This is an interesting bit of foreshadowing, considering how Ada and Varvur’s lives will continue to be entwined.



Always love the interactions with Caius- he just manages to push all of Ada’s buttons.

I am glad that there is a way to avoid killing poor Elvil. And I enjoyed the fact that Ada nearly caused a bigger problem with him wanting to become her “herald.”

And your treatment of Athyn Sarethi is no more than he deserves. He is one of the best characters in Morrowind, and you give him additional depth and personality.

GAAAAH!!! This sounds mysteriously like a slur against...Caius!!!

Ah, Athyn. As you may have guessed, he's my all-time favourite MW character. Ada's welcome to Varvur, as far as I'm concerned

Chapter 18: The Gods Must Be Crazy

Unfortunately I overslept the next morning and missed the silt strider. As the Levitation spell was still active, I decided I might as well use it to travel back to Balmora, rather than waiting all day for the evening strider. I was still nervous about how long it would last, though, so I restricted myself to hovering just above the ground.

Soon after leaving the town, I got my first sight of one of Vvardenfell’s less pleasant features: the slave plantations. I’d seen these from above while flying to Suran, but I’d been too high up to make out any detail. Now, as I drew closer, I could see dozens of Khajiit and Argonians working amongst the rows of ash yams and corkbulb plants, wearing only thin pants to protect them from the drizzling rain. I suppose it could have been worse – I remembered reading that slaves on the plantations of southern Morrowind were kept in cages and forced to go naked, like animals.

Most of the slaves didn’t even look up at me as I passed by within feet of them – I guessed they’d learned that this would earn them a beating, or worse. For this reason I was a little surprised when a male Argonian sidled up to me and laid a hand on my arm.

“Excuse me, mistress,” he hissed. “Can you help me... please? I fear I am lost without your help. Please, can you aid a poor Argonian?”

I paused, looking around nervously. The plantation’s Dunmer overseer was standing some way away, looking in the other direction, and didn’t seem to have noticed anything. “What do you want me to do? I don’t have a key.”

“Oh, kind and great one, recently escaped from the Dren Plantation am I.” He indicated a large manor that was just visible through the fog in the distance. “Very cruel they were to me there. I have heard there is a place near here that will help those such as me, oh great and kind one – a kindly Redguard who helps us is what I’ve heard. Please, great friend, will you not help me?”

Again I hesitated. There was something a bit off about this guy, and not just because he appeared strong and healthy while the other slaves looked thin and under-fed. The other Argonian slaves I’d helped had been grateful, as you’d expect, but I’d never met one quite this sycophantic – all this ‘great and kind one’ stuff seemed way over the top. I smelled a rat.

On the other hand… if he was telling the truth, I’d hate to abandon him here to his inevitable fate. And if not… maybe it’d be best if I was there when he finally found this ‘kindly Redguard’.

“Okay,” I said warily. “I don’t know where this place is, but I’ll try and help you find it.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you,” he whispered. “You are too kind to Tul – not like the guards at the Dren Plantation, and cruel, cruel Orvas Dren, the powerful master there. And the evil brothers Ienith, so cruel, so cruel. Thank you for helping deliver me from them.”

Okay, there was definitely something up here. This Tul sounded more like someone play-acting a slave than an actual slave. “Have you seen the Twin Lamps?” I asked him, suddenly remembering what the other slaves had said to me.

“The… Twin Lamps?” For a moment he looked slightly panicked. “They... uh... brighten the way, oh most kind, wonderful and helpful friend. Your eyes are like twin lamps of hope, my gracious saviour! Yes, that is it!” Hmm.

We headed north-west up the path, checking behind us now and again to ensure we weren’t being followed. I was pretty nervous, not only of what might happen when we found the Redguard, but also that someone might see us and realise what was going on. I hated the thought of possibly having to kill them when I was the one breaking the law.

At long last we spotted a small farm in the distance, some way off the path. The only person visible was a Redguard man hoeing a small patch of land. “Looks like we’ve found your Redguard,” I said to Tul.

He nodded, but didn’t say anything until we were approaching the man, when he suddenly grabbed my arm. “Here our journey ends, Cyrodiil,” he said, his expression now far less pleasant. “For bringing me to this place, I thank you. It has been a thorn in the side of the Camonna Tong for too long, too long. Be on your way, outlander, or with this Redguard, you will die.”

So Tul was a Camonna Tong agent as well as a bounty-hunter? Well, at least I needn’t feel too guilty about killing him. “Stand back,” I told him, drawing my sword. “I’m not going to stand here and let you kill this man.”

“As you wish. The hand of the Camonna Tong will speed you to your final rest.”

Before I could get close enough to hit him, he leapt backwards and blasted me with a spell. I’m not sure what kind it was, but gods, it hurt. Luckily, though Tul seemed to be an excellent spellcaster, he was pretty weak in combat. The Redguard couldn’t be much help as he was unarmed, and had the sense to stay out of the way.

“Sorry about that,” I told him, when Tul was dead. “I knew there was something fishy about that guy.”

He shook his head. “It is not uncommon for them to come looking here. I thank you for your help, and for your intentions. Here, take this as a small token of my gratitude.”

I thanked him for his gift, a ring with a Shield spell on it, and retreated to lick my wounds. I would never understand how an Argonian like Tul could betray his own people like that. I liked money as much as anyone else, but no amount on Nirn would persuade me to help someone who enslaved Imperials… or any other race, for that matter. But especially Imperials.

The abolitionist – whose name was Sterdecan – offered to let me rest in his hut, but once I was healed I was keen to set off for Balmora as soon as possible. I was glad to have been able to help Sterdecan, but the damage was done. I’d never be able to enjoy the beauty of the Ascadian Isles again without thinking of those slave plantations.

After eating my midday meal in Balmora, I returned to Ald’ruhn, where I delivered Edwinna Elbert’s book to her and told the Temple priests that I’d successfully dealt with the False Incarnate. Tuls Valen thanked me for my help and promoted me to the rank of ‘Acolyte’ – a title I found a little unnerving. Perhaps I ought to stop doing duties for them before I ended up as Grand Inquisitor or something.

Having sorted everything out, I went to talk with the Fighters’ Guild steward Percius Mercius, but he didn’t have any jobs for someone of my rank. He suggested I try the Guildhalls in Vivec or Sadrith Mora, the Telvanni capital on the east coast, and reminded me that I could ask him if I had doubts about any of the jobs I was given.

I would actually have loved to see more of those weird Telvanni mushroom towers, but I decided it would be easier to go to Vivec. It was near to Ebonheart as well, so I could ask for Imperial Legion orders while I was at it. I took the Guild Guide to Vivec and located the Fighter’s Guild, which was also on the top level of the Foreign Quarter canton. The ranking Guild steward was an Orc named Lorbumol gro-Aglakh; he wasn’t particularly friendly, but he did agree to give me duties.

“Nar gro-Shagramph said he’d deliver a ring to Ranes Ienith, but he hasn’t delivered,” he said, after making a big show of trying to come up with ‘suitable’ missions. “Go find him in the Hlaalu Canton Plaza and bring the Juicedaw Feather Ring to me.”

I really did feel I was a bit beyond these entry-level jobs by now, but I knew that saying this wouldn’t get me anywhere. In fact, this turned out to be the easiest job I’d done for the Guild so far – when I went to the Hlaalu canton and found Nar, he immediately handed over the ring without protest. So much for practising my combat skills – I seemed to be doing more fighting outside of the Guild missions than in them.

Lorbumol’s next order was pretty blunt. “There’s an Argonian that can’t keep its mouth shut. Go shut Tongue-Toad’s mouth.”

I frowned. I didn’t like being sent to kill people without being given a reason, and his use of the word ‘it’ didn’t escape me. “Er… what has he done, exactly?”

“I told you,” he growled. “It can’t keep its mouth shut.”

Hmph. I decided to ask Percius about this one.

In the meantime, I took a trip to the Hawkmoth Legion Garrison in Ebonheart to ask for Legion jobs. As before, I made the journey by buying a Rising Force potion at the Temple canton and donating it to Vivec’s shrine, then using the Levitation spell to fly over the water. The head of the Legion at Hawkmoth was a Nord Knight known as Frald the White – due to his long mane of white-blond hair, I assumed – and his jovial attitude made a pleasant contrast to Lorbumol’s surliness.

