell about laughing. “Don’t worry, Alvis,” I chortled, as he continued to glare at me. “You stay away from our tombs in future, and I won’t tell anyone you got beaten up by a giiiiiirl. Okay?”

He seemed more interested in grinding his teeth than saying anything else, so I left the inn to consider my next move. Unfortunately, while it was the last thing I wanted to do right now, I felt I really should go and see Caius. He’d probably have another mission for me by now – and to tell the truth, I was rather looking forward to crowing over my Legion exploits.

However, it seemed that Caius had already heard the news. The first thing he said once I was safely inside was, “Well, my friend. I hear you managed to foil a plot against the Emperor’s life.”

“That’s right,” I said. “I hope his Majesty is grateful.”

“I’m sure he will be.”

“Tell him I don’t want a big reward or anything,” I said. “Just a small castle perhaps, maybe a title of some kind… oh, I take it he won’t object to me going back to Cyrodiil now?”

Once again, Caius avoided the question. “We need an Ashlander informant,” he said briskly. “To tell us about the Ashlanders and the Nerevarine cult.”

“Ah. Hang on a minute.” I fumbled for my journal. “This Ashlander guy in I met in Pelagiad mentioned a tribe up in the north. Something like Ur… Urkil…”

“Urshilaku?”

“Oh,” I said, slightly deflated. “You already know?”

He nodded. “I’ve heard of them, but first I want you to find out more about Ashlander customs. I’ve heard of a fellow in Ald’ruhn named Hassour Zainsubani, an Ashlander who left the Wastes to become a wealthy trader.”

I wrote down the name in my journal, struggling to work out how to spell it (‘Zaynsubahni’? ‘Zeensubanni’?) Well, at least I wouldn’t have to trek out into the sticks to find the guy.

“They say the Ashlanders like to give and receive presents,” Caius continued. “Take these 100 drakes, find out what Zainsubani likes, and get him a gift. Then see what he has to tell you about Ashlanders and the cult.”

“Okay. Er, Caius,” I said. “I take it all this is actually going to lead somewhere, eventually? Sometime soon maybe?”

“All will be revealed in time,” he said, with his usual infuriating smile. I just sighed.

I could have gone straight back to Ald’ruhn after leaving Caius, but first I wanted to get my Temple pilgrimage finished once and for all. The only site left was Ghostgate, near the crater of Red Mountain. I was told that the best way to reach it was to head up the Foyada Mamaea (‘foyada’ being the Ashlander word for ‘fire-river’, or lava channel). Much to my relief, when I reached the foyada east of Balmora, I found that it had dried out long ago (do you have any idea how bloody hot and heavy a full Imperial uniform is?)

Unfortunately I soon found myself facing a far worse threat than lava: cliff racers. As I made my way up the ashy chasm, listening to the whistle of the wind, they began to circle silently. I didn’t even realise they were there until I heard that dreadful shriek and looked up to see two of the damn things, only a few feet above my head and bearing down fast.

I ran. There was nowhere to take cover in the narrow, deserted mountain pass: no caves, no trees… Eventually I realised that I couldn’t outrun them, and that if I kept going I would only run into even more of the things. I ducked behind a tall rock, raised my shield above my head, and resorted to my tried-and-tested ‘wave sword around wildly and hope it connects’ technique.

I finally emerged alive, but badly scratched and bleeding. From now on I realised I would have to be a lot more careful about watching out for cliff racers. They had a bird’s-eye view (literally) and I had nowhere to hide.

From then on I crept forward a lot more slowly and cautiously, constantly looking around me and listening for the cliff racers’ shrieks. When I spotted one in the distance, I would wait until it noticed me and then fire off an arrow as it swept in to attack. I didn’t hit every time, but I did manage to keep most of them from getting close enough to do any real damage.

About half-way up the foyada, I spotted what looked like a building looming out of the fog in the distance. My heart leapt with relief, only to plunge again as I suddenly realised what kind of structure it was. The twisted, misshapen architecture of carved obsidian could only signify one thing: a Daedric shrine. No one had mentioned anything about this!

I swore under my breath and paused to think what to do next. Daedra were immune to normal weapons, and while I did still have my enchanted shortsword from Sharn gra-Muzgob, I’d no idea if it would be enough to hold them off. I’d just have to stay as far away from the shrine as possible and hope none of them spotted me.

I inched my way along the opposite side of the pass, pressed up against the cliff face, now keeping a desperate watch for Daedra as well as cliff racers. I could probably handle the odd scamp or clannfear, but if I ran across an Atronach I was finished. First thing to on my to-do list once I got back to Ald’ruhn: find a better sword.

At long, long last I was far enough away from the shrine to consider myself safe. I sank to the ground to rest, sighing with relief – and that was when the Blight storm hit.

Once again, I couldn’t shake the feeling that one of the Gods must have been watching over me that day. (Probably wetting themselves laughing, but still.) If I hadn’t happened to be carrying the Founder’s Helm, I’d probably have choked to death in that storm. As it was, the helm offered good protection against the wind and ash but made it far harder to see where I was going – and, more importantly, to see the cliff racers and other wild creatures bent on attacking me.

I struggled on through the raging storm as it began to get dark, exhausted, but not daring to stop and rest in case I was attacked. I couldn’t even see more than a few feet in front of my face – all I could do was pray that I was going the right way. By the time I finally arrived at Ghostgate – now well into the night – I was drenched in sweat, caked with dirt, aching all over and very close to tears.

Even so, my first sight of the ‘Ghostfence’ – the massive cage-like structure that surrounded Red Mountain, in order to keep blighted monsters from getting out – was almost enough to make me forget my aches and pains. It was a truly incredible sight: a massive, shimmering wall, fifty feet high and stretching as far as the eye could see. I wondered how long it had been there, and what kind of enchantment was used to maintain it.

I wasn’t in any state to continue my pilgrimage that night, so I stumbled into the northernmost tower where the Redorans had a hostel and collapsed into bed. The next morning, as I ate breakfast, the publican – who seemed to act as a kind of tour guide for pilgrims – told me a little about Ghostgate and the Ghostfence.

“Since the Armistice, most Dunmer clans bind their ancestors’ bones into the Ghostfence,” she told me. “The fence is sustained by the power of the Tribunal, but their spirits help to strengthen it.”

“You mean… it’s made of ghosts? Actual ghosts?” Now that was just creepy. Up until then I’d assumed the name was metaphorical.

I asked her whether it was true that Dagoth Ur lived inside the Ghostfence, and she nodded. “He dwells in fiery caverns beneath Red Mountain, served by his kin – called ‘ash vampires’ – and legions of deformed monsters. For centuries Ordinators and Buoyant Armigers led by the Tribunal would pass through the gate on raids, but these were suspended because of heavy losses to the Temple forces.”

“Buoyant Armigers?” I tried not to giggle as I imagined a bunch of soldiers, inflated like balloons, bobbing up and down on the surface of a lake.

“They are a small military order of the Temple, dedicated to serving Lord Vivec.” She lowered her voice, smiling a little. “In more ways than one, so I am told.”

Was she serious? Good grief. Every day I seemed to be learning something new and fascinating about the gods of the Dunmer. At the very least, I had to admit that they sounded a lot more interesting than ours.

The Shrine of Pride was just inside the Ghostfence, where heavy blight storms raged all day long. To get through the Ghostgate I had to pass two heavy iron gates which were controlled by levers. I don’t know why Dagoth Ur’s monsters couldn’t operate them; either they just weren’t intelligent enough, or the levers were protected by some kind of enchantment.

I was nervous about running into some of these monsters while walking to the shrine, but as it turned out, the only threat I faced was cliff racers. After dealing with them I donated a soulgem to the shrine, and was delighted when it cast a fairly powerful Shield spell on me – though admittedly this would have been a lot more helpful on the way to Ghostgate.

There was no way in hell I was going to travel back down the foyada to Balmora, so I went to the Ghostgate temple and asked if anyone could teach me an Almsivi Intervention spell. It was quite expensive, but ultimately I hoped it would save me money on scrolls. Once I was reasonably sure I knew the spell, I had a go at casting it, and after a few failed attempts I finally ended up in the Ald’ruhn Temple courtyard.

Inside the temple I spoke to a priest, Tuls Valen, to explain that I’d finished the pilgrimages. I had no way of proving this, but Valen didn’t seem to care – it seemed that if I’d had the nerve I could have just waited a few weeks, then told a Temple priest that I was done, and they’d be none the wiser. Sigh.

After taking the Founder’s Helm back to Neminda, my next task was to find Hassour Zainsubani and convince him to tell me all about Ashlanders. Before that, though, I needed a new sword – one that could handle Daedra. I went to the enchanter’s store under Skar, and bartered my old sword and a few other items for a longsword with a Frost damage enchantment. After that I went to the Ald Skar Inn, which was where I’d been told Hassour could be found.

Zainsubani wasn’t in the inn when I first arrived, but the innkeeper assured me that he was staying there. “He has his own room here,” she told me. “He was born an Ashlander, and knows their speech and custom, and has grown rich by trading with them for the things prized by Westerners. Is that what you wanted to know?”

“I was wandering what sort of thing he might like as a gift?”

“A gift?” She thought for a moment. “Well, he seems very fond of books.”

Books, eh? I left the inn and walked over to the Ald’ruhn bookseller, where I faced the daunting task of choosing a gift for someone I’d never even met. ABCs for Barbarians was probably not the best choice, ditto A Less Rude Song and Homilies of Blessed Almalexia, but what would suit an Ashlander who’d left his tribe to become a wealthy trader?

In despair, I finally went to the bookseller himself – an Imperial named Codus Callonus – and asked whether he knew Hassour. “The Ashlander trader?” He nodded. “A bibliophile. Likes poetry. I have a few such volumes here, I believe – Words of the Wind, Ashland Hymns, The Five Far Stars.”

After some dithering I picked The Five Far Stars and returned to the Ald Skar inn. Zainsubani was back too, and was drinking in the backroom below the bar. I approached him nervously, clutching the book in my hands.

“I am Hassour Zainsubani, Ada,” he said, when I introduced myself. “May you bless and be blessed. I do not wish to be rude, but if you have business, speak it, for I am at leisure, and would prefer to be alone with my thoughts.”

“Ah.” This wasn’t the best start. “Actually, I was hoping you might have time to speak to me. I’ve… brought you a gift.”

I held out the book, and Hassour’s face lit up. “This is a gift for me? A copy of The Five Far Stars. Noble words of noble warriors.” He hesitated. “Please take no offence, but I already own a copy of this book.”

“Oh.” I cringed. It’s always the way, isn’t it? You spend ages trying to pick the perfect gift for someone, only to discover they already have it.

“No, no!” he exclaimed, seeing my embarrassment. “You could not know this, and it in no way diminishes the pleasure of your gift. Now, what would you wish me to tell you?”

I explained that I wanted to know more about Ashlanders, and about the Nerevarine cult. Hassour threw up his hands. “There is too much to tell! But I will write you some notes. And if you are visiting a camp, there are things you should know about courtesy and challenges among the Ashlanders, and their views on foreigners.”

“Tell me what they think of foreigners,” I said, wanting to know the worst.

“Most Ashlanders wish all foreigners and their false gods could be driven from Morrowind,” he said bluntly. “Or at the very least, they wish the ‘foreign devils’ would leave them in peace. They think it shameful to attack unarmed persons, but they will kill without hesitation an armed person who offends them or their clan laws.” He paused. “I do not wish to alarm you, but Imperials and the Empire are particularly disliked. If you plan to visit a camp, it may be best to remove your Legion cuirass.”

Oh, great. “Okay, what about courtesy and challenges?”

“Ashlanders may challenge a stranger who enters a yurt without invitation,” he said. “Customs differ with different tribes, but leave when requested, and you may be forgiven. Be particularly careful about ashkhans – tribal chiefs – and wise women, the tribal seers and counsellors. Be courteous, and leave if requested – if offended, they may attack.”

This was just getting better and better, I thought. Especially since knowing me, I was bound to do something to offend someone (such as ‘being Imperial’, by the sound of it) without even meaning to. “What about the Nerevarine cult?” I asked, changing the subject. “Do all Ashlanders follow it, or is it just the Urshilaku?”