“Ah, a Cyrodiil!” he exclaimed, when I told him my name and rank. “That’s good. I have the perfect job for you.”

“Yes, sir?”

“The Buoyant Armigers claim we have no courtesy,” he said.

And this was a problem because…? “I… don’t quite understand, sir.”

He shook his head impatiently. “Salyn Sarethi, a Buoyant Armiger at the Tower of Dusk in Ghostgate, claims we have no courtesy. Go best him in a duel of wit and poetry.”

A duel of wit and poetry? He had to be kidding me. “Er… sir?” I said, deciding that honesty was the best policy here. “I’m not entirely sure I’m the best person for this.”

“Rubbish!” he said briskly. “Imperial, aren’t you? This should be right up your alley.”

I wasn’t sure how to reply. It’s true that wit and wordplay are highly valued in Imperial culture, but even I could never have fooled myself that I was a smooth talker. Honestly, it’s almost as annoying when people assume we’re all silver-tongued charmers as when they think we’re all corrupt swindlers.

“Come on, Champion!” Frald boomed, seeing my hesitation. “You’re not afraid of some big-mouth Buoyant Armiger, are you?”

“No, sir! It’s just that I don’t know much about poetry, sir!”

He sighed. “Then you might want to find the Red Book of Riddles first. Try Codus Callonus at the bookstore in Ald’ruhn.”

Reluctantly I wrote down the details – could this Salyn Sarethi be related to Athyn and his family, I wondered? – and returned to the Foreign Quarter to teleport back to Ald’ruhn. I obtained a copy of the riddle-book from the bookseller and went to the Fighters’ Guild for my evening meal, where I spoke to Percius about my latest mission. “What is Tongue-Toad’s crime?” he said, frowning. “I don’t know that it’s right to kill him. Maybe you could convince him to leave instead?”

It was late in the evening when I found Tongue-Toad, alone, in the back room of the Rat in the Pot. He was well-dressed and well-spoken, obviously a gentleman, and I wondered what he was doing in a place like that. “What?” he stammered, when I explained what I was there for. “The Fighters Guild sent you to kill me? Why would they want me dead?”

“I don’t know,” I told him, hating myself for having to do this. “I don’t want to kill you, but if I don’t my boss will probably send someone else. Would you be willing to leave Vvardenfell if I let you go?”

He nodded gratefully. “Yes. Thank you, Ada – I will leave soon. May Stendarr watch over you.”

“Will you be okay?” I asked hesitantly, remembering the quarantine.

He shrugged. “Don’t worry about me, soft-skin. Report back to the Fighters Guild. If I have to, I’ll just swim to the mainland.”

I still felt guilty as I left the tavern. I was glad that I’d been able to find a non-violent solution, but even so, I found it deeply worrying that I was being sent on missions like this. I wished Percius would tell me a little more about what was going on in the Guild.

I was too tired to look at the riddle-book that night, so it had to wait until the next morning. While eating breakfast, I opened the book and read the first entry:

The question:
It has a tail, a side and a head
I call it what I call a snake
It has no body and it is dead

The answer:
It must be a drake.

Worst. Riddle. Ever. I turned over the page.

The question:
Poets know the hearts of Men and Mer
But beasts can’t know my heart, you see
This book was written by a bear

The answer:
It is not a book of poetry.

Okay, I take it back: I hadn’t thought it possible, but that riddle was even worse than the first one. Somehow I doubted that Salyn Sarethi would be impressed by any of these, but I memorised them all even so. That done, I set out to levitate over to Ghostgate, thankful that there wasn’t an ashstorm or Blight storm for once.

I found Salyn in the tower’s underground barracks, wearing a full suit of glass armour. I found it hard to tell his age, but he was pleasant-looking, and quite handsome (after a month and a half spent among the Dunmer, I was getting so used to their strange skin and eye colour that it didn’t really bother me any more). He didn’t seem particularly pleased to see me, though.

“Yes, I said that the Legion has no courtesy, wit, poetry, or honour,” he said curtly. “I will concede that you have wit and poetry if you can win a contest of riddles.”

I was already struggling to keep my patience. What did it bloody matter whether we had wit and poetry or not? We were supposed to be soldiers, not a troupe of wandering entertainers! But pointing this out would hardly have earned me any courtesy-points, so I let it go.

“I will ask of you a riddle and you must give the answer as a rhyme,” Salyn continued. “Are you ready?”

“I suppose so.”

As it turned out, I was in luck. It seemed that Mr. Courtesy had been making use of a certain Red Book himself when planning the riddle-contest. When I realised that the first riddle he asked me was the one on the first page of the book, it was all I could do not to burst out laughing.

“It must be a drake,” I responded when he had finished. “Is it my turn now?” I repeated the second riddle from the book.

“Then it’s not a book of poetry,” he responded, correctly.

We looked at each other. “Best of three?” I suggested.

Salyn nodded, and recited yet another riddle I recognised from the book:

“I gave you a sock, not unlike a box
With hammers and nails all around it
Two lids open when it knocks…”

“It must have been a great hit,” I answered, trying not to wince. Yup, unbelievable as it seemed, the authors of the Red Book had somehow come up with a riddle even more terrible than the first two.

Salyn looked astonished, and rather annoyed, that I’d managed to beat him. “Well. You have proven to me that you have wit and poetry,” he said gruffly. “Perhaps the Legion has courtesy after all.”

I really didn’t see what answering a bunch of stupid riddles had to do with being courteous, but I wasn’t about to argue with him. “Glad to hear you say so,” I said. “By the way, would you happen to be related to someone called Athyn Sarethi?”

“My uncle,” he said, looking surprised. “You know him?”

“He’s my sponsor in House Redoran,” I said. “Good day to you.” The expression on his face was absolutely priceless.

I cast an Almsivi Intervention spell to get back to Ald’ruhn, where I went to Sarethi Manor to see Athyn and ask for duties. The more I could do to convince him that I was a dutiful Redoran, the easier it would be to ask for his help later. Or so I hoped, anyway.

“Ondres Nerano, a Hlaalu noble who lives in Balmora, has slandered our Archmaster Bolvyn Venim,” he told me. “I need someone to go there and stop his slanders.”

I was surprised he was so concerned about Venim being slandered, given the amount of bad blood between them. “What sort of slanders?” I asked. Athyn hesitated, clearly unwilling to repeat what he’d heard. “Serjo, I can’t accuse him of slander if I don’t even know what he’s meant to have said. What if he calls my bluff and denies it?”

Sarethi sighed. “Nerano claims that Venim is guilty of certain… indiscretions… with the wife of another Councillor. While I do not approve of all the Archmaster does, as a Councilman of House Redoran I cannot let this accusation stand.”

“I see.” I didn’t really see, to be honest. If someone had kidnapped my son and sent assassins to kill me, and I heard a rumour that he was sleeping with someone else’s wife, I’d be yelling it from the roof of the giant crab shell. “What exactly do you want me to do?”

“You must track him down, and demand that he withdraw his slander,” he told me. “If he refuses, challenge him to a duel, but do not shame House Redoran by murdering him.”

I blinked. “A duel? Are you serious?”

“Quite serious,” he said gravely. “Duelling is permitted by Imperial law, surely?”

I didn’t really know how to answer. Sure, duelling is technically legal under Imperial law, but the truth was that I’d never heard of it actually happening during my lifetime. If someone slanders you in Cyrodiil, you take them to the courts (or, if you can’t afford that, go round to their house with a few mates and beat the tar out of them). I wasn’t even sure of the etiquette for challenging someone to a duel – was I supposed to slap him in the face with a glove or something?

“Well, I’ll do my best,” I said uncertainly. I really, really hoped that Ondres Nerano wouldn’t force me to fight him. I’d killed enough people recently without adding a totally harmless Hlaalu noble to the list.

I took the Guild Guide to Balmora and asked for directions to the home of Nerano, who turned out to live in one of the manors in the High Town. A servant showed me into the house, and before long Ondres himself appeared to greet me. He was young and rather good-looking – and, to my surprise, quite friendly.

“Why, a visitor!” he exclaimed. “And an outlander, too! What brings you to Nerano Manor?”

My heart sank. Why couldn’t he have been the obnoxious, high-handed type? “This isn’t a social call, I’m afraid,” I said. “I’m a member of House Redoran. One of the Councillors has accused you of slandering our Archmaster.”

His expression hardened. “Slander? I told the truth about Bolvyn Venim!”

“Do you have any proof?” I asked.

“Proof?”

“Yes, proof! You know, the thing you ought to have before you accuse people of adultery?” I took a step towards him. “Either show me some proof, or take back what you said about Bolvyn Venim.”

Nerano shook his head, disgust written across his face. “I guess you Redorans are too dumb to know what the truth is. If you want a duel over this, you got one!”

“Fine.” I heaved a sigh. “Let’s take this outside, shall we? I don’t want to be accused of murdering you.”

He snorted, but followed me outside into the main square. It was early evening and there were still quite a few people around. “Ondres Nerano, I hereby challenge you to a duel of honour,” I said loudly, feeling like a character from a badly-written melodrama. “If you lose, you must promise to withdraw your slanders against the Archmaster of House Redoran.”

“As you wish,” he said, grinding his teeth. I drew my sword, at exactly the same time as he put up his fists.

I looked at him in disbelief. “Don’t you have a sword?”

“Not on me, no.”

“Well, I’m not getting into a fist-fight with you!” I said indignantly. “This is supposed to be a duel, not a street brawl!”

By now a small crowd of people had gathered to see what was going on. After some muttered discussions and a lot of coughing, one of them produced a sword and handed it to Nerano, and we began the duel.

I’d learned from long experience that just because someone is obviously rich and privileged, it doesn’t mean they’re necessarily a pampered weakling who can’t handle a weapon to save their lives. As it was, though, Ondres turned out to be… a pampered weakling who couldn’t handle a weapon to save his life. After a minute or so of holding back, easily parrying his clumsy thrusts, I got tired of playing around with him and dealt him a heavy blow. A few more of these were sufficient to knock his sword from his hand and send him sprawling to the ground.

He raised a hand in surrender as I walked up to him. “Very well. I take back what I said about Venim,” he said, and to my surprise, I saw a humorous glint in his eye. “You fight well… for a Redoran.”

I knew I ought to have taken offence, but I couldn’t help grinning. “You’re smart,” I said to him, helping him to his feet. “For a Hlaalu. Buy you a drink?”

He hesitated, and then suddenly nodded. “Why not? But I’ll buy the drinks, as you won the fight.”

We went to the Eight Plates, where Ondres bought me a drink – several, in fact – and introduced me to his friends in House Hlaalu, all young nobles like himself. They all seemed friendly, but I noticed that one of them, Meril Hlaano, was looking at me very strangely.

“They say someone hit the Camonna Tong at the Council Club,” he said slowly. “Hard. And the guards say they’re very concerned, and they’re following all leads... But somehow they don’t seem very sincere.”

He leaned forward. “And Larrius Varro? Champion at Fort Moonmoth? He’s been quoted as saying, ‘I swore an oath to stop corruption, but it seems the gods have seen fit to fulfill my oath for me.’ And you know what’s funny? Someone said they saw you talking to Larrius Varro several times recently…”

There was a long silence. Ondres Nerano’s face had gone slightly pale. “That was you? You might have told me that before I agreed to fight a duel with you!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said coolly. “I’m in the Legion myself, so of course I’ve talked to Varro. Now, does anyone want another drink?”

All in all, it was a very enjoyable evening. By the time we stumbled out of the tavern in the early hours of the morning, Ondres and I were firm friends.

“When will I see you again?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. I spend most of my time in Ald’ruhn these days.”

“That’s a pity,” he said, and that wicked glint appeared in his eye again. “I may just have to insult your Archmaster a few more times.”

“Don’t even think about it,” I warned him. “Next time I won’t let you off so lightly.” I suddenly thought of something. “Whose wife, by the way?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Whose wife has Bolvyn Venim not been sleeping with?”

Ondres stared at me. “You don’t know?” I shook my head. “It’s Garisa Llethri’s wife, Fathasa. And Garisa won’t do anything about it, so they say. That is,” he added hastily, “so they would say, if he were sleeping with her. Which he isn’t.”

It was a pity really, I thought, as I made my way back to the Fighters’ Guild to get some sleep. Most of the Hlaalu were perfectly decent people. It was just a shame their leaders were so obnoxious.

Athyn Sarethi was pleased to hear the result of the duel when I returned to him next morning (I left out the bit about the drinking session afterwards), and he promoted me to the rank of ‘House Cousin’, whatever that meant. I promised to come back later for more duties, but first I had business in Vivec.

The first thing I did on arrival was to go to Lorbumol gro-Aglakh at the Fighters’ Guild and tell him that Tongue-Toad had been ‘dealt with’. After that I set out for Ebonheart to report on my successful mission to Ghostgate. When I returned to the Temple canton yet again to use the Levitation shrine, the priestess there was beginning to get suspicious.

“You seem very devoted to Lord Vivec,” she said, eyes narrowed. “That’s the third time you’ve visited this shrine in three days.”

“Absolutely,” I said. “All praise be to Lord Vivec. Can I have the Rising Force potion now, please?”

Frald the White was delighted to hear about me beating Sarethi in the riddle contest. “What I wouldn’t give to be at the Tower of Dusk right now,” he chuckled, when I told him what had happened. “Ah, but since you are not just a simple warrior, perhaps you would appreciate this book?”

He gave me a book which seemed to be part of a series – 2920, The Last Year of the First Era. Only problem was that it was the fifth book in the series, which wasn’t exactly helpful, given that I’d never read any of the others.

“Now, then,” Frald continued briskly, before I had the chance to thank him. “I need someone to find the traitor Honthjolf.”

“What has he done, sir?”

Frald’s face darkened. “He was once a member of the Order of Ebonheart, but he turned his back on us. Now works as a guard in Aharnabi, a foul den of sorcerers and Daedra worshippers on the far southeast corner of Azura’s coast. I need you to find him and kill him.”

He marked the location of Aharnabi on my map. It was on one of the many small islands in the south-east – near to a shrine of Azura – and I worked out that the nearest major settlement was the city of Sadrith Mora, which just happened to have a Mages’ Guild guide. If I left right now and flew out to Aharnabi, I could probably get there before sunset.

I teleported to Sadrith Mora – which meant ‘mushroom forest’, according to the Guild guide – and found myself in Wolverine Hall, a large and windowless Imperial stone castle. I never thought I’d find anywhere quite as maze-like and confusing than the interior of Vivec’s cantons, but I must say that Wolverine Hall gave them a run for their money. I must have explored half the castle before finally realising that there was no way out from the ground floor, and that the exit was just one floor down from the Guild room where I’d arrived to start with. Who designs these places?

I finally caught a glimpse of Sadrith Mora itself as I floated up above the castle, and I must say that it was a pretty amazing sight. I’d been impressed by the mushroom tower of Tel Branora – well, this place was an entire city of those towers, with the great wizard’s ‘castle’ in the centre surrounded by dozens of smaller dwellings and stores. I could have stayed looking at it for hours if I hadn’t been in such a hurry.

It was a cool, misty evening, and I felt a sense of incredible peace and tranquillity steal over me as I flew southwards towards Aharnabi. Up here I didn’t need to worry about bandits or wild animals or even cliff racers; below me was only endless ocean, dotted with rocks and small islands. For a while I could even manage to forget about the unpleasant business that lay ahead.

The sun was just beginning to set when I spotted the figure looming out of the mist: a huge stone statue of Azura, Daedra Lord (or rather, Lady) of Twilight. As in most of the pictures and statues I’d seen, she appeared as a beautiful young woman, with a crescent moon in one hand and an eight-pointed star in the other. I presumed this was the shrine Frald had described.