Hassour nodded. “The cult is of small consequence in Ashlander worship, and only among the Urshilaku do its followers have any influence. It is a very small cult, with only a few wise women with the gift of prophecy, and a few holy warrior-heroes who guard and protect the seers. Sul-Matuul, Ashkhan of the Urshilaku, is the Warrior-Protector of the cult, and their wise woman Nibani Maesa is the Oracle-Seer of the cult.”

So the Nerevarine cultists were a minority even among the Ashlanders? The more I learned about this cult, the less I understood why Caius seemed to care about it so much. I waited patiently for Hassour to finish writing his notes, then thanked him and went to the Fighter’s Guild to have dinner.

To my extreme annoyance, that night I had yet another of those disturbing dreams. Golden Mask Guy was back, and this time I could actually hear and understand what he was saying. “Lord Nerevar Indoril, Hai Resdaynia!” he cried. “Long forgotten, forged anew! Three belied you, three betrayed you! One you betrayed was three times true! Lord Voryn Dagoth, Dagoth Ur, steadfast liegeman, faithful friend, bids you come and climb Red Mountain! Beneath Red Mountain, once again, break your bonds, shed cursed skin, and purge the n’wah from Morrowind!”

I’d had just about enough of this. “Listen, pal,” I snarled. “I’m not Lord Nerevar Indoril. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m an Imperial and a GIRL. And I’m quite happy with my skin, thank you very much, even if I do spend a fortune on potions to cure sunburn!” I was getting really angry now. “So will you kindly piss off and stop haunting my dreams?”

I woke up straight after that, so I didn’t get to see how Dagoth Ur – if that was who he was – reacted. Frankly, I wasn’t at all happy about him forcing his way into my dreams like this, let alone addressing me as a ‘friend’. If this was an attempt to recruit me to his nasty little ethnic-cleansing campaign, it wasn’t working. Didn’t he realise I was one of the ‘n’wah’ he wanted to kick out of Morrowind?

I spent the morning training in the Redoran practice rooms, trying to work off my frustration with Caius, bad dreams and the world in general. Before setting off for Balmora in the afternoon, I went to get duties from Neminda. “Drulene Falen needs help with her guar herds again,” she said, before I even had time to speak.

I stared. “What, again? Are the mudcrabs regrouping?”

Neminda shook her head. “Sounds like trouble with bandits – probably outcast Ashlanders. Would you be willing to help?”

Sheesh. This woman really couldn’t catch a break, could she? Resisting the urge to say “only if I get more Hackle-Lo”, I promised to go the next day, but first I had to report back to Caius.

“Thanks for your report.” Caius said to me, when I showed him Hassour’s notes. “But keep the notes – you’ll need them. I’m promoting you, and sending you to the Urshilaku camp to speak with Sul-Matuul and Nibani Maesa.” He paused. “But before you go, I think it may be time to tell you what’s going on.”

I folded my arms. “Yes, I think it may be.”

Caius let out a long breath and brushed his hand against his forehead. For the first time since I’d met him, he looked unsure of himself. Finally he said, “The Emperor and his advisors think you have the appearance of meeting the conditions of the Nerevarine prophecies.”

“What?”

“That’s why you were pulled out of prison on his Majesty’s authority and sent to me. So you could satisfy the conditions of the Nerevarine prophecies and become the Nerevarine.”

“What?!”

“Here,” he said, handing me a piece of paper. “This is a decoded copy of the package you gave me when you arrived. It should explain everything.”

For a moment I just looked at him, convinced that he was joking, but there wasn’t even the ghost of a smile on his face. At last I set the letter down in front of me and began to read.

Spymaster Caius Cosades

Knight-Errant of the Imperial Order of Blades

Director of Imperial Intelligence in Vvardenfell District, Eastern Provinces

I have the honour to acquaint you with his Majesty’s wishes concerning Ada Ventura, an individual of no rank or consequence.

Ada Ventura has been released from prison by his Majesty’s authority and sent to you with this missive. She is to be entered as a Novice in the Imperial Order of the Blades, and is to serve under your absolute authority as you shall see fit, except insofar as his Majesty’s particular wishes are concerned.

His Majesty’s particular wishes are as follows.

A local superstition holds that an orphan and outcast, a youth born on a certain day to uncertain parents, shall unite all the tribes of the Dunmer, drive out the invaders of Morrowind, and shall reestablish the ancient laws and customs of the Dark Elven nations. This orphan and outcast is called in legend the ‘Nerevarine’, and is supposed to be a reincarnation of the long-dead Dunmer General and First Councillor, Lord Indoril Nerevar.

Ada Ventura has the appearance of meeting the conditions of this local superstition. Therefore it is his Majesty’s desire that she shall, insofar as is possible, satisfy the conditions of this ancient prophecy, and shall become the Nerevarine.

I stopped reading, and looked up at Caius. “What?!”

“It’s all there in the letter,” he said patiently. “The Emperor thinks you satisfy the conditions of the Nerevarine prophecies. Can I be any clearer?”

I simply couldn’t find words to express how ridiculous this was. “Caius… this is insane. There must be thousands of people born on the same day as me to uncertain parents! I mean, no offence to his Majesty, but what in Arkay’s name is he thinking? If he wants to create a puppet Nerevarine, surely it would make more sense to choose a male Dunmer?”

“Zainsubani says Sul-Matuul and Nibani Maesa at Urshilaku camp are the heads of the Nerevarine cult,” he continued, as if he hadn’t heard. “So I’m sending you to speak with them. Tell them your story, and have them test you against the Nerevarine prophecies.”

I gaped at him. “You want me to go and tell a bunch of tent-dwelling savages, who want nothing more than to drive all foreigners out of Morrowind, that I’m the reincarnated Saviour they’ve been waiting for all these years? They’ll rip me to pieces!”

“Well, the package you gave me described the prophecy’s conditions, and you seem to match them – ”

“Caius! This. Is. Not. Going. To. Work.” I slammed my hand down on the table. “No one in their right mind is going to believe that a 23-year-old Imperial woman is the Nerevarine! I don’t believe it myself, so how the heck am I supposed to convince anyone else?”

“Don’t dismiss it out of hand, Ada,” he said softly. “You’ve seen for yourself that the Emperor and his counsellors think you have the ‘appearance’ of satisfying the prophecy. At first I thought we were just supposed to create a persuasive impostor, but…”

My jaw dropped. “You’re not telling me you actually believe this crap!”

Caius looked me directly in the eye. “I don’t know what to think. But I am sure of one thing: This is not just primitive superstition, and we will treat it seriously, just as his Majesty commands. Won’t we, Ada?”

Okay, I thought, this is it. He’s lost it. Gone completely and utterly off his rocker. I was starting to suspect that he wasn’t even a Blades agent at all, just some lunatic with delusions of grandeur.

“Would you like me to leave you something in my will, Caius?” I asked bitterly.

He ignored me. “As I said, go to Sul-Matuul and Nibani Maesa, and have them test you against the prophecies, then report back to me. Here’s 200 drakes for expenses, and you can pick up essential supplies at Fort Moonmoth.”

I let out a sigh of pure exasperation. “All right, Caius,” I said. “I will play along with this ridiculous charade, for now. But the minute anyone cottons on to what we’re doing, I’m out of here – and don’t go threatening me with arrest, because that’s nothing compared to what the Temple will do to me if they ever find out about this.”

Ten minutes later I staggered into the Eight Plates tavern and flopped down on one of the barstools. “Cyrodilic brandy,” I told the bartender. “A large one. In fact, better make it a double.”

I spent the rest of the evening trying to process what I had heard, but no matter how much I drank, it still didn’t make any sense. Somehow, the Emperor – and Dagoth Ur, it would appear – had got the idea that I was the reincarnation of this Nerevar guy, or at least that I’d make a handy substitute for the real thing. But if the Emperor wanted a convincing ‘fake’ Nerevarine, how did I even begin to fit the bill? And if he really thought the prophecy was genuine, why would he even want to make it come true? Didn’t all the prophecies claim that the Nerevarine would drive the Empire out of Morrowind?

No, that couldn’t be it – he had some kind of scheme, and I was just a pawn in whatever political game he was playing. For the first time since joining the Blades, I felt genuinely angry at what I’d been asked to do. He wants me to trick them, I thought. He wants me to go to these people, who have nothing left except dreams of their long-awaited messiah, and use those dreams against them.

Well, he had another think coming. If there was one thing I did remember from my history lessons, it was what happened to ‘pretenders’ who got found out, and it was never good. I wasn’t a fool, and I certainly wasn’t going to make the mistake of thinking I’d be any different.

Hilarious as always. I much enjoyed Ada's frustration with mis-characterization.



Case in point. Though I do think Morrowind is a bit heavy on "Killing is always an option" in the game. Even if it's a 'duel.'



Ah, the pitfalls of being stuck between a rock and a hard place. Though it seems odd that James Bond never had this problem...



It could work. Bruce Wayne got selected for jury duty once, plead non-impartiality to try to get out of a criminal case. His reason for knowing about the case at hand? "I'm Batman." Shame, nobody believed him either...



Indeed. The worst threat in Morrowind, and the developers actually apologized for how many were in the game. I actually don't play Morrowind without a mod that dilutes their presence in-game.



What's the old Chinese curse? "May you have an interesting life" or something like that? Ada clearly understands this first-hand...

In some ways, these are my favorite chapters, as Ada is dragged kicking and screaming (literally as it happens) into the realization that she really is the "Never-Ever-Againe."

As Treydog said, these early chapters were my fave chapters as well. These are where I first fell in love with Ada's character, personality, and her story.

Chapter 15: Licence To Kill

I woke up in the inn with a stinking hangover and a strong conviction that I must have dreamed the last night’s events. Unfortunately, the first thing I saw when I forced my eyes open was the translated letter from the Emperor, which was still clutched in my hands. I must have fallen asleep while reading through it, trying to find something – anything – to give me a clue of what this was really all about.

For the moment I couldn’t see any choice but to go along with this crazy scheme, however little I wanted to. After all, I thought, the Ashlanders would soon send me packing when they realised I wasn’t the Nerevarine – and Caius would be forced to admit defeat and let me go back to Cyrodiil. If I survived that long, that was.

I had to take a ‘Cure Poison’ potion to get rid of the hangover before setting off on my latest Redoran mission. I won’t bother to describe my second visit to Drulene Falen’s farm, because it would be far too boring. Suffice it to say that I found and killed the bandits who were molesting Drulene’s guar, and received more Hackle-Lo as a reward. The only vaguely interesting thing that happened to me was on the way back, when I ran into a well-dressed Argonian carrying a pile of clothing.

“Greetings, traveller,” he called, speaking with a heavy accent. “Rasha wishes you well, and thinks you maybe can help him with some pressing business.”

“What sort of business?”

“I have, you see, a shipment of clothing,” he said, patting the shirts he carried. “Fine clothing, it is... to get to Ald-ruhn. But, I fear other business draws me away. Perhaps you and I might come to an arrangement, yes? If you will deliver Rasha’s shirts… these fine, fine shirts... to Ald-ruhn, you will be paid for your services.”

I couldn’t help wondering why he wasn’t able to deliver them himself, but I couldn’t see any problem with accepting the offer. I was going back to Ald’ruhn anyway, and the worst thing that could happen was that they’d refuse to pay me. After taking a quick look at the shirts to check that they weren’t cursed or anything (well, you never know), I nodded and told him I’d do it.

“Most excellent!” he cried. “I would ask that you swear an oath to Zenithar to seal our arrangement, though. Yes?”

“Um, okay,” I said. “I swear to Zenithar that I will deliver your shipment.”

“Wonderful!” He practically flung the shirts at me – and then, to my amazement, removed his own shirt and added it to the pile. “Take these to Bivale Teneran the clothier in Ald-ruhn – she will pay you. And a generous woman she is.”

Bivale Teneran, the clothier who acted as a Hlaalu spy? My heart sank. She was the last person I wanted to speak to again, especially since I’d ratted her out to Neminda. Still, once I reached Ald’ruhn, maybe I could hand over the shirts to someone else and get them to complete the delivery.