Usually I avoid anything Daedric like the Knahaten Plague, but I felt a sudden curiosity to see the inside of the shrine. A few of the Daedra seem to actively enjoy spreading death and destruction – such as Molag Bal and Mehrunes Dagon – but most of them will generally leave you alone as long as you don’t do anything really stupid, like summoning them. I’d heard that Azura was fairly benign by Daedric standards (though admittedly, that’s not saying much). It couldn’t hurt just to take a quick look, surely?

Furtively I approached the stone door in the hill below the statue, and pushed it open. There was no one inside the shrine, but people clearly did visit now and again, because it was clean and lit by torches. Bowls of incense perfumed the inner chamber, which contained another, smaller statue of Azura. I walked closer, strangely drawn towards it – and then, something really strange happened.

As I drew close enough to the statue to touch it, I felt a sudden change in the air. I can only describe it as a presence – somehow, at that moment, I could feel that there was someone there in the room with me. I started to back away, frightened, and that was when the statue began to speak.

“You have come here for a reason, though you may not know what it is.”

I leapt backwards as if I’d just been struck with a shock bolt. Not only because a statue had just spoken to me, but because I recognised that voice – I’d have known it anywhere. It was the voice that had spoken to me in my dreams on that prison ship, the very night I arrived in Morrowind.

“I’m sorry!” I gabbled, falling to my knees before the statue. “I didn’t mean to – I – ” I clamped my mouth shut, finally realising that to tell a Daedra Lord I’d summoned her by accident would not be a good idea.

“Sheogorath and I have made a wager. He contends that solitude causes madness, while I maintain it allows for solace and meditation. To test this, I sent one of my priestesses to live alone on an island north of Dagon Fel. If she can live there for 100 years, continuing her life of prayer, my theory will be proven; if not, Sheogorath wins our wager.”

What?! Seriously, what? What the heck was she talking about? My head was spinning.

“The time has almost passed,” Azura continued, “and she remains steadfast. But, Sheogorath has tried to sway the decision in his favour.”

“Um… sorry to hear that?” My voice came out as a breathy squeak.

She went on as if I hadn’t spoken. “Travel there, rid the island of his minions, and bring back proof of his meddling. Do not disturb the wise woman, though, as that would void our wager. Serve me, and I will reward you well.” And with that I felt the powerful presence vanish from the chamber, leaving me open-mouthed and trembling like a leaf.

I remained there on my knees for what must have been several minutes. Had I really just spoken with the Daedra Lord Azura? Had she just told me that she brought me here for the sake of a bet? She’d dragged me all the way to Morrowind, thousands of miles away from my own home, to help her win a sodding bet with another of the Princes?

Honestly, I just couldn’t believe this. I know the Gods – and the Daedra especially – are notorious for playing games with the lives of mortals, but did they have to be quite so blatant about it?

Well, if Azura wanted me to go to – Dagon Fel, was it? – then I’d better get going right this minute. When a Daedra Lord asks you to perform a task for them, you don’t keep them waiting. Honthjolf and his ‘den of sorcerers’ would have to wait until later. I used a Divine Intervention scroll to take me back to the Wolverine Hall shrine, and touched down at the Sadrith Mora docks just in time to board the last ship going north.

Chapter 19: I Am Not The Nerevarine

The journey to Dagon Fel took nearly three days, most of which I spent cooped up in a small, cramped cabin that smelled of ale and stale vomit (thank the Gods I don’t get seasick). By the end of it I had all but convinced myself that I’d imagined the whole encounter in the shrine. After all, how likely was it that the Daedra Lord Azura had specifically chosen me, Ada Ventura, to serve her? Then again, it was no more unlikely than some of the other things that had happened to me since I arrived in Morrowind.

When we finally reached the island – up in the northernmost part of the country, in a region called Sheogorad – I found that the only settlement there was a tiny fishing village, populated mainly by Nords. I spent most the morning stocking up on provisions and making sure my weapons and armour were in good repair – I wasn’t sure what kind of Daedra I might run into, and I wanted to be well prepared.

After that I set out for the small island to the north, where Azura’s unfortunate priestess was undergoing her 100 years’ enforced solitude. (Honestly, why anyone ever worships these Daedric lunatics is beyond me.) It was raining, but luckily there were plenty of those big mushrooms to hide under.

When I reached the coast and found that only a narrow channel separated the two islands, I decided now would be a good time to try out my new Water Walking spell. I’d never bothered to learn that spell in Cyrodiil, what with it being so landlocked, so it took me quite a few tries to get it right. But when it worked, it was brilliant – I just ran across the surface of the water as if it had been solid ground.

If only the next part had been so easy. The minute I spotted the first couple of Daedra in the distance – a Hunger and some Flame Atronachs – I knew I was out of my depth. Concealed behind some rocks, I gave it some thought and decided to tackle the Atronachs first, as they would have a weakness to my enchanted frostsword. The Hungers could cast nasty Destruction spells, so they were best dealt with from a long distance and good cover.

The Atronachs both went down in a single hit. I got a little singed, but not badly hurt. Just as I was congratulating myself on my superior combat skills, I heard an ominous rumbling sound behind me, and spun round to find myself looking right at – or rather, up at – an enormous Ogrim.

With a cry of terror I ran for the nearest source of cover, a couple of tall rock pillars with a small gap between them, just as the Daedra’s fist crashed down on the spot where I’d been standing a moment earlier. Luckily for me, Ogrims aren’t that smart – it lumbered up to the rocks, growling angrily, but didn’t think to go round them. Trying to stay calm, I drew my sword and poked it through the gap in the rocks, thrusting it several times into the Ogrim’s gigantic stomach. It was like jabbing a needle into an orange.

Just as I was about to cut and run, the sword’s Frost magicka finally overcame the Ogrim, and it tumbled to the ground with a crash that must have been heard half a mile away. I sank to the ground, shaking, and took some time to rest and recover before taking on the other Daedra.

I could see the Hungers in the distance, wandering around near a small hut. As I took careful aim with my bow, I wondered how exactly they planned to drive Azura’s priestess to madness. Presumably they couldn’t actually approach her without voiding the wager, so what else could they do? Sit outside the hut all day whistling really annoying tunes?

Marksmanship has never been my strongest skill – I’m not a bad shot, but not a particularly good one either, especially at this distance. My first arrow was caught by the wind and went wide of the mark. The second time I adjusted my aim a bit and managed to hit one of the Hungers, but unfortunately, the other one spotted me and came bounding towards me with an angry roar. I quickly ducked behind the rock I was using for cover, cast the Chameleon enchantment on my Amulet of Shadows, and drew my sword in readiness.

As the ugly, shrivelled-up creature paused only feet away from me, sniffing the air to try and catch my scent, I strode up to it, swung my sword with all my strength and brought the blade down heavily on its spindly neck. It’s a good thing Daedra don’t bleed, or it would have made quite a mess.

Glancing back towards the hut, I spotted one more Daedra standing guard by the door – a Golden Saint, one of the most powerful servants of Sheogorath. They appear as scantily-clad women with shining golden skin – a little like Altmer, only much more dangerous. I’d only met a couple of them before, but ‘saintly’ is the last word I’d use to describe them.

I ran up towards the Saint, aware that I didn’t have much time before the Chameleon enchantment wore off. She didn’t see or hear me as I snuck up behind her, so I took the opportunity to stab her through the heart from behind, killing her almost instantly. Not very honourable, I know, but then I’ve never met a Daedra who even tried to fight fair (they don’t really ‘die’ in any case – killing them just sends them back to the waters of Oblivion for a while).

Bending over the Saint’s corpse, I noticed a ring on her finger bearing the symbol of Sheogorath, the Madgod. I still couldn’t believe he and Azura would go to such lengths just to win a stupid bet. Still, I guess that when you’re a bored, immortal, quasi-omnipotent being with too much time on your hands, you have to find some way to amuse yourself.

I took the ring as proof to show to Azura, and made my way back to the village of Dagon Fel, where I rented a room at the End of the World inn. I spent a reasonably comfortable night there, and set out on my three-day return journey to Sadrith Mora the next morning.

Dusk was falling when I disembarked at the Sadrith Mora docks and walked up to the Gateway Inn, which stood at the edge of the city. It was a typical Telvanni mushroom building except for the fact that it was set into a hill, above a large round stone door that presumably led through to the city. As far as I could see, it was the only way through unless you were into rock-climbing.

Leading up to the mushroom building were two narrow sets of steps, carved out of roots, on either side of the doorway. I carefully made my way up one of the stairways and entered the inn, where I was met by a Dunmer official. “Excuse me, please,” I said. “Could you open the gate for me? I need to get to Wolverine Hall.”

“Do you have Hospitality Papers?” he asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“According to the Collective Articles of the Council of the Great House Telvanni, out-house and outlander guests in Sadrith Mora may not travel in town or speak to or conduct business with citizens, tradesmen, or publicans unless they have Hospitality Papers,” he said mechanically. “This is for the comfort and safety of our guests. As Prefect of Hospitality for Sadrith Mora, I can provide you with these papers for 25 gold.”

I blinked. “Hang on. You’re saying I have to purchase ‘Hospitality Papers’ just to travel through the city?”

“These are the laws of the Telvanni Council. Unless you are a member of the House, of course.”

“But all I want is to get to Wolverine Hall!” I couldn’t believe this. “You seriously expect people to pay 25 drakes just to walk through your town?”

The prefect sighed, giving me the impression I wasn’t the first visitor to react this way. “Rules are rules, outlander. Would you care to purchase these Hospitality Papers?”

I could have kicked up a fuss, but in all honesty, I was just too tired. All I really wanted right now was to take a proper bath and sleep in a proper bed for the first time in days. So I agreed to buy the papers – with a very bad grace, I must admit – and returned to Wolverine Hall, now convinced that everything I’d been told about the Telvanni was true. ‘Hospitality’, indeed…

The next morning, following a quick trip back to Vivec to renew my Levitation spell, I returned to the Shrine of Azura. This time I hoped I might be able to have a proper conversation with her, perhaps even get a few answers. I walked up to the statue and waited there for a few seconds, wondering if she would appear spontaneously as she had last time. When nothing happened, I hesitantly took out Sheogorath’s ring and placed it on the base of the statue.

Immediately I felt Azura’s presence fill the shrine. “Well done, mortal,” said that strange, ethereal voice. “You have preserved the integrity of my wager with Sheogorath. Now it will end as fated, and not due to the meddling of the Daedra Prince. Take this, and use it wisely.”

“Azura, wait! Lady Azura – ” But it was no use. The presence was gone, and next to the ring lay a small but beautiful replica of Azura’s eight-pointed star.

I’d heard of Azura’s Star, of course; it was actually a powerful soulgem. I knew that it was technically a great favour to have it granted to me, something many people would literally kill for, but the problem was that I never used Soultrap spells. Other than using it as a way to impress people – “Look, I was granted this by Azura herself!” –there wasn’t an awful lot I could do with it. What was more, I couldn’t even sell it for fear of upsetting Her Ladyship.

Still, I didn’t want to risk offending Azura by turning down her gift. So I picked up the ring and the star and tucked them both carefully away in my backpack, before leaving to search for the entrance to Aharnabi.

There’s not really much to say about my encounter with Honthjolf, the traitorous Nord who’d deserted the Legion. I didn’t like the idea of having to kill a fellow Legionnaire, even if he did worship Daedra – and really, how could I condemn that after what I’d just done myself? But I’d long since resigned myself to the fact that being a fighter could be a nasty job at times, so I did what I had to. Honthjolf didn’t give me a choice in any case; the minute he realised I was a Legionnaire, he attacked me.

Afterwards I used my last Divine Intervention scroll to return to Wolverine Hall, then travelled back to Vivec by Guild Guide. After cleaning myself up and changing clothes, my first priority was to safely store away my new treasures in a bank. I didn’t want to announce to the entire world that I was carrying around a priceless Daedric artifact, so when I got to the bank, I asked if I could speak to the manager. The clerk I spoke to was reluctant at first, but quickly changed her tune when I explained that I had some valuable items to deposit.

The bank manager’s reaction to me pulling Azura’s Star out of my grotty backpack was surprisingly calm; perhaps it wasn’t the first time a humble-looking adventurer had turned up with rare and valuable artifacts. Vvardenfell seemed to be practically crawling with them, after all. He looked it over carefully, and though he didn’t say anything, I could tell he was examining it to check that it wasn’t a fake. When he’d satisfied himself that the star was genuine, I produced Sheogorath’s ring and asked if he could tell me how much it was worth.

Again he examined the ring carefully before replying. “Yes, this is Sheogorath’s symbol,” he said at last. “And the ring itself is clearly Daedric workmanship. This could be quite valuable.”

“I’m not very well up on the technical terms,” I said. “Exactly how valuable is ‘quite valuable’?”

“Well, I’m not a jeweller – you would have to get it valued professionally. But at a rough guess, I would say it could be worth as much as thirty thousand drakes.”

A Paralysis spell couldn’t have rooted me to the spot more effectively. THIRTY THOUSAND drakes? Maybe he’d made a mistake and had actually meant to say ‘thirty’?

“Forgive me,” I said weakly. “Did you just say that this ring could be worth thirty thousand septims?”

“That would be my estimate, yes. Perhaps a few thousand more, or less.”

My knees felt weak all of a sudden. Thirty thousand septims. I could buy passage to Cyrodiil twenty times over with that kind of money – heck, I could buy my own ship with that amount. I was finding it hard to believe this wasn’t all just a cruel joke.

“I’m not sure there is anyone in Vvardenfell who trades in this kind of item,” the manager continued. “You may have to travel to the mainland.” Ah. There’s always a catch, isn’t there?

Still, I wouldn’t let myself be downcast. “But I could use it as security for a loan or something, right?”

“Of course.”

I was still finding this hard to take in. “Wonderful,” I said. “Thank you so much. I’ll leave it in your vaults for the moment, then.”

As I left the bank, I felt as if I were walking on air. My troubles were over. I could pay off the rest of my ‘loan’ from House Hlaalu – not that there was much of it left anyway – and I could go back to Cyrodiil. Home.

All at once I felt my eyes fill with tears. I hadn’t heard anything more about riots in the Imperial City, so I’d assumed that things had calmed down for the moment – but even so, the relief of knowing that I could go back if I wanted was tremendous. With so many other things to think about, I hadn’t realised how much it had been weighing on my mind.

I was in such a good mood that I even felt up to going back to the Fighters Guild and speaking to Lorbumol gro-Aglakh. I didn’t really want to take any more jobs from him after the last one, but on the other hand, I was keen to get back my old rank of Defender before returning home. At least that way I might stand some chance of being accepted back into the Cyrodiil guild. So I accepted a bounty contract on a Khajiit named Dro’Sakhar, whom he described as an outlaw.

Rather than go back to Ald’ruhn yet again to talk to Percius, I confirmed with the local Ordinators that there was a bounty on Dro’Sakhar’s head, and then went to search for his hideout in the St. Olms canton. I finally found him in a poky one-room house on the lowest level of the canton. No one had told me his bounty was for, but the first thing I noticed on entering the house was a wooden training dummy with several daggers stuck into it. Not a nice person, clearly.

Instead of killing Dro’Sakhar, I simply used my Star of the West power to knock him out before handing him over to the guards. I returned to Lorbumol for my coveted promotion to Defender, and a reward of five hundred septims – enough to pay off the remainder of my debt to House Hlaalu, and then some.

I celebrated my newfound wealth by buying myself some really nice clothes – well, you never know when you might get invited to a party – and a beautiful enchanted robe called a ‘Frostmirror Robe’, which offered protection against frost magic. After that I went to bed, exhausted after such a tiring day. I had some rather strange dreams that night, one involving Daedra, and another where I was being chased through long, narrow passageways by an unknown enemy.

Even this couldn’t dent my good mood, however. I began the next day by travelling to the Hawkmoth Legion garrison in Ebonheart, taking the boat for once (I didn’t want to push my luck) and reporting back to Frald the White on Honthjolf’s death.

“It is always sad when someone betrays the Legions,” he said sombrely, “but we cannot allow such traitors to live. Well done, Champion.” He paused. “In fact, I am proud to give you the rank of Knight Errant… ” He was joking, surely? “…and this cuirass and greaves.”