“Take care, my friend,” Rasha warned me as I made to leave. “One should not take an oath sworn to Zenithar lightly. No, never lightly.”

I’d never sworn an oath to Zenithar before – or any of the other Divines, for that matter – but while I had no intention of breaking it, I wasn’t exactly quaking in my boots at the thought of pissing off the god of commerce. What exactly was he going to do, get all the local merchants to charge me really inflated prices?

By the time I arrived back it was so late that all the traders had shut up shop, so I couldn’t do anything else that evening. On my way back to the Fighters’ Guild I ran into some other Guild members on their way to the tavern, who invited me to come and have a drink with them. I accepted, and spent several hours in the Rat in the Pot, happily regaling them with stories of my adventures in the Legion.

The next morning I went back to Neminda to report the success of my latest mission. She couldn’t offer me any more duties for the moment, so I returned to Tuls Valen at the Temple to see if he had any tasks for me. I was less than thrilled when he suggested I undertake yet another pilgrimage – this time to Maar Gan, a Redoran town in the north. Still, it wasn’t like I had anything better to do right now (no, visiting the Urshilaku camp definitely did not count as ‘anything better’).

Before setting off I went to visit the local alchemist to stock up on potions, but when I tried to purchase some, she shook her head. “Sorry. I’ll do no business with one who bears the mark of Zenithar.”

“The mark of Zenithar?” What, did suddenly I have a big ‘Z’ carved into my forehead?

She nodded. “It’s obvious you’ve sworn an oath to Zenithar you’ve yet to fulfill.”

“I was going to fulfill it,” I said, aggrieved. “Are you seriously saying no one will trade with me until I deliver those stupid shirts?”

“If that’s what you’ve sworn to do, yes.”

Bloody Zenithar! Well, so much for my idea of getting someone else to deliver the shirts. If His Holy Commercialness couldn’t even wait a few hours for me to make the delivery, no doubt he’d consider that cheating.

With a heavy heart I set out for Bivale Teneran’s store, only to realise half-way there that I didn’t actually have the shirts any more. I thought I’d put them in my pack, but now that I thought back to yesterday, I remembered that I’d carried them under my arm to stop them getting creased. I must have left them at the Guild, I thought, and set off to get them.

But when I got there, the shirts weren’t there. I looked absolutely everywhere – in my equipment chest, under the bed, in the bed – but I just couldn’t find them. By now I was starting to feel mildly panicked. What was I going to do if I’d lost the shirts and couldn’t fulfill my oath to Zenithar?

Suddenly, with a sinking heart, I realised where I must have left them. When I’d gone to the Rat in the Pot with the others the night before, I’d put them down on the back of one of the chairs while we drank – and I didn’t remember picking them up again. And that place was the Thieves’ Guild headquarters, I realised, groaning inwardly. I’d never see the damn things again.

What was I going to do now? All I could think of was to try and replace the shirts, but how could I do that when no one would sell me anything? Aaarrgh. This was definitely the last time I’d agree to swear an oath to one of the Divines.

Finally, out of sheer desperation, I went back to the Rat in the Pot to speak with the owner Lirielle Stoine. “I don’t suppose you’d happen to have seen some expensive-looking shirts round here?” I asked, without much hope.

To my amazement, she reached under the counter and pulled out Rasha’s shirts. “Would these be what you’re looking for?”

“Yes,” I said joyfully, clutching them to my chest. “Oh, thank you so much.” Perhaps there was ‘honour among thieves’ after all – some of them, at least.

“Yak gro-Skandar handed them in after you left them behind last night,” she said with a wink. “He said something about ‘making it too easy’.”

Blushing, I mumbled my thanks and apologies and left for Bivale’s clothing store as quickly as possible. At this point I had to grudgingly admit that Zenithar might have a reason for considering me unreliable.

I had no idea how Bivale would react to seeing me again, since she must have heard by now about me leaving House Hlaalu for Redoran. But in the event she greeted me exactly as she had before, with the same friendly smile I remembered from our last meeting. She even gave me a very nice enchanted belt as payment for delivering the shirts. Had the Redorans actually taken any action against her? I couldn’t tell.

I had to take the silt strider to Maar Gan, as there was no Mages Guild guide there. When I entered the town’s Temple I found that the entrance hall was dominated by a large rock, with a plaque attached to it and a collection plate nearby. I was startled to see another Dremora, like the one in the Puzzle Canal in Vivec, standing there beside an armed guard.

When I approached the Daedra, wondering what he was doing there, he scowled at me. “I am Anhaedra. If you are a pilgrim, read the inscription on the stupid rock.”

I went over to the ‘stupid rock’ and read the inscription: “Here Mehrunes Dagon held this rock high above the Dunmer. Vivec taunted Mehrunes Dagon so that Dagon threw the rock at Vivec instead of the people.” Well, okay. What now?

I turned to the priest standing nearby for help. He smiled at me. “If you are on the pilgrimage here, I may assist you. Do you want the blessings of the Temple?”

“Um, I suppose so,” I said uncertainly, and he cast what sounded like a Sanctuary blessing on me. Nice of him, I thought, but I still wasn’t sure exactly what I was supposed to be doing.

I glanced back and forth from him, to the rock, to the Daedra, and then suddenly burst out laughing as I realised what was going on here. “Is that what you’re here for?” I said, striding up to Anhaedra. “Helping pilgrims to re-enact the rock-throwing scene?”

He looked impassively at me. “Your words are weak, mortal, as is your flesh.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “I mean, no offence, but that is truly pathetic. You seriously just stand around here all day letting people make fun of you?”

I could see that he was starting to get annoyed, but he contained his anger with an effort. “Continue with your insults, mortal. I long to feast on your marrow.”

“Oooh, I’m scaaared,” I jeered. “Oooh, look at the big Dremora who wants to feast on my marrow. Are you going to throw rocks at me, Dremora?”

That did it. With a vicious snarl, Anhaedra drew a silver longsword from the sheath by his side. “After I kill you, I will rape your corpse,” he growled. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”

Charming, I thought. Still, I couldn’t entirely blame him. If I were a Daedra magically bound to the mortal plane for eternity, forced to endure endless taunts and jeers for the amusement of smug pilgrims, I’d probably be threatening to rape people’s corpses as well.

Fighting a Dremora would normally be a terrifying experience, but the Sanctuary spell the priest had cast on me made it all but impossible for Anhaedra to hit me. I struck him a couple of times with my own blade and he instantly vanished, leaving nothing behind but his sword and a Daedra heart. I couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for the guy, to be honest. Okay, so the Daedra are basically pitiless monsters who look on mortals roughly the same way we view insects, but surely even they didn’t deserve a fate like this.

“You have done well, outlander,” said the priest, as I turned back to him. “Wisdom and praise be unto you. Culminate your pilgrimage by reading the inscription on the rock.”

Sighing, I read the inscription out loud once more and waited while the shrine cast another blessing on me. On leaving the temple I realised I’d have to stay the night here, as there was no silt strider service back to Ald’ruhn until the next day. I wondered what else there was to do in Maar Gan.

The answer to this turned out to be ‘not a lot’, so I paid for a room at the only tradehouse in the town and spent the rest of the evening there. I didn’t know anyone, so I wasn’t able to join in any of the conversation, but I did overhear an interesting rumour – apparently some rogue Ashlanders in a camp near the town were bragging about having captured a famous noble. Hmm, I thought. If he was a Redoran, wouldn’t Neminda have told me about this?

The next morning I got up very early, just before dawn, and followed the innkeeper’s directions to the Ashlander camp nearby. I found it a mile or so down the dirt road that led from Maar Gan to Ald’ruhn. Some Ashlanders were already sitting outside their yurt, cooking breakfast around a small campfire.

I really didn’t want to have to attack anyone this time, so I approached the Ashlanders cautiously and asked if I could enter the yurt. They didn’t seem to understand very well, so I repeated the question more slowly and carefully, pointing towards the tent. If they’d recognised me as a Legion soldier they might well have refused, but I’d left off my cuirass, remembering what my Ashlander informant Hassour Zainsubani had told me. One of them finally shrugged and nodded, before turning his back to me and continuing with his breakfast.

Inside the yurt I found an Ashlander man in netch leather armour and another male Dunmer, presumably the ‘famous noble’. For a famous noble he was certainly dressed pretty shabbily, and I noticed that he was barefoot – perhaps to make it harder for him to escape. “Sera. Bless and be blessed,” I said to the Ashlander, remembering how Hassour Zainsubani had greeted me. “I hear that you’re holding a nobleman prisoner?”

“Yes, you heard right. I have the famous noble Beden Giladren.” He gestured towards the other Dunmer. “I demand five thousand drakes in ransom. Will you pay?”

I didn’t have five thousand drakes, and even if I had, there was no way I was paying him that kind of money. “May I speak to Beden?” I asked, stalling for time. “I don’t have the money, but his family might.”

The man looked me up and down briefly, noting the armour I wore and the scabbard hanging from my belt. At last he nodded and moved aside, allowing me to approach the prisoner. “Are you Beden Giladren?” I asked him, in a voice too low for the Ashlander to hear.

He nodded. “Can you get me out of here, outlander? These Ashlanders are holding me for ransom.”

“I’ll do my best, but I’m not going to pay them five thousand septims.” I paused. “Are you a Redoran, then? I don’t recognise the name.”

Beden reddened slightly. “Well… no, I’m not. I’m just a poor pilgrim. I thought the Ashlanders would kill me, so I told them that I was a famous noble.”

I couldn’t believe this. “You bloody idiot!”

“Well, what was I supposed to tell them?” he hissed. “I was afraid. I knew it was wrong, but what else could I do?”

“If you’d just told them the truth, they’d probably have let you go.” Heaving an exasperated sigh, I turned back to the Ashlander. “Excuse me, sera. About your hostage here.”

“Yes?” he asked impatiently. “Have you not heard of this famous Redoran noble, Beden Giladren?”

“He’s not a famous noble,” I said through gritted teeth, ignoring the frantic gestures Beden was making. “He’s not even a Redoran. He just told you those things because he was afraid you would kill him.”

I watched the man’s face gradually flush with anger as he realised how he’d been fooled. “So this ‘famous noble’ is a liar and a coward,” he said scornfully. I could understand his disgust, to be honest, though I couldn’t feel much sympathy for him. “Very well, you can have him for five drakes.”

As I said before, I don’t usually like paying ransoms, but this barely counted as a ‘ransom’ – it was a face-saving gesture, a sop to his wounded pride. I handed over five drakes – which was probably far less than he’d already spent on feeding his hostage – and he agreed that Beden was free to go. I hoped that perhaps this would teach these Ashlanders a lesson about attacking innocent travellers and holding them prisoner.

I offered to accompany Beden back to Maar Gan, but he told me he could make his own way there. Frankly I wouldn’t have trusted this guy to walk from one end of the street to the other without getting into trouble, but it was his choice. I left the Ashlander camp and headed back to the town, arriving just in time to catch the silt strider to Ald’ruhn.

Beden had told me I should speak to someone at the temple in Ald’ruhn to explain what had happened to him. When I went back to Tuls Valen to tell him I’d completed the Maar Gan pilgrimage, I mentioned Beden’s name and was directed to Lloros Sarano, a Redoran priest.

“So you rescued Beden Giladren from the Ashlander camp,” he said at last, when I explained who I was and what had happened to Beden. “I was wondering what had happened to him. Thank you, Sera Ventura – I will make sure House Redoran hears of your deeds.”

I still didn’t feel like setting off on Caius’s latest errand, so I went back to Skar in the hope that Neminda might have something for me to do. I found her looking anxious and harassed. “Ah, Ada!” she exclaimed. “I’m glad you’re back. I have an urgent assignment for you.”

“What sort of assignment?”

“Serjo Athyn Sarethi, a councillor of House Redoran, believes his life is in danger.” She cast a nervous glance towards Skar’s main chamber, where the entrances to the noble manors could be found. “He’s in Sarethi Manor under Skar. I need someone to guard him.”

“Okay, fine.” I paused, trying to remember where I’d heard the name Sarethi just recently. Ah, yes – the author of The True Noble’s Code, and… “Does he have a son called Varvur, by any chance?”