I blinked. Frald was opening up a heavy chest that stood behind him in a corner, and taking out several pieces of beautiful golden Templar armour – the kind only worn by the higher ranks of the Legion. Was he serious? He was making me a Knight?

“Lost your tongue, Knight?” he asked, seeing my stupefied expression.

“N-no, sir! Thank you, sir!” I tried to sound somewhat like a professional soldier, rather than a little girl who’d just been offered that marvellous doll in the shop window.

Frald handed the cuirass and greaves to me and turned away to speak to a messenger who’d just entered, leaving me half-convinced that this was all a wonderful dream, and I’d wake up any moment. Could Azura be behind this sudden extraordinary run of good luck? If so, I would definitely have to rethink my attitude towards Daedra worship.

I spent some time considering whether I ought to wear the Templar armour on my travels. It was really ceremonial armour, meant for officers who didn’t do so much actual fighting – on the other hand, it still offered excellent protection, as good as if not better than the normal Imperial armour. In the end, my love of shiny things won out and I decided to keep it. Since there was no way I could carry around two sets of heavy armour, I handed in the old armour to the fort’s smith to be repaired and sold on.

Wearing my new armour, I returned to the Vivec Mages’ Guild and travelled to Balmora to see Caius Cosades. For a few hilarious seconds I considered demanding that he call me ‘Lady Ada’ from now on, but I was feeling too generous. I wanted to buy the whole world a drink, even Caius. For once, even the dirty conditions and stink of skooma in his house didn’t bother me too much.

“Greetings, muthsera,” I said, giving him my best ‘look, I’m picking up the lingo’ smile. After all, I wasn’t doing too badly: I’d learned the words for ‘sir/madam’, ‘friend’, ‘bloody foreigner’, ‘mushroom forest’, and ‘fire-river’. (And that’s all you need really, isn’t it?)

Caius returned the smile. “Ah, I see you’re learning some Dunmeris. Does this mean you’ve decided to stay on?”

“No.”

“Why am I not surprised by this? Anyway, I take it you’re here for orders.” I nodded. “Okay, here’s your mission: Fort Buckmoth sent a patrol to Gnaar Mok, hunting smugglers with Sixth House connections. They found a Sixth House base, a shrine, and a priest named Dagoth Gares. Speak to Champion Raesa Pullia at Fort Buckmoth, and she’ll tell you what happened. Your orders are to find that base, kill Dagoth Gares, and bring me a full report.”

“Righty-ho. Where’s Fort Buckmoth?”

“Just south of Ald’ruhn. Be careful though, Ada,” he added. “Don’t take any chances. I think this will be a tough one.”

While walking through Ald’ruhn later in the day, I noticed something new: people were starting to recognise me. They weren’t running up for autographs or anything, but they would nod to me as I passed and greet me with “three blessings, sera,” or occasionally even by name. I wondered if they’d got to hear of how I handled the case of Varvur Sarethi and the ash statues. Regardless, it was actually quite a nice feeling.

It didn’t stop there: when I reached Fort Buckmoth and spoke to Raesa Pullia, I was astonished by how polite and deferential she seemed. It took a minute or two for me to realise that I actually outranked her. What was more, I was making it pretty obvious, marching around decked out in fancy Templar armour. Maybe I’d better be more careful how I acted around the locals, now that I was technically a high-ranking Legion commander.

She told me that only one trooper had returned alive from the assault on the Sixth House base. “He died soon after, horribly disfigured with corprus disease, and out of his wits,” she said. “His flesh was all swollen and covered with growths, and his bones twisted and lost their shape.” I tried not to shudder. “We wouldn’t have recognised him if it hadn’t been for his clothing and armour. The fort chaplain tried spells and potions, but he couldn’t cure the disease.”

“What happened to him at the base?”

“In his ravings, he spoke of a cavern on the coast Gnaar Mok – he called it ‘Ilunibi’. They fought with cultists and disfigured man-beasts – corprus monsters, I think – then they ran into a half-man creature named Dagoth Gares. This Dagoth Gares slew the rest of the patrol, but spared the one trooper. He told the trooper he was being spared, so he might tell others that ‘The Sleeper Awakes’, and ‘The Sixth House has Risen’, and ‘Dagoth Ur is Lord, and I am his Priest’.”

Yes, that all sounded wearisomely familiar. “Did he give you any idea of where to find Ilunibi?” I asked.

“It’s not on our maps, ma’am, and no one here has heard of it. Maybe the locals in Gnaar Mok can tell you where to find it?”

I wasn’t exactly jumping for joy at the thought of having to take on this Dagoth Gares alone where an entire patrol had failed, but something told me I wasn’t likely to get any volunteers after what had happened to the last lot. Guess I’d just have to be very careful if I ran into any corprus monsters.

Based on how long it had taken me to walk to Drulene Falen’s farm those two times, I guessed that it would take most of the day to reach the coast. Oh, my kingdom for a horse… I thought of setting off the next day, but decided I needed a rest after the excitement of the past week. This turned out to be a good thing, as another Blight storm struck in the early morning and raged until nightfall.

On the following day I set out for Gnaar Mok, another of those dirt-poor fishing villages that dotted the Bitter Coast. It was on a small island that could only be reached by crossing a series of narrow wooden bridges, more accurately described as ‘planks’. The only building there that wasn’t basically a shack was a large Hlaalu-style manor surrounded by high walls.

There weren’t many people about, but I came across a Wood Elf sitting on the steps of a shack. “Welcome to Gnaar Mok, outlander,” he said gloomily. “It’s small, but dumpy. How may I help you?”

When I told him that I needed to find Ilunibi, he frowned. “That’s what they call the old sea cave up on the north end of the island, right on Khartag Point. Don’t be poking your nose in there – someone might object.”

I suspected he was right, but unfortunately I didn’t have much choice about whether to ‘poke my nose in’. I was far too tired to do anything about it that night, however. “I don’t suppose there’s anywhere to stay here?” I asked, without much hope.

“If you’re House Hlaalu, you can get beds and services at Arenim Manor,” he said. “Otherwise… not really.”

Sighing, I went to look for a suitable tree to shelter under.

The next morning, just before dawn, I set out find the cavern of Ilunibi – not difficult, as it was only a short way from where I’d set up camp. The ordinary-looking wooden gate at the entrance turned out to conceal a vast cavern network, tastefully decorated throughout with red candles and rotting corpses. A good deal of it seemed to be flooded, including the entrance, where I had to crawl practically through a waterfall to reach the floor of the cave. Apparently my luck was back to normal again.

There seemed to be relatively few Sixth House guards in the cave, perhaps because the previous Imperial assault had killed off most of them. Of the enemies I did face, most of them were undead – skeletons and bonelords, nothing too tough. But one encounter was particularly disturbing.

Peering cautiously round a corner in a dimly-lit passageway, I spotted a human-like figure not far off. Its back was turned to me, so I carefully drew my bow and fired a shot. The figure let out a roar of pain and wheeled round, striding towards me with a slow but entirely steady gait.

I fired another arrow, but the thing didn’t even slow down. Even as I backed round the corner to get in more shots, it kept coming, arrows sticking out of it like needles in a pincushion. My next shot hit it right in the chest, but it still lumbered on towards me, relentless. The word that came to mind was zombie.

Just as I was thinking I’d have to ditch my bow and face it up close, I saw the thing stagger and collapse to the ground just a few yards away from me. As I drew closer, I realised to my horror that it was human – dreadfully, hideously deformed, but human. Its body was grotesquely swollen, covered with sores and strange markings, and its face appeared to be literally rotting away. Blessed Arkay, was this one of the ‘corprus monsters’ Raesa Pullia had described to me?

My suspicions were confirmed when I bent over the corpse and saw a few frayed scraps of clothing hanging off its – his? – body. Shuddering, I backed away and edged past the body, staying as far away from it as possible. The idea that this thing had once been human made it seem far more disturbing than any of the other monsters I’d seen.

I crept onwards, hoping I wouldn’t run into any more of those creatures. Finally, in the heart of the maze-like cavern network, I edged round a corner and spotted another strange creature – a humanoid figure with a sort of long trunk where its face ought to be, dressed in a priest’s robe. It was standing on a raised platform in front of a set of six large bells. Could this be the ‘Dagoth Gares’ I’d been told about?

I ducked back round the corner and cast the Amulet of Shadows enchantment, but Gares must have already spotted me. Either that or he had some other way of sensing I was there.

“The Sixth House greets you, Lord Nerevar,” he said pleasantly, as I approached with sword drawn. “Or ‘Ada Ventura’, as you call yourself. I am known as Dagoth Gares, priest of Ilunibi Shrine, and minister to Sixth House servants. My Lord, Dagoth Ur, has informed me of your coming – I wish that this time you had come to honour your Lord’s friendship, not to betray it.”

I walked right up to him. “Okay, mate, let’s just get one thing clear: I’m not Lord Nerevar, all right? And you’re not going to persuade me to join your idiotic messiah cult by telling me I am, so you might as well give it up and tell me what the hell’s going on here!”

He continued if he hadn’t even heard me. “Lord Dagoth gives me these words to say to you, so you may give them thought. ‘Once we were friends and brothers, Lord Nerevar, in peace and in war. Yet beneath Red Mountain, you struck me down as I guarded the treasure you bound me by oath to defend. But, remembering our old friendship, I would forgive you, and raise you high in my service.’”

“You’re not listening, are you?” I said in exasperation. “I’m not your Lord Dagoth Ur’s friend. And I can’t have ‘struck him down’ or betrayed his friendship, because I’ve never met him!”

“My Lord Dagoth bids you come to Red Mountain,” Gares continued, in that infuriatingly calm tone of voice. “For the friendship and honour that once you shared, he would grant you counsel and power, if only you would pledge that friendship anew. I am not your Lord Dagoth, yet I, too, would say to you... Do you come with weapons to strike me down? Or would you put away your weapon, and join me in friendship?”

Okay, now I was getting really angry. “Join you in friendship? You kill my fellow soldiers, you send a bunch of crazed monsters to attack me, and now you expect me to join you in friendship?”

“Forgive the rude welcome,” he said, “but until you have declared for us, we must treat you as our enemy. Lord Dagoth would far rather have you as a friend than as an enemy – but until you submit to him, Sixth House servants will treat you as an enemy, and try to destroy you. If you wish to be our friend, first you must go to Lord Dagoth in his citadel on Red Mountain, and make your submission.”

Right. I’d had it up to here with this guy. I drew a deep breath, and stepped forward.

“Tell your Lord Dagoth,” I said, “that this is my answer.” And I plunged my blade deep into his chest.

To my surprise, Gares didn’t make any attempt to fight back. He doubled over and fell to his knees, blood soaking through the front of his robe, and I saw a terrible smile spread across his deformed face.

“Even as my Master wills,” he said hoarsely, “you shall come to him, in his flesh, and of his flesh.”

As he sank to the ground, I heard him mutter some sort of incantation with his dying breath. Suddenly I began to feel very weird – not physically weak, exactly, but dull and confused and emotionally drained. Damn it, he must have cursed me.

I drank a few restoration potions and felt a lot better. Searching Dagoth Gares’ body, I found a letter apparently from Dagoth Ur himself:

Lord Nerevar Indoril, Hai Resdaynia

My Lord, Friend, and Companion

Once we were friends and brothers, Lord Nerevar, in peace and in war. No houseman ever served you better, or more faithfully. Much that I did was at your command, at great cost to myself, and my honour.

Yet beneath Red Mountain, you struck me down as I guarded the treasure you bound me by oath to defend. It was a cruel blow, a bitter betrayal, to be felled by your hand.

But, remembering our old friendship, I would forgive you, and raise you high in my service. The Sixth House was not dead, but only sleeping. Now we wake from our long dream, coming forth to free Morrowind of foreign rulers and divine pretenders. When the land is swept clean of false friends and greedy thieves, the children of Veloth will build anew a garden of plenty in this blighted wasteland.

Come to Red Mountain, old friend. For the fellowship and honour that once we shared, I would grant you counsel and power, if only you would pledge that friendship anew. The path to Red Mountain is long, and filled with danger, but if you are worthy, you will find there wisdom, a firm friend, and all the power you need to set the world aright.

As ever, your respectful servant and loyal friend,

Lord Voryn Dagoth, Dagoth Ur

How very strange. Either this was some sort of bizarre psychological warfare, or… for some reason, Dagoth Ur genuinely did believe I was his old ‘friend and companion’ Nerevar. And that Nerevar had betrayed him somehow, if the letter was to be believed. But wait… wasn’t he the one who was supposed to have betrayed the Dunmer?

Oh well, this wasn’t the time to worry about things like that. I shoved the letter into my pack, deciding to show it to Caius when I got back to him. No doubt he’d try to insist it proved I was the Nerevarine, but I wasn’t buying it. And he was about to learn that I wasn’t willing to play his silly game any longer – not now that I had the means to leave Morrowind.

Ah, the joys of walking around with rank. Such a useful thing to have, knighthood is, when one knows how to use the intangible benefits properly. Shame Awtwyr never got himself that.

I'm particularly enjoying Ada's developing plans to head home to glorious Cyrodiil, despite what Caius and the Emperor seem to want. She's a woman on a mission, d@mnit, and won't be stopped. Still, I wonder how she'll deal with the follies of her 'Best laid plans'.

Good write-up, with all the down-to-earth humor and snark that makes Ada so lovable. Easy to see why Varvur would want her, as more than just a well dressed, toned, nubile and fiery redhead.

Chapter 20: Off To See The Wizard

Before going back to Balmora, I searched the chamber for anything that might be of use. There were a couple of troughs containing some useful potions and scrolls, but the real find was the pair of heavy armoured gauntlets I found lying by the side of one of the troughs.

I noticed that the right glove had a Fortify Strength enchantment on it (I recognised it well, as it was from the Restoration school of magic). It was very heavy, much more so than my own steel gauntlets – but when I put it on, I suddenly felt as strong as an ox. I attempted to lift up the stone trough and found that I could easily tip it half way over. With the gauntlet off, I could barely shift the thing at all.

The left gauntlet, which had a Fortify Agility enchantment, made me feel like I could leap tall buildings in a single bound. Wow, what a find! I’d have to be careful wearing these, though – with that powerful strength enchantment, I could practically knock someone over just by tapping them on the shoulder.

Unfortunately, by the time I was ready to travel back to Balmora, I was starting to feel ill again. It looked like Dagoth Gares had struck me with some kind of disease, rather than just a temporary curse effect. Taking a Cure Common Disease potion didn’t work, so I realised it was probably one of the Blight diseases I’d been warned about.

Well, I could deal with it later. For the moment I just wanted to report back to Caius, hand in my resignation, and be done with him and the Blades once and for all.

I tried to cast Almsivi Intervention, but I was finding it so hard to concentrate that I kept making mistakes. By the time I finally succeeded, after nearly a dozen failed attempts, I was snarling with frustration. I was vaguely aware that I ought to be happy – I was one step closer to freedom, after all – but instead I felt pissed-off, irritable and very much on edge. Caius had better not give me any crap this time, I thought.

As I walked through the streets of Balmora, I noticed that I was getting some rather strange looks from a few passers-by. “You got a problem?” I growled at one of them. He backed away hastily, but the encounter did nothing to improve my foul mood. When I reached Caius’ place and he opened his door to me, I shoved right past him into the house without even a ‘hello’.

“Dagoth Gares is dead,” I said, before he had the chance to speak. “Here, I found this letter on him. But he’s cursed me with some sort of disease, so – why are you looking at me like that?”

Caius opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated. “Ada,” he said very carefully, “I think you may have corprus disease.”

“Corprus disease?” I said sharply. “I don’t have corprus disease. What do you mean, I have corprus disease?”

“Give me your shield.” I handed it to him, bewildered, and he turned it round so that I could see my face in the polished surface.