“Yes,” she said, looking mildly surprised. “Have you met him?”

“Er… not exactly.”

She bit her lip. “Oh, I hope Athyn is okay. He and my father were close friends, and the Sarethi family has had enough trouble recently.”

I assumed she was referring to Varvur and the murder accusations, but there was no time to ask. Following her directions I headed straight for the Sarethi manor, hoping that I would get there in time. Somehow I had a very bad feeling about this.

As I entered the manor, my heart skipped a beat. A fight had clearly just taken place, and the floor was strewn with dead bodies – some in bonemold armour, others wearing masks and outfits made of dark leather. In the midst of them all stood a middle-aged Dunmer in a red robe, clutching what looked like a Dwarven shortsword, whom I desperately hoped was Athyn Sarethi. Otherwise it would seem I’d got here a little late.

When the man saw me, his eyes widened and he shifted into a defensive stance. “It’s OK!” I called to him, sheathing my own sword quickly and raising my hands. “Are you Serjo Athyn Sarethi? Neminda sent me to guard you.”

“Oh, thank the Tribunal!” he exclaimed, with a sigh of relief. “The assassins have already taken my guards, as you see. I fear there will be mo- ”

He broke off at the sound of a tremendous racket at the entrance to the mansion. Moments later two more leather-clad figures burst through the door, brandishing shortswords, and we seized our own weapons in preparation for a battle. I’m not sure I could have taken on both of them at once, but luckily Lord Sarethi seemed perfectly capable of defending himself. Having made short work of the second assassin, he stood back to mop his brow, and I saw through a tear in his robe that he was wearing chitin armour underneath it.

Looking down at the man I’d just killed, I saw a piece of folded-up paper tucked into his belt. I bent down to pick it up, and blinked in astonishment as I spotted the words at the top of the page. “ ‘Honourable Writ of Execution for Athyn Sarethi’? What the hell is this?”

He said nothing. “The afore-mentioned personage has been marked for honourable execution in accordance to the lawful tradition and practice of the Morag Tong Guild,” I read aloud. “The Bearer of this non-disputable document has official sanctioned licence to kill – This is some kind of sick joke, right?”

Lord Sarethi shook his head, still breathing heavily. “They are Morag Tong.”

“Is that something like the Camonna Tong?”

“No, the word ‘Tong’ means ‘guild’. And ‘Morag’…” He hesitated. “The literal translation is ‘Foresters’.”

My mouth dropped open as I realised what he was saying. “Assassins? You have a bloody guild of bloody assassins?” You know, I’d always suspected that the Dunmer were completely insane, but here at last was cast-iron proof.

Sarethi nodded stiffly. I just couldn’t get my head round this. “So… something like the Dark Brotherhood? Only legal?”

“No!” he exclaimed. “Not like the Dark Brotherhood. The Morag Tong are not just cutthroats, they have honour…” I couldn’t believe he was defending the people who’d just tried to kill him!

“Well, they may have honour,” I said grimly, “but the person who hired them clearly doesn’t.” I glanced back at the ‘writ of execution’, sickened at the thought of someone actually sitting down and writing these things. “Do you know who it was? I could pay them a little ‘visit’ and put the fear of Talos into ’em if you like.”

But he was shaking his head. “No, thank you, outlander. You have done enough.” He took the writ from my hand. “I am in your debt, and will try to repay you. Please, go and tell Neminda that I am safe.”

By now I could hear voices further into the manor, and looking round I saw a few heads – presumably belonging to servants – peeking nervously out of doorways. Even so, I was a bit nervous about leaving Sarethi alone. “You don’t think there’ll be any more of them?” I asked him.

“No. Not today, at least.”

“Okay then. Sorry about your guards,” I said softly, glancing down at the bodies that littered the floor. He bowed his head, and said nothing.

“What happened?” Neminda asked urgently, as soon as I arrived back in the Council hall. “I heard there was an attack. Is Athyn Sarethi safe?”

When I explained what had happened, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you so much. Do you know that’s the fourth Morag Tong attack he’s fended off in the past few weeks?”

I let out a low whistle. “Wow. Someone really wants him dead, don’t they?”

“Yes, and I know wh-” She broke off abruptly. “But no matter. Guard duties pay in drakes, Ada,” she continued, handing me two hundred septims. “It’s not much, but perhaps you can put it to good use.”

She promoted me to Lawman rank, and reminded me that I’d need a Councillor to sponsor me if I wanted to rise further in the House. I wasn’t particularly surprised when she recommended Athyn Sarethi. “He’s a good man, and was a close friend of my father,” she told me. “You will find no better sponsor in all of House Redoran.”

Well, the guy whose life I’d just saved certainly sounded like a good choice, but I thought I’d give him a bit of time to recover and mop the blood off his floor before going to him and demanding sponsorship. Besides, I’d been putting off my visit to the Urshilaku long enough; it was time to get this Nerevarine nonsense over with once and for all. If I set out for their camp the next day, I could pay a visit to Athyn Sarethi when I got back – if I got back. Which wasn’t looking at all certain, I thought dourly.

As I left the hall, I wondered who could be ordering the assassination attempts against Sarethi. It sounded like Neminda knew, or suspected, but wasn’t willing to tell – why? And if he was really such a good man as she claimed, why would anyone want him dead? The plot thickened.

Ah, Redoran politics. They do have honor, of a sort, and Athyn is properly stoic about the whole situation.

This clip offers a nice interpretation of how the "Guard Athyn Sarethi" quest would work today.

Your write-up made me think of it while I was reading through.

LOL, brilliant! Yes, Athyn is remarkably nonchalant about the fact that one of his fellow Councillors is trying to kill him. That's Great House politics for you...

Eh, it's Morrowind for you. Great House politics is a cut-throat business, and these are the reasons why Faction X is number 2 to Faction Y's number 1. Really, the whole province is like that. They care less about the dead assassins, guards, and coffee-boys than they do about important things like Mages' Guild monopolies or Ebony mining rights.

Too bad there's no golf course for them after this whole thing blows over.

This post has been edited by Captain Hammer: Nov 1 2010, 05:47 PM

Now there is a creative (and clever) use for alchemy. But "alcohol poisoning," so it should work,



I enjoy the way Ada keeps finding “other things to do” besides going to the Urshilaku. I wonder if she is halfway hoping Caius- or she- will eventually forget the whole thing.


And Ada is introduced to the machinations within House Redoran. It has always struck me that they have an awful lot of affairs, murders, etc. for the “honorable” House. Of course, one has only to look at the goings-on in Hlaalu and Telvanni to understand that “honor” is a relative term.

It always struck me as odd as well, particularly since the Telvanni have a nice, direct way of going about things. If'n you think you've got what it takes, you too can be a Telvanni Councilor. If somebody else thinks that you don't have what it takes, it's up to them to prove that point...sufficiently. At least they'll tell you up front that if you step on toes, you will get attacked. On the other hand, if somebody steps on your toes, feel free to respond in kind.

It's the Telvanni way.

To be fair, the affairs, murders etc. are largely centred around one person. Most of the others seem decent enough.

Chapter 16: A Harrowing Experience

After only a couple of weeks in the Ashlands, I was convinced that the cliff racers had it in for me personally.

It always happened the same way. I would be walking through the countryside, minding my own business, when I’d hear the cry of a racer somewhere in the distance and instantly freeze. My hand would fly to my sword and I’d scan the horizon desperately, hoping to spot the thing before it spotted me. Occasionally I’d manage to catch one unawares and pick it off with an arrow, but most of them would spot me as soon as I got close and come swooping down with a shriek, determined to tear apart the upstart human that dared approach within 200 feet of its nest.

I didn’t know what the people of Vvardenfell had done to turn the local wildlife so rabid and vicious, but it must have been something pretty nasty. With all the trouble those birds caused, I wondered why people didn’t just band together and hunt the things to extinction. Anyone who could manage it would probably be declared a living saint.

The Urshilaku camp was turning out to be more difficult to reach than I had expected. The village of Khuul to the west was the closest settlement, but in between them was an impassable mountain range. I could have tried to approach from the east, but there were no towns or even villages for miles around. In the end I decided to return to Maar Gan, the town I’d just visited, and head north from there up the Foyada Bani-Dad, another of those dried-up lava channels.

The journey took the best part of two days. I rested overnight in a small cave close to some Dwemer ruins, but first I had to drive out the bandits who had taken refuge there. I soon found out what they were guarding: Khajiit and Argonian slaves, six of them in total.

“Have you seen the Twin Lamps?” one of them asked me, as I removed her slave bracers.

Hang on, I’d heard that before somewhere. “Er… yes?”

“They light the way to freedom,” she whispered, then hurried off after the others before I could ask any more questions. Clearly the poor sods were desperate to get out of that place. It wasn’t until later that it occurred to me to wonder how, with no armour or weapons, they were going to make it back to safety.

It was around midday when I finally reached the Urshilaku camp, which seemed to be nothing more than a collection of yurts in a small clearing. In the end I’d chosen to wear my Legion cuirass after all, deciding that I’d rather face the wrath of the Ashlanders than the talons of the cliff racers. I don’t know whether it was this, or just the fact that I was a human and an outlander, but I could sense the hostility and suspicion in the air as soon as I came within sight of the inhabitants. Several of them instantly disappeared inside their tents, and a few children playing near the edge of the camp were hastily dragged away by their parents.

I noticed that most of the tribespeople were barefoot, and wondered if this was part of their culture, or if they were just too poor to afford shoes. Certainly I found it hard to imagine why else anyone would choose to live like this. Don’t get me wrong, I had plenty of admiration for anyone who could survive such harsh conditions; what I couldn’t understand was why the heck anyone would want to. Why struggle by on a hand-to-mouth existence when you could be living in a city, with warm, dry houses and hot baths and proper sanitation?

My first few attempts to talk to the Urshilaku didn’t go too well. The first person I approached was an elderly woman, who greeted me with a scowl and a shake of her head. “Leave this place, Imperial. You and your people are not welcome here.”

“What do you have against Imperials?” I very foolishly asked.

Her scowl deepened. “The Imperials came out of the West and tricked the gods of the settled people, the false gods called the Tribunal. Now the Imperials act like they own Morrowind, and they claim we are ruled by their chief, the one they call Emperor. We think nothing of this foolishness, but they have great armies of soldiers in armour who come and burn our yurts and slay our children.” She ground her teeth. “So we hate them. Do you understand, outlander?”

“Well, there’s no need to take it out on me,” I mumbled, as she stalked off. “I never killed anyone’s children.” I couldn’t imagine the Imperial soldiers I’d met doing anything like that, and I wondered if the things he described had happened before the Armistice. To a human, that was ancient history – but the Dark Elves had long lives, and long memories.

I tried several other people, male and female, but all of them either just waved me away or snapped at me in a language I didn’t recognise. Finally, in desperation, I introduced myself to one slightly younger man by offering to bring him a gift – any gift he wanted. He looked at me with a faintly mocking smile, obviously recognising me straight away for a soft, city-bred Western type.

“You want to offer me a gift?” he sneered. “Poor outlander. Even these small things are a puzzle to you.” His smile grew wider. “Then bring me some trama root for my larder. I am a hunter, and it is beneath my dignity to scrabble about in the dirt – but you? Perhaps this is a task you can handle.”

From the smug expression on his face it was clear that he’d deliberately chosen the most demeaning task he could think of, and was expecting me to refuse outright - but this only made me more determined not to back down. I met his gaze with a defiant stare of my own. “All right,” I said coolly, as if grubbing around in the soil for roots was something I did every day. “Where can I find some trama root?”

He shrugged. “There are many patches near to the camp. Go out and find some.”

I waited until I was safely out of hearing before venting my feelings. I had plenty of opportunity, since the nearest patch of roots I could find was some way away. Trama root was a tough, spiny plant that was difficult to pull up even with steel gauntlets, and I didn’t want to waste water from my canteen to soften the soil. In the end I just hacked a few pieces off with my sword.

The Ashlander man raised his eyebrows when I returned to him clutching handfuls of trama root. “Well, outlander, you are not proud,” he said. “But you are courteous, and in an outlander, that is not a thing to be despised.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I had plenty of pride, that I’d only agreed to come here because I’d be executed if I didn’t, and that I couldn’t give a flying crap about him, his tribe, or his desire for trama root. But all that would have got me was a bollocking from Caius and quite possibly a fight, so I bit back my retort and forced myself to smile. “Very well, I accept your gift,” he continued. “And thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” I said, doing my best to keep any trace of sarcasm out of my voice. “My name is Ada Ventura, by the way.”

“Under sun and sky, Ada. I am Shabinbael.”

“Good to meet you, Shabinbael.” I paused. “Er… now that I’ve brought you a gift, might you be able to help me? I need to speak to Sul-Matuul or Nibani Maesa.”

“And what do you wish to speak to them about?”

“Er… the Nerevarine prophecies.”

Shabinbael frowned; clearly this wasn’t an answer he’d been expecting. “You are an outlander,” he said. “And you wish to talk of the Nerevarine prophecies? You are polite and well-mannered, for an outlander, and I do not think you mean to give offence. But why should you care about these prophecies?”

Okay, here came the really difficult part. “Well, I know this is going to be very hard to believe, but…” I hesitated, steeling myself for the inevitable disbelieving response. “I’ve been told that I may fulfil the prophecies.”

I wasn’t sure whether I expected him to laugh, or hit me, or both. Looking back, I’m pretty sure all that stopped him doing one of those things was the fact that I’d just brought him trama root; if I was willing to humiliate myself by scrabbling around in the dirt for him, at least it showed I was serious. His eyes grew very wide, and he stared hard at me for several seconds.

“I do not believe what I am hearing,” he murmured. “You think you are the Nerevarine? You do not look like the Nerevarine, but… you do not speak like a fool, or a madman.”

Well, frankly, even this was a much better reception than I’d been expecting. “Go speak with Zabamund in his yurt,” Shabinbael said at last. “He is a gulakhan, Sul-Matuul’s champion, and he will decide what is right. If Zabamund gives you permission, then you may enter the Ashkhan’s Yurt and speak with Sul-Matuul.” He indicated one of a group of yurts under a canopy, presumably belonging to the leaders of the tribe.

So it was that I found myself facing yet another skeptical Ashlander, this one a warrior in chitin armour. This time I had the sense to introduce myself politely and offer him a gift before asking for anything else.

“I am not proud,” he said with a shrug. “I like gold. This is the custom you outlanders call a ‘bribe’, yes?

My mouth fell open. For a moment I thought he was joking, but there wasn’t a trace of amusement in his face. Wordlessly I took fifty drakes from my pouch and handed them over to him, hoping that would be enough.

Only then did Zabamund’s lips curve into a faint smile. “Good,” he said, as he pocketed the gold. “You come to talk? Then talk, outlander.”

I explained that I needed to speak to Sul-Matuul and Nibani Maesa, and he shook his head. “You have no standing among us, outlander. But you speak well, and with respect, so I will explain: It is against our customs that an outlander should speak to an ashkhan or wise woman. I’ll tell you also that Sul-Matuul has no love for outlanders.”

Time to turn on the charm, I thought. If only I’d thought to bring some of that Telvanni bug musk. “I understand this, sera,” I said, as humbly as possible. “But I have very important business to discuss with them. It concerns the Nerevarine prophecies.”

Zabamund frowned. “The Nerevarine Prophecies are not for outlanders. Why should we speak to you about these things? Who are you, that we should trust you?”

Well, why indeed? All I could think of was to tell him all I’d learned about the prophecies, and hope that he would believe my admittedly ridiculous story. So I told him what had happened so far – leaving out all the parts about the Blades, of course – and watched his expression grow increasingly thoughtful.

“Hmm,” he said, stroking his chin. “These are not simple matters. You know a great deal more than I would have thought – and some of what you say is news to me. I believe you should speak to Sul-Matuul. Go to the Ashkhan’s Yurt, and tell him I have sent you.”

The Urshilaku chief was a tall, middle-aged Dunmer, who carried himself proudly despite his humble surroundings. From the way he looked at me I could tell that he wasn’t impressed, and he looked even less impressed when I explained what I was there for. Even so, he found it in himself to speak to me politely – which made for a nice change, I must admit.

“So. My champion Zabamund has sent you to talk with me about the Nerevarine prophecies,” he said, with a manful attempt to feign interest. “Then go ahead, Ada. I am very curious.”

By the time I’d finished telling my story yet again I was just about ready to kill myself. Sul-Matuul still looked skeptical – not that I could blame him – but, rather to my amazement, he didn’t immediately dismiss what I had said. “You think you fulfill the Nerevarine prophecies. You wish to be tested to see if you are the Nerevarine.”

“Well, er – ”

“No outlander may join the Nerevarine cult,” he continued, before I could finish. “If you were a Clanfriend, an adopted member of the Ashlander tribes, then perhaps. I have an initiation rite in mind, and if you pass this rite, I will adopt you as a Clanfriend of the Ashlanders.”

The phrase ‘initiation rite’ brought back unpleasant memories of my induction into the Fighters’ Guild in Chorrol, courtesy of a bunch of loutish Colovians. They’d had great fun with the spoiled princess from the big city, oh yes. “What sort of initiation rite?” I asked, hoping at least that this one wouldn’t involve live chickens and a Colovian fur helm.

He looked grave. “To be adopted into the tribe, you must undergo a harrowing.”

“A harrowing?” Okay, this sounded bad. Really, really bad.

“In a harrowing, you will be judged by the spirits and ancestors to see if you are worthy,” he explained. “Go to the Urshilaku Burial Caverns and fetch me the Bonebiter Bow of my father Sul-Senipul. Return to me with this bow, and I will adopt you into the Ashlander tribes as a Clanfriend.”

I had to bite my tongue to suppress my exasperation. All I wanted was to be told I wasn’t the Nerevarine, and now I was expected to trudge through someone’s burial caverns on yet another sodding fetch quest? Couldn’t he just say “no” and be done with it?

“All right,” I said at last, with deep reluctance. “Where can I find these burial caverns, and how will I recognise the bow when I see it?”

“The burial caverns lie to the south-southeast of the camp, a north-facing door in a little hill halfway between us and the slopes of Red Mountain. Be cautious, for the spirits of our ancestors guard the caverns – they will attack and kill you if they can. As for the bow, you will recognise it by the markings.”

I wasn’t quite so confident of this, but I thought I’d better make a move before it got dark. There was a distinct lack of anything resembling hotels in this place, and even a dank, ancestor-infested cave would be better than sleeping outside in this dustbowl. So, after refreshing myself with a few stamina potions, I set out to look for the Urshilaku burial caverns. It was already growing dark when I finally stumbled across the entrance.

After creeping through several long, dimly-lit passages guarded by rats and skeletons, I found myself in a large chamber that was mostly submerged in water. Several large stepping stones provided the only means of crossing the underground lake. Unfortunately they were quite far apart, and jumping across them in my heavy armour was no easy task. I managed to clear the first few, but on the third stone I mistimed the jump and plunged into the water.

Swearing loudly enough to wake the dead (literally), I struggled to the side of the lake and hauled myself out, coughing and spluttering. A Water Walking spell was definitely going to be first on my list when I next visited a Mages’ Guild.

The next cavern I entered was another huge water-filled chamber, this one so tall that I could barely see the ceiling. I must have been further underground than I had realised. A waterfall tumbled down a huge central pillar, which was surrounded by a wet and slippery spiral ramp. Set into the outer walls, at varying heights, were doors to other burial chambers.

As I carefully made my way up the ramp, battered by spray from the waterfall, I noticed several mummified bodies on the central pillar. Each one was clutching what looked like a fantastic treasure – magically-preserved books, jewelled amulets, enchanted longswords of volcanic glass. Unfortunately they were all well out of reach, and in any case, I would have felt guilty about taking something so obviously valuable from a tomb.

I lost track of time completely while wandering through those caverns. Several times I paused to rest, eat and sleep, but I soon found it impossible to tell what time of day it was or how long I’d been in there. I’d hoped to find the bow fairly quickly and get out, but of course, that would have been too easy. On the plus side, I did manage to pick up some good loot in the form of scrolls and potions left behind by other adventurers – after all, I reasoned, they weren’t much use to someone who was already dead.

Finally, at the very end of the topmost cavern, I came across a powerful-looking ancestor ghost carrying an enchanted chitin bow. Maybe this was Sul-Matuul’s father, Sul-Senipul? I’d never know, because it attacked as soon as it spotted me, correctly recognising me for a greedy adventurer here to steal its precious bow.

This time my enchanted weapon made fairly quick work of the ghost, but just before giving up the – er, ghost, it cast a spell on me that made my muscles seize up painfully. What was more, the spell didn’t wear off once the spirit had vanished. With a sinking heart I realised that it had struck me with some kind of curse, one designed to permanently reduce my agility. It could only be cured by a spell or potion, and I didn’t have either.

So I slowly limped back to the Urshilaku camp, still somewhat damp, and half-crippled with the pain in my arms and legs. By the light level and the position of the moons and stars, I could tell that it was late evening – but as to what evening, I had no idea. I was so tired that it felt like I’d been wandering around those caves for weeks.

Sul-Matuul nearly jumped out of his skin when I entered his tent. For a moment he looked as if he’d seen a ghost, and I realised that he hadn’t actually been expecting to see me come back. “So, outlander,” he said, recovering his cool with impressive speed. “Have you completed the initiation rite?”

“Your bow, sera,” I said, handing it over. If he told me it was the wrong one after all I’d been through, I was going to hack him to death with his own battle axe.

Sul-Matuul briefly examined the bow. “This is my father’s Bonebiter Bow,” he said at last. “You have completed the initiation rite. I name you, Ada Ventura, Clanfriend of the Ashlanders. Keep my father’s bow, and bear it with honour.”

“Really?” I asked in astonishment. “I can keep it?” It was a nice bow, I had to admit, with a fairly powerful enchantment.

He nodded. “You are a friend of our tribe, and may rest in any Urshilaku bed, but do not harm other tribe members, or take their things. And now I will fulfill my other promise. Go to the wise woman’s yurt, and Nibani Maesa shall examine you and test you against the Nerevarine prophecies.”

All I really wanted to do was take a Restore Agility potion and go to bed, but I decided it was best to get the Nerevarine business over with first. Just as I was about to leave, I thought of something else to ask him. “I don’t suppose you’d be able to tell me what day it is by my calendar?”

“I cannot tell you, but it has been two days since you left for the burial caverns.”

Two days? That would make it the twenty-first of… hang on, the twenty-first of Heartfire? That was my birthday. I’d just spent the whole of my twenty-third birthday crawling through a filthy underground tomb, being stabbed and hacked at and gnawed by rats and shot full of arrows, for the sake of a mission I knew to be completely futile and pointless. I suddenly found myself uncomfortably close to tears.

Under the circumstances it would probably have been better to wait until the next morning before visiting Nibani Maesa. The way I was feeling now it was pretty much inevitable that we’d rub each other up the wrong way, and Nibani managed to irritate me from the moment I laid eyes on her. “So. They’ve told me of you, outlander – or shall I say, Clanfriend.” She nodded slowly. “You are hard-headed. And ignorant.”

I was already in a pretty bad mood, and at this point I came very close to losing my temper. Where did she get off calling me ‘hard-headed and ignorant’ when she’d only met me ten seconds ago? I opened my mouth to protest, but before I could speak she went on: “But perhaps it is not your fault.”

“Nice to meet you too,” I said through gritted teeth. She wouldn’t be getting any ‘thoughtful gifts’ from me, that was for sure.

“My lord ashkhan says you will ask me about the Nerevarine prophecies,” she continued. “He also says I will test you against the Nerevarine prophecies. I must do as my lord ashkhan says… so ask your questions, and I will test you.”

“Okay, well…” I hesitated, realising that I really didn’t have a clue what to ask her about. “How will I know if I fulfill the prophecies?”

Nibani shrugged. “There are many Nerevarine prophecies, and they suggest many things. Aspect and uncertain parents. The moon-and-star. Sleepers. Seven curses. The curses’ bane. The prophecy of the Stranger. The prophecy of the Seven Visions. And the lost prophecies.”

My head was beginning to spin. Some of those things certainly sounded familiar –uncertain parents, Sleepers, and the prophecy of the Stranger – but ‘seven curses’? ‘Seven visions’? The ‘Lost Prophecies’? How many of these dratted prophecies were there, anyway?

“Ask me of these things,” she went on, “if you are patient, and would be wise. Or if you are impatient to know, just ask: “Do I pass the test of the Nerevarine prophecies?”

I took a deep breath. “Look, I don’t want to be rude, but… I’m cold. I’m wet. I’m incredibly tired.” I paused for effect. “I’ve just spent the best part of two days wandering around underground caverns fighting hordes of undead, and one of them cast a spell on me that makes every step I take hurt like hell. I really, really don’t want to waste any more of anyone’s time, so… if I don’t pass the test, then yes, I’d rather just be told. If you wouldn’t mind.”

Nibani regarded me silently for several seconds before answering, as if searching for something. Finally she said, “You are not the Nerevarine.”

Relief flooded over me. “Thank you,” I breathed, unable even to make a pretence of being disappointed. “Well, in that case – ”

“But you are one who may become the Nerevarine.”

“What?” My hopes, which had briefly soared, came crashing down again.

“It is a puzzle, and a hard one,” she said, nodding. “But you have found some of the pieces, and you may find more. Do you choose to be the Nerevarine?”

No! No, I bloody don’t! “I, er…”

“Then seek the lost prophecies among the Dissident priests of the Temple,” she told me. “Find the prophecies, bring them to me, and I will be your guide. But first, let me tell you the prophecy of the Seven Visions.”

Before I could object, she had begun to recite what sounded like another of those crappy poems. Reluctantly I dug out my journal, and did my best to write it down as she spoke – none of this rote-learning nonsense for me, thank you very much.

Seven trials
What he puts his hand to, that shall be done.
What is left undone, that shall be done.

First trial
On a certain day to uncertain parents
Incarnate moon and star reborn.

Second trial
Neither blight nor age can harm him.
The Curse-of-Flesh before him flies.

Third trial
In caverns dark Azura’s eye sees
And makes to shine the moon and star.

Fourth trial
A stranger’s voice unites the Houses.
Three Halls call him Hortator.

Fifth trial
A stranger’s hand unites the Velothi.
Four Tribes call him Nerevarine.

Sixth trial
He honours blood of the tribe unmourned.
He eats their sin, and is reborn.

Seventh trial
His mercy frees the cursed false gods,
Binds the broken, redeems the mad.

One destiny
He speaks the law for Veloth’s people.
He speaks for their land, and names them great.

Apart from the ‘certain day to uncertain parents’ part, I had no idea what any of this meant. “What’s all this about ‘moon-and-star’ and ‘curse-of-flesh’?”

“Legend says Indoril Nerevar’s family standard bore the moon and star, and Nerevar’s armour and weapons bore this sign. Some say he bore a moon-and-star birthmark, or has a magic ring marked with a moon-and-star, or was born under a moon-and-star.” Well, certainly none of those things were true of me. “I’m not sure what the Second Trial means – will the Nerevarine come as a spirit who is not harmed by blight or age? But I think Curse-of-Flesh means the blight disease Corprus, which causes terrible, distorted growths on its victims. Perhaps the Nerevarine will be able to heal this disease.”

So the Nerevarine was supposed to be ageless, immune to disease, and possess miraculous healing powers? I was starting to get the feeling that it would be a long time before this guy showed up. “All right… what are the Lost Prophecies?”

“There are Nerevarine prophecies that have been lost.” Well, duh. “Some are forgotten, some hidden, some deliberately lost. But we hear that the Dissident Priests of the Temple study our Nerevarine prophecies, and record them in books. You must go to them and ask for these books, and bring what you find to me.”

I heaved a long, exhausted sigh, too tired to argue. “Okay... I’ll think about it. But first I’m going to bed. I don’t suppose there’s anywhere I could get a bath round here?” I added, without much hope.

She looked at me with undisguised scorn. “A bath? Do you think we have water to spare for such luxuries, outlander? If you stay here you may wash with a bucket and a cloth, as we always have done.”

This was the moment where I completely lost it. I’d done my level best to be polite to everyone I met here, having been led to believe that the Ashlanders valued courtesy, only to find that being an outlander made me fair game for sneers and carping and barely-concealed insults. It was far from the worst thing anyone here had said to me, but her tone of voice – combined with the ‘gods, what a stupid outlander’ expression on her face – tipped me right over the edge into outright fury.

“Fine, have it your way. I’ll just be getting back to civilisation, then,” I said, with heavy emphasis on the word ‘civilisation’. Just by the tent flap, I paused for a parting shot. “I hope you’re a damn sight more polite to the real Nerevarine when he turns up, because frankly I wouldn’t blame him if he decides you’re not bloody worth saving!”

And with that I stormed out of the yurt – wishing there was a door to slam behind me – and out of the camp. The effect was spoiled a little by the fact that I couldn’t take a step without wincing, and even more so when I realised that wandering around the Ashlands in pitch darkness was a recipe for certain death. I tried to cast an Almsivi Intervention spell, but I was so exhausted and pissed off that I could barely even remember the words. I had to drink three Restore Magicka potions before I finally got it right.

Back in Gnisis – which was apparently the closest place with a Temple – I paid for a room in the tradehouse and went straight to bed. I didn’t even have the energy to take a bath first, or buy a potion to cure the stiffness in my limbs. That had to wait for the next day, as did unloading the loot I’d collected on the local shopkeepers. After that I took the morning silt strider back to Ald’ruhn.

I was well aware that I couldn’t expect Nibani Maesa to help me any more now, but to be honest, I didn’t really care all that much. As far as I was concerned, I had my answer. If Caius honestly thought I was going to voluntarily set out to become the Nerevarine, when I’d already been told I wasn’t, he needed his head examined.

Back in Ald’ruhn I went to visit Councillor Athyn Sarethi to see if he’d be willing to sponsor me in House Redoran. A servant showed me into Lord Sarethi’s study, where he greeted me with a smile. “Ah yes, Ada. Neminda has been telling me of your service to the House.” He paused. “I hear that you come to us from House Hlaalu.”

I winced. “Look, we all do crazy things when we’re young and stupid, right? Like getting really drunk at a family wedding, or joining House Hlaalu. There’s no need to rub it in.”

His lips twitched. “Very well. Serve House Redoran faithfully, and we will speak no more of it. But I must warn you of one thing, Ada,” he continued. “If I agree to sponsor you, you will be a Kinsman in the House, and family. No other House will take you in if you are expelled from Redoran.”

“Okay. I understand.”

“I would consider sponsoring an outlander,” Sarethi went on. “I have done so before, when the circumstances warranted it. But first, there is one more task I must ask of you.”

What, wasn’t saving his life enough? I mean, I wasn’t expecting a medal or anything, but this did seem just the teensiest bit ungrateful. I nodded silently, trying to look as if I didn’t mind, but Sarethi didn’t appear to notice; he seemed too wrapped up in his own thoughts.

“Archmaster Bolvyn Venim holds my son hostage for a crime I know he did not commit,” he said at last. “If you want me as your sponsor, you must rescue my son Varvur and return him to me.”

I stared at him. “Your son? Archmaster Venim kidnapped your son?” A dreadful realisation began to dawn on me. “When… when did this happen, exactly?”

“I am not sure exactly how or when he was taken, but he has been missing for nearly two weeks.”

My heart sank. If I wasn’t mistaken, I did know exactly how and when Varvur had been kidnapped – that evening at the Rat in the Pot when I’d seen him for the first time. No wonder the guards had reacted so badly when I tried to intervene; they’d probably slipped a sleeping potion into his drink while no one was looking. But how could I possibly have known?

Suddenly I felt like the worst person in the world. No wonder Lord Sarethi had asked for another favour; right now he’d probably do anything to get his son back. “Okay, I’ll do it,” I said instantly. This was my kind of job, after all: righting wrongs, fighting injustice and rescuing damsels in distress (or whatever the male equivalent of a damsel is).

“Why would Venim do something like this?” I asked, and then it hit me. “He’s the one who’s been sending assassins after you, isn’t he?”

Sarethi didn't directly answer the question, but I could tell from his expression that I’d guessed correctly. There was no anger in his face, only sadness.

“He is a strong leader, and has done great things for House Redoran. How can I explain the hold he has over the hearts of the Redoran people? He brought us back from certain defeat. He moved the council here to Vvardenfell and took our share of the frontier lands. He is a natural leader, born to rule.” He sighed. “One only wishes he was just and fair as well as strong.”

Clearly this was as close as he was willing to get to criticising the Archmaster. “How will I find Varvur?” I asked eventually.

“He is being held in Venim Manor, which is the first manor to your right when you enter Skar. I have heard Venim is keeping him in the right wing of his manor.” Sarethi hesitated. “Kill the guards if you must, but you must be careful not to kill Venim himself, or the other councillors will turn against you.”

I hoped to be able to rescue Varvur without killing anyone at all. There was no way I could fight an entire houseful of guards, and besides, presumably they were only following Venim’s orders. I left Sarethi Manor, deep in thought, and spent the rest of the evening trying to come up with a plan.

"But all that would have got me was a bollocking from Caius"


OH oh... and is that a good or bad thing, Helena, for Ada to get Caius' bollocks?



And even if she got off from that one, it would be worse - she'd had got off from his bollocks!



(weakly)

Apart from that bit of tomfoolery...


I loved this part then and I love it now - the story I mean, not the bollocks, though I can't speak for Ada


...

Hilarious and witty as always. Even the references to Vvardenfell's future version of St. Patrick is excellent.

To this end, I've made it a part of my stories that the Seventeenth of First Seed is St. Jiub's Day, when I play Morrowind for a few hours just hunting down Cliff Racers and then my character goes drinking. Fun times.

The acknowledgement of “Saint Jiub” driving out the cliff racers was a good touch.



Funny how that clarifies one's thinking.



The descriptions of the Urshilaku camp and the burial caverns are up to your usual standards- allowing the reader to see through Ada’s eyes.



That is one of the moments that make Ada very real to us.



And of course, you are correct that the problems in Redoran seem to all stem from Bolvyn Venim.

Oops... posted in the wrong thread.

This post has been edited by Helena: Nov 9 2010, 01:28 AM

Chapter 17: I Am The Nerevarine

The next morning, when Skar was crowded enough for me to approach Venim Manor without being noticed, I cast the Chameleon enchantment on my Amulet of Shadows and slipped into the house as a servant entered. I caught my breath as I entered the main hall, which was impressive even by the standards of the other noble manors I’d seen. It was two stories high, sumptuously decorated, and dominated by a huge flower arrangement in the centre, which included several of those giant mushrooms I’d seen in the Ascadian Isles.

Unfortunately I didn’t have time to stop and look around. I headed through a doorway into the right wing of the manor, down a corridor, then through another door and down a flight of stairs. The hallway here was guarded only by a lone female Dunmer wearing Dwarven armour, but I couldn’t see any doors to rooms where Varvur might be imprisoned.

I knew I didn’t have much time – I could re-cast the amulet’s enchantment a few times, but eventually the magical charge would run out. I noticed a scrap of paper and a key lying on a nearby bench, and tiptoed over to see what was written on the paper.

Malsa,

Keep our special guest in the room behind the tapestry. Make sure the door is locked and that he is under guard at all times. If he escapes, I will blame you.

V

Glancing round, I spotted a tapestry hanging at the end of a long passage and realised that this must be the one mentioned in the note. Poor Malsa… still, it was her fault for being stupid enough to leave a note like that lying in plain sight. With no time to lose, I snuck up behind her and used my Star of the West power to silently knock her out. I caught her in my arms as she slid to the ground – ye gods, she was heavy in all that armour – and managed to drag her out of sight behind the staircase, before grabbing the key and hurrying down the passageway to open the hidden door.

The miserable little room behind the tapestry reminded me of my own cell in the Imperial City’s prison. It was small, windowless and bare, furnished only with a bedroll, a bucket, and a small table in one corner. On the table was a candle and a bowl containing a single kwama egg.

Sitting on the bedroll was the young man I’d seen in the Rat in the Pot tavern a week or so earlier. He wore only pants, and looked tired and depressed, but apart from a few scrapes and bruises – presumably acquired during a struggle with his captors – he appeared unhurt. As the door creaked shut behind me, he leapt to his feet in alarm. “Who’s there?”

“Sssshh,” I hissed, pulling off the Amulet of Shadows.

His eyes widened. “You’re an Imperial!”

“Congratulations,” I said, and then took pity on him. “Varvur Sarethi, I take it?”

“Yes, I am Varvur. Did my father send you?” he went on anxiously. “Are you here to rescue me?”

I nodded. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Well… mostly.”

“What happened?”

“I am not sure,” he said slowly. “The last thing I remember before waking up here is drinking in a tavern with some of Venim’s guards nearby. I think they must have drugged my glass with a sleeping potion.” He bit his lip in anger and humiliation. “They even took all my clothes while I was unconscious. When I woke I tried to fight my way past them, but…”

I nodded sympathetically. “Do you have any idea why Venim would do this?”

“He and my father are political enemies. I think he planned to use me against my father.” Varvur glanced down, noting that I was armed. “Can you take me back to Sarethi Manor?”

“Well, I’ll do my best.” At this point, far too late, it occurred to me that I really should have brought some Divine or Almsivi Intervention scrolls. After a moment’s thought, I handed the Amulet of Shadows to Varvur. “This still has some charge left on it. Cast it when we leave the room, and hopefully it’ll last until we get out of the manor.”

“And if the enchantment wears off?”

“I’ll hold off the guards. You run.”

He looked doubtful, but finally nodded. “Very well.”

We set off together, going a little more slowly this time so as not to attract attention. Unfortunately I hadn’t quite memorised the layout of the manor correctly, and ended up taking a longer and more circuitous route than I had come by. Even so, we were almost at the door to Skar when I heard a loud yell behind me and realised we’d been spotted.

I rushed to the door, flung it open, and shoved Varvur through it. “RUN!” I shouted, then turned around and hurled a fireball spell at the advancing guards. It wasn’t enough to seriously harm any of them, but the ensuing chaos gave me time to escape through the door after Varvur, slamming it shut behind me.

We tore across the bridges spanning Skar’s central chamber, barrelling past unsuspecting Redoran guards and passers-by, without bothering to check whether anyone was following us. What the astonished onlookers must have thought to see me racing across Skar with a half-naked young Redoran noble in tow, I have no idea. We didn’t stop until we reached the safety of Sarethi manor, where Varvur shoved past the guards at the door and headed straight for the main hall. “Father!”

“My son!” Athyn Sarethi practically ran up the hall to greet Varvur, folding him into a tight hug. A well-dressed noblewoman, presumably Varvur’s mother, emerged from a back room to see what was causing all the commotion; when she saw Varvur, she let out a squeak of joy and rushed over to embrace her husband and son. I watched the touching scene with a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment, and was about to slink away quietly when Athyn detached himself from the group and came over to me.

“Muthsera. Words cannot express my gratitude.” He grasped my hands tightly. Tears were running down his face, and it was only now that I realised what kind of nightmare the past couple of weeks must have been for him.

“For this I will sponsor you in House Redoran,” he continued. “You may come to me now for duties and advancement… Kinsman. Only give me a little time, and I will have more tasks for you.”

I thanked him and made a hasty exit, my cheeks burning. It’s always nice to be appreciated – sheesh, it happens rarely enough – but I never really know what to do or say when people start getting emotional. (Maybe I should have taken a tip from those knights in the fairy-tale books, and asked him for half his fortune and Varvur’s hand in marriage.)

The only downside to all this, of course, was that Archmaster Venim was not going to be happy when he discovered what had happened. If he didn’t know yet who was responsible for freeing Varvur, no doubt he soon would. Certainly I’d made a friend for life in Athyn Sarethi, but I’d also managed to seriously piss off the head of my House – a man already known for his hatred of outlanders. That didn’t bode well for the future.

I figured Athyn could do with some time alone with his family, so after buying a few new spells – Water Walking from the Mages’ Guild and a magicka resistance spell at the Temple – I took a trip back to Balmora to see Caius. “Have you spoken with Sul-Matuul and Nibani Maesa?” he asked as soon as I entered.

“Yep.”

“And what did they say?”

“That I’m not the Nerevarine,” I said, after only a slight pause.

Caius wasn’t so easily fooled, unfortunately. “What else did they say?”

I sighed. “Okay… so Nibani said I was someone who might become the Nerevarine. But I don’t believe her,” I said quickly. “I mean, either I am this guy’s reincarnation or I’m not, right? Anyway, I couldn’t go back to her even if I wanted to.”

“Why not?”

I explained how I’d quarrelled with Nibani Maesa, uncomfortably aware by this time that Caius was not likely to be impressed. When I’d finished, he shook his head. “Oh, Ada. When will you learn to control that temper of yours?”

“Well, she started it!” I said indignantly. “Would you believe she called me ‘hard-headed’ and ‘ignorant’?”

A smile hovered around his lips. “Well, ah…”

“Don’t you dare,” I warned him.

Caius snorted with amusement, but his eyes narrowed slightly. “Threatening me now, are you? You’re developing a nasty habit of playing with fire, my girl.”

“Caius, I told you right from the start that I wasn’t suited to this job. Is it my fault if you didn’t listen? Look, I’m sorry,” I said wearily, as his frown deepened. “I really am, but I’m not going to magically change into a different person just because the Emperor wants it.” I threw up my hands. “Couldn’t we just ditch this idea of me becoming the Nerevarine? Tell His Majesty I wasn’t up to the task. There has to be someone out there who’d do a better job of it than I would.”

For several seconds he just stared at me without answering. From the look on his face, I got the impression he was getting as tired of this endless battle as I was. “Tell me what else the Ashlanders said to you,” he said at last.

Reluctantly I took him through the notes I’d made in my journal, including the prophecy of the Seven Visions. “Look at this,” I begged him. “How does any of this even remotely relate to me? And what’s Azura got to do with anything?” I added, noticing the reference for the first time. Azura was one of the Daedric Princes – the goddess of dusk and dawn, if I remembered correctly. How and why she should be mixed up with this Nerevarine business was beyond me.

“I don’t know,” he said. “As to what you’ve said… well, I’ll think about it. But in the meantime, I have one more assignment for you – a very tough one, this time.”

I let out a sigh of pure exasperation. “All right, Caius: one more. But after that I’m going back home, with or without your permission. Understood?”

“I recommend you take time to improve your skills,” he continued, pretending not to have heard me as usual. “You know the drill – do a few jobs for the guilds, cash in some loot, and upgrade your equipment. Here’re 400 drakes that might come in handy. And when you’re ready, come back to me, and I’ll give you your next mission.”

While I was anxious to get everything over with so that I could go home, I wasn’t going to argue with this. Frankly, anything that gave me an excuse not to see Caius for a week or two was a bonus as far as I was concerned. No doubt he had his fellow Blades keeping an eye on me, but I could work out how to deal with that later. I was determined not to let him bully me into staying in Morrowind a day longer than I had to.

Thinking I’d had enough excitement for one day, I went back to Ald’ruhn to rest. The next day I dropped by Sarethi Manor to see how Athyn and his family were doing, and he greeted me so warmly that I almost felt sorry I’d be leaving the country in a few weeks. It was such a refreshing change to come across someone who was actually pleased to see me.

Even so, as I spoke to him, I could sense that he was worried about something. “Is everything okay?” I asked, foolishly adding, “Can I do anything to help?”

Sarethi hesitated. “There is another favour I would ask of you, if you would. You may have heard that my son Varvur has been accused of foul murder.”

I nodded, remembering what I’d heard in the tavern the night Varvur was kidnapped. “Bralen Carvaren was one of Varvur’s friends,” Athyn went on. “I cannot believe that my son would do such a thing, but the evidence is... persuasive.”

“Er… what is the evidence?”

“I think you should start by speaking with my son,” Athyn said quietly. “He is in his room in the guard quarters.”

I couldn’t really see why he thought his son would confide in a virtual stranger, even if I had rescued him from Venim, but I followed his directions to the guard quarters and found Varvur’s room. The young man was lying on the bed, now richly dressed, but otherwise looking even worse than he had when I’d found him in Venim’s manor. His face was a sickly shade of pale grey, and there was a haunted look in his eyes which wrung my heart.

When he saw me, he raised himself up on his elbow and gave me a weak smile. “I am sorry, I am not feeling well. What can I do for you?”

“Your father asked me to speak to you about Bralen Carvaren.” He let out a groan and sank back onto the pillows, half-closing his eyes. “Could you tell me what happened?” I asked as gently as possible, sitting down beside him on the bed.

“I didn’t kill him. He was my closest friend.” He shook his head. “The guards found me near his body, but I don’t remember anything that happened that night.”

“What, nothing at all?” That sounded a little too convenient.

“No, nothing.”

I laid a hand on his arm. “Varvur?” I said softly. “If you won’t tell me the truth, I’m not going to be able to help you.”

“I tell you that I don’t remember anything!” He looked directly up at me for the first time, his eyes blazing with anger. “We had been drinking at the Rat in the Pot. All I know is that we left the tavern together, and then… the next thing I remember is being woken by the guards in the morning, with Bralen’s body nearby. I was covered in his blood…” He shut his eyes again, exhausted by the effort of speaking, and I thought I heard him murmur, “Just like in the dreams.”

“Dreams?”

“Sometimes I kill Bralen in my dreams,” he whispered. “It’s... horrible. But that doesn’t mean I killed him, does it? I was having bad dreams before he died.”

Poor kid, I thought. Clearly he was more ill than I had thought; he sounded almost delirious. What was more, I had a horrible feeling that I’d heard of this before: people going mad and attacking friends or relatives in a frenzied rage, then being unable to remember anything about it afterwards. If this was what had happened to Varvur, it was bad news: even if he was found innocent of murder, he’d probably have to be locked up for his own good.

I glanced around the room, searching for inspiration, and my eye fell on a small and incredibly ugly statue standing on a shelf near the bed. It was painted red and black, and looked as if it was made of ash. I don’t usually have strong reactions of any kind towards art, but this thing really was downright hideous – almost sinister, in fact. As I looked at it I could swear that its three crudely-carved ‘eyes’ were staring back at me, and for a moment I thought I could hear faint whispers in my head, like the ones I’d heard in the depths of Llevule Andrano’s tomb.

“Varvur,” I said carefully. “Do you remember where you got this statue?”

“Hmm?” He looked at it through bleary eyes. “Oh… no. I don’t remember.”

“Would it be alright if I took it for a while?”

He nodded. “Yes, take it. Maybe if you take it away, the dreams will stop…”

I picked up the statue gingerly – for some reason, I was incredibly reluctant to touch it – and carried it through to the main hall where Athyn was waiting. “Have you seen anything like this before?” I asked him. “I know it sounds strange, but… there’s something about it that really bothers me.”

Athyn took the statue from me and examined it carefully. “This ash statue troubles me,” he said at last. “I would have you speak with someone at the Temple about this. Perhaps Lloros Sarano would know more of it.”

I headed over to the Temple, where I asked the Redoran priest Lloros Sarano to take a look at the statue. He examined it closely for several minutes before setting it down.

“Thank you, Ada,” he said. “Yes, I can see there is some kind of conjuration enchantment on this statue. I believe it influenced Varvur Sarethi in some manner, causing him to kill his friend Bralen Carvaren.”

“You really think so?” I looked doubtfully at the statue. I’d never heard of an enchantment like that before… but then again, a sufficiently powerful and unscrupulous mage could probably do almost anything with magic.

“Tell Varvur to come and speak with me,” Lloros advised me. “When I am sure that he is no longer influenced by the statue, I will have him cleared of Bralen’s murder.”

I returned to Varvur to find that he was looking better already; he seemed much more alert, and his face had returned to its normal colour. I told him what Lloros Sarano had said, and he nodded. “Maybe he can do something about these bad dreams. I will see him as soon as I can.”

“Do you remember who gave you the statue now, by any chance?”

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “I got it from Galtis Guvron at the Rat in the Pot. In fact… it was Bralen who persuaded me to buy the statue.” He bowed his head, and for a moment I thought I saw tears in his eyes. Poor guy, I could only imagine what he was feeling right now.

After Varvur had left the manor, Athyn Sarethi and I waited anxiously in the entrance hall for his return. About half an hour later he reappeared, looking incredibly relieved, and said something to his father in a low voice, glancing at me as he did so. Athyn patted him on the shoulder, murmured something in response, and waited until he had left the room before turning to me.

“It seems that my son’s name will be cleared soon,” he said. “Thank you, Ada. I knew he could not be a murderer, but I did not know of the influence of these ash statues.”

Something was still preying on my mind. “But why would anyone give your son something like that? Do you think it could be…” My voice trailed off. No, surely that was just too far-fetched.

Athyn shook his head. “I don’t know. I assume this Galtis Guvron is one of my son’s friends, but I have not heard of him or his family. Perhaps you should speak to Lloros Sarano about this?” I nodded and made to leave, but he held me back. “Before you go, I must thank you again for all you have done for my family. I am forever in your debt.”

“Don’t mention it. Glad I could help,” I said, telling the truth for once. I liked Athyn Sarethi. He wasn’t an arrogant snob like many of the nobles I’d met, who seemed to look down contemptuously on anyone who actually had to work for a living. I wondered if he might be willing to help me get out of Morrowind once I’d finished my latest Blades mission – not that I was one to keep score, but he certainly owed me a favour or two.

Back in the Temple, Lloros Sarano agreed that the ash statue business needed investigating, and suggested that I speak to Galtis Guvron at the Rat in the Pot. I decided to put on my Legion uniform first – I had a feeling that I might need it, and it turned out I was right.

I found Guvron, a pawnbroker, in a back room of the tavern. There was nothing obviously suspicious about him, and he was entirely polite until I brought up the subject of ash statues, when his eyes grew wide with shock.

“How could you...?!” He broke off. “No, never mind. I’ll just have to take care of this right now.”

Without a word of warning he pulled out a dagger he had concealed under his shirt. I’d been semi-prepared for some kind of confrontation, but I hadn’t expected him to attack me the moment I mentioned ash statues. Luckily the guy wasn’t much of a fighter, but though I yelled at him several times to surrender, I was eventually forced to deal him a fatal blow. I’d been hoping to get some information out of him; now I’d have to hope I could find something useful on his corpse or at his house.

Here, again, I was lucky. There a few more ash statues amongst the goods he was selling, and in one of his pockets I found a note from someone called ‘Hanarai’. It read as follows:

Here is another crate of statues. These are to be placed here in Ald’ruhn. Place the statues quickly and wisely. Destroy this note. Do not disappoint me again.

Hanarai

Hmm… there was definitely something strange going on here. I had no idea who Hanarai was, so I went back to Lloros Sarano and showed him the note. “Perhaps this ‘Hanarai’ is Hanarai Assutlanipal,” he said. “She claims to be an outcast Ashlander. Her house is the first one on the right down the stairs from the Temple… but she may be as unwilling to talk as Galtis, so take these potions in case you need them.” He handed me several Restore Health potions and some others which would cure common and blight diseases.

I approached Hanarai’s house with a deep sense of foreboding, and once again it turned out to be justified. Hanarai didn’t even blink when I entered her house without warning; she just stood there calmly, as if she had been expecting me. A chill ran through me as I realised that I’d seen her before: she was the crazed ‘Sleeper’ who’d accosted me in the streets of Ald’ruhn a few weeks back.

The moment she saw me, a terrible smile spread over her face. “It is the Hour of Wakening,” she hissed. “Dagoth Ur awakes, and comes forth in his glory, and his people shall rejoice, and his enemies shall scatter like dust.” And with that, she drew a dagger and attacked me.

Hanarai was a better fighter than Galtis Guvron, but with no armour and only a chitin dagger, she didn’t stand much of a chance. She still fought like a demon, refusing to yield even as her life ebbed away. All I found on her body was a few gold coins and another of those small ash statues.

I searched the house for any more evidence of what Hanarai and Guvron were mixed up in. Down the stairs in the lower part of the house, I found a door that was locked and enchanted with a magical trap. After a few tries I got my ‘Ondusi’s Unhinging’ spell to break the lock, and managed to disarm the trap with one of the probes I carried, allowing me to open the door safely. When I saw what lay in the cellar beyond it, I wished I hadn’t.

The underground room was lit only by candles and bathed in an eerie red light. It appeared to be some sort of shrine, dominated by a large red-and-black banner covered in strange symbols. In front of the banner was a bowl containing what looked like hunks of rotting meat. They looked absolutely foul, and smelled even worse.

In a corner of the room, a large ash statue stood on a packing crate. I searched the crate to find that it was full of the horrible things, tightly packed together. So this was what the Sixth House cultists had been smuggling.

Shuddering, I left the house and went back to tell Lloros Sarano what I had found. He listened in horror to my description of the Sixth House ‘shrine’, and promised me that the remaining ash statues would be dealt with. “At least the source of the statues in Ald’ruhn has been shut down,” he said. “I admire your achievement, but we must remain vigilant against anyone else who comes to Ald’ruhn with ash statues.”

I agreed. Clearly this Sixth House business was a lot more serious than just a few crazies ranting about their Lord Dagoth Ur and how he would drive out the n’wah. But what could they hope to gain by placing one of those statues in the hands of a Redoran noble?

I wondered if I should tell Athyn Sarethi what I had found, but decided he probably had enough to worry about right now without knowing that the Sixth House was after him as well. What I didn’t get was that everyone who knew Athyn seemed to speak of him with respect, or even affection. For someone so seemingly popular, he sure had a lot of people out to get him.

While taking a break to rest and eat at the Ald Skar Inn, I wondered what I should do next. It really was time I did some more work for the Fighters’ Guild and the Legion, especially if I wanted to practise my combat skills in preparation for Caius’ next mission. Also, I probably ought to carry out some duties for the Mages’ Guild as well – I was starting to feel a bit guilty about taking their free potions and equipment without actually doing any work for them. In the meantime, though, I went to ask the Temple priest Tuls Valen whether he had any tasks for me.

“Indeed I do,” he said seriously. “I have just received news of another False Incarnate in Vvardenfell.”

Cold fear gripped me. “A f-false Incarnate?” I squeaked, feeling the blood drain from my face. Surely they couldn’t already have heard about my dealings with the Ashlanders?

“Elvil Vidron in Suran claims to be the Nerevarine and makes prophecies of doom,” he said. Oh. Phew!

“What should I do?” I asked, trying to hide my relief.

“Clearly he is a heretic. Convince him that he is mistaken or, if all else fails, prove it by killing him. If he is the true Nerevarine, he is protected by prophecy and cannot die.”

I just hoped to goodness that this Vidron guy wasn’t the true Nerevarine. If that was the case then I was pretty screwed, wasn’t I?

There was no direct transportation link from Ald’ruhn to Suran, so I’d have to go via the Mages’ Guild in Vivec. Before leaving I asked Edwinna Elbert, the Breton woman who headed the Ald’ruhn Guild, if she had any duties for me. “Yes, Associate, there is something you could do for me,” she said. “I am looking for a copy of the rare Dwarven book Chronicles of Nchuleft, which is simply essential to my research. Would you be willing to find a copy for me?”

“I guess so. I take it the local bookseller doesn’t have a copy?”

She shook her head. “Here’s 250 septims to cover your expenses. Time is of the essence.”

On arriving in Vivec I went straight to Jobasha’s bookstore in the Foreign Quarter, remembering that he sold rare books. Sure enough, he had a copy of Chronicles of Nchuleft for exactly 250 septims, though I managed to haggle the price down slightly. After that I thought I would have to wait until evening and take the silt strider to Suran, but then a better idea occurred to me.

I took a gondola to the Temple canton and bought a cheap Rising Force potion from the priestess there, then donated it to Vivec’s Shrine to Stop the Moon. As before, it cast a powerful Levitation spell on me, allowing me to fly through the air almost like a bird. I floated up above the cantons and then set out in the direction of Suran, which I could just see as a faint blur in the distance. Nothing hindered me except a few cliff racers, and I arrived in the town before it got dark, far earlier than I would have done if I’d taken the silt strider.

I vaguely remembered seeing Elvil Vidron the last time I came to Suran – at least if the barefoot, shirtless guy rambling on about ‘the time of the Incarnate’ was Vidron, which I assumed was the case. He didn’t seem particularly surprised to see a young Imperial woman literally drop out of the sky above him (I guess if you’ve already convinced yourself that you’re the Nerevarine, not much else is likely to faze you either). “Excuse me, Ser Vidron?” I said. “Could I speak to you in private for a moment, please? I’m not going to arrest you or anything,” I assured him, as he looked at me suspiciously.

Elvil finally relented, and stopped his ramblings long enough for us to walk into a secluded alleyway. I just hoped I could think of something to say to convince him, because “Look, all this is a bit unlikely, don’t you think?” probably wasn’t going to do the trick.

“I’m told you claim to be the Nerevarine,” I said to him.

He smiled. “You disbelieve? I know my destiny… and you will have a hard time proving otherwise. I have seen the message in the dream. Have you not also experienced the waking dream?”

“Waking dream?” I thought back to the strange dreams I’d been having recently, and suddenly a clever idea struck me. “I have, as it happens. But you weren’t the person I saw.”

He frowned. “Who then, if not myself? The dreams are unyielding! Every day, every night! I must be the one... I must...”

“You can’t be the Nerevarine.” I leaned in towards him, lowering my voice almost to a whisper. “Because I am.”

“You?” He stared at me in disbelief. “But... how can that be?”

“Did Dagoth Ur appear to you in person?” I asked, flinging out my arms. “Did he address you as ‘Lord Nerevar Indoril, Hai Resdaynia’? ‘Long forgotten, forged anew’?” To my surprise, I found I could remember exactly what ‘Dagoth Ur’ had said to me in the dream. “Did he invite you to join him beneath Red Mountain and purge the n’wah from Morrowind? Well, that’s what he said to me!”

By now Elvil was gazing at me with eyes the size of dinner-plates. “You... The vision...” he stammered. “Then it was you, not I! Forgive me, Nerevar, forgive! I meant only to prepare the way.”

Sweet Mara, this guy was gullible. “That’s quite all right,” I told him. “Just stop telling people you’re the Nerevarine, and I’ll happily forgive you.”

“Yes, Nerevar!” he exclaimed. “I see clearly now. I shall repent at the Temple and preach in your name.”

“No, don’t do that! I mean… I need more time to prepare the people of Morrowind for my coming,” I added hastily. “The, ah… the minds of the ignorant masses are not yet ready to accept this news. When the time is right, I will reveal myself,” I continued, improvising wildly. “But in the meantime, you must tell no one about our meeting. Do you understand?”

“Of course, Nerevar,” he said meekly. “I will seek penance for my sins, and no longer claim to be the Incarnate.”

Whew, that was close. “I’m glad to hear it,” I told him, resisting the urge to mop my brow, and then a sudden thought occurred to me. “Do you happen to own an ash statue, by any chance?”

His eyes grew even wider. “How did you know?”

“Just a hunch. Er, I think you should get rid of that statue,” I said. “I… hear the paint they use to coat it is poisonous. If I were you, I’d take it along to the Temple and hand it in to one of the priests.”

He looked doubtful. “Well… if you think it is best, Nerevar.”

“Good! Well, it’s been wonderful meeting you, Elvil,” I said, forcing a smile. I could only hope he’d keep his word about not telling anyone my story; otherwise I was going to be in deep trouble.

As always, scenes with Ada and Caius are my absolute faves !!!!

They tend to be my favourites too Here are some more screenshots:

Hmph. Very... rustic.
Now there's a guy I wouldn't so much mind seeing shirtless...
A touching reunion.

Ada's failed attempt at definitively not being the Nerevarine was excellent. Too bad Caius is too savvy to let little things like "only maybe possibly could be the Nerevarine" slide. Shame about that.



Are you sure that's not the guy that Ada wouldn't mind being seen shirtless by?