I stared the distorted reflection, trying to work out what was wrong with it, and suddenly my blood ran cold. It wasn’t just the reflection that was distorted – right there, on my face and neck, were several distinct marks and faint signs of swellings. The same kind I’d seen on that hideous, shambling creature in the Ilunibi cavern.

“I have corprus disease!” I wailed.

Caius nodded grimly. “It’s a rare disease that usually drives victims mad, and causes terrible, deformed growths on the body. I don’t know of any cure, but – ”

“OH DEAR GODS!!”

“Wait a second, Ada,” he said. “I may have some good news in that department. I canvassed my informants for possible treatments, just in case you contracted the disease during your mission – ”

My mouth fell open. “You… you did what? You knew this was going to happen!”

“Well, not exactly, but I did suspect that perhaps – ”

“You f*cking b*stard!” I screeched. “You… you s’wit! You n’wah!” He burst out laughing, which wasn’t quite the effect I’d intended. “You knew I’d catch corprus! In fact, I bet you planned it all along!”

I grabbed a metal tankard from the table and hurled it at him. He ducked. I threw a fork and a wooden plate, which he also neatly dodged. I burst into tears.

“Look where you’ve got me!” I sobbed. “You and your stupid Neveragaine crap! Now I have corprus disease, and I’m going to turn into a disgusting zombie-creature and then die, and it’s ALL! YOUR! FAULT!”

I continued to yell at him, calling him every name I could think of in several different languages, until finally I had to give up from sheer exhaustion. “Finished?” he asked. “Good. Now, do you want to get cured of this disease?”

I hiccupped a few times, trying unsuccessfully to wipe away the tears and snot from my face. “Yes!”

“Very well. As I was saying, I canvassed my informants for possible treatments. I learned from Fast Eddie that your best chance of getting cured is Divayth Fyr, an ancient Telvanni wizard who runs a Corprusarium for victims of corprus.”

“A Telvanni? Are you crazy?”

“Take this Dwemer artifact,” he said, handing me something that looked like a piece of alchemical equipment. “I’ve been told he collects them, and a gift may sweeten his disposition. Here’s 1,000 drakes for expenses, and a couple of Levitation potions – I hear you’ll need them in Telvanni towers. Go to Tel Fyr, and get that corprus disease cured.”

I watched, still glowering, as he marked the tower of Tel Fyr on my map. “All right, Caius,” I told him, my voice trembling with rage. “I’ll go. But this is the last time I ever do anything for you, you hear me? The LAST! TIME!”

I marched to the door and yanked it open, then turned back. “And PUT A SHIRT ON!” I roared, before slamming the door so hard that it practically flew off its hinges. The bang it made was so loud that it echoed down the entire street.

Then I ran. I ran through the grotty back-streets of eastern Balmora, over the bridge, up the main street with all the guilds and shops, and into the Mages’ Guild. I hurtled down the steps two at a time into the basement, where Masalinie Merian performed her Guild Guide service. “Get me to Sadrith Mora now!” I barked.

Mesalinie backed away hastily, her face chalk-white. “Ada… you have corprus disease. That’s a death sentence. I’m sorry, but… please, just stay away from me.”

“Just do it!” She obeyed so quickly that I didn’t even have time to reach for my purse.

I hit the ground running the instant I materialised in the Wolverine Hall Guild, ignoring the astonished expressions of the mages there. “Can’t stop,” I yelled over my shoulder. “Corprus disease.”

I rushed down the steps out of the Hall and through the courtyard, across the bridge, and down a steep slope to the water’s edge. Caius’s scrawlings on my map showed the tower of Tel Fyr lying on one of a chain of small islands to the southwest. There was no boat.

By now we were well into the month of Frostfall, and the weather was getting distinctly colder and wetter, but that was the least of my worries right now. I dumped my armour unceremoniously in a heap by the waterside and frantically cast and re-cast my Water Walking spell until I finally got it right, then pelted across the water in the direction of Tel Fyr, only stopping to gulp down potions of magicka restoration and re-cast the spell. When the inevitable happened and I plunged into the freezing water half-way to the next island, I spat out mouthfuls of salty brine and half-swam, half-waded to the shore, tears rolling down my cheeks.

By the time I dragged myself ashore on the island of Tel Fyr, I was sobbing with exhaustion and despair and my lungs felt as if they were ready to burst. How had I come to this? Only this morning, my future had seemed so rosy; now here I was, standing on a lonely shore in one of the bleakest parts of Vvardenfell, stricken with an incurable disease and facing an extended stay as a patient in Divayth Fyr’s ‘Corprusarium’. At best.

What if he didn’t manage to cure me? I shuddered violently, remembering the state of that corprus victim in Ilunibi. No, anything was preferable to a fate like that – even death. I gripped the hilt of my sword, slightly comforted by the thought that if the worst came to the worst, I had another way out.

I had to squeeze the water out of my clothes before entering Fyr’s mushroom tower. The narrow passageways, low ceilings and wet, fleshy walls somehow seemed even more disturbing than usual, and I had no idea which way to go. I spotted a Dunmer woman standing in a room just by the entrance, and paused to speak to her.

“Have you come to plunder the dungeon?” she asked, before I could say anything. “Or did you come to see Divayth Fyr? I’m Beyte Fyr, his wife... well, one of them. Sort of.”

I frowned. I was finding it quite hard to think straight at this point, but that last part definitely hadn’t sounded right. “One of them?”

“Yes. Well, not ‘wife’ in the ‘married’ sense, but... you know. ‘Paramour.’ ‘Consort.’ Something like that.” She shrugged. “It’s a bit awkward, really. Because... well... he made us, too, so, though we aren’t really his daughters or anything…”

“His daughters?” Good grief. I’d heard about the kind of things people got up to in these out-of-the-way places, but...

“Well… it’s like we were his daughters. Because he made us. You see?”

I didn’t see, and now I was struggling to recall what I’d come here for in the first place. “I’d like to see Divayth Fyr, please,” I said at last.

“He’s up above in his study. You can’t get up there unless you can fly.” She gave me a hard look. “You can levitate, can’t you?”

“Er… yes.” Well, technically I could. With a potion.

I followed Beyte’s directions to the living quarters, where there was supposed to be a way up to Divayth’s study, but I just couldn’t find it. I spent several minutes wandering around aimlessly before finally looking up and spotting a small, circular hole in the ceiling of the passage. The room above looked to be a long way up, but I had to trust to the potions Caius had given me. One potion allowed me to levitate for just long enough to reach the upper tower, where I spotted an elderly male Dunmer – presumably Divayth Fyr – standing by a desk in an adjoining room.

For all my distress, I couldn’t help being curious to see what this ‘ancient’ wizard would look like. As it turned out, he didn’t really look that old at all, apart from being one of the few Dunmer I’d seen with white hair – if he’d been human, I’d have guessed him to be in his seventies. I noticed that he also wore almost a full set of Daedric armour, not something I’d have expected to see on an aged wizard.

“Well, what a pleasure!” he exclaimed, as soon as I entered the room. “A visitor! An entertaining diversion! Come to consult the great Divayth Fyr?” Unlike most Dunmer I’d met, he spoke Tamrielic without a trace of an accent. He could easily have passed for a well-bred gentleman from the Heartlands.

“Yes. Um, I brought you a gift,” I added, suddenly remembering the Dwemer piece. “It’s a Dwemer… something.”

“A gift for me? How thoughtful! And shrewd.” He took it from me with a wink. “I suppose you know I am a collector, and that such a gift is bound to please me. So, why have you tried to butter me up? Want to plunder the dungeon? Or leer at my daughters?”

I was a little taken aback by that last one. “Er…”

“Not bad for something born in a jar, eh?” he said with a wink. “Alfe, Beyte, Delte and Uupse. Not daughters, really – a little project, a side benefit of my researches into corprus disease. Made them myself, from my own flesh. Quite a comfort to me in my old age… hah, hah.”

I stared at him, feeling slightly dizzy all of a sudden. Gods help me, this guy was my only hope. My entire life lay in the hands of a crazed Telvanni mage who created ‘daughters’ from his own flesh and then slept with them.

With a great effort, I managed to pull myself together. “Actually, sera, I came here because I have corprus disease. I… was hoping you might be able to help me?” I couldn’t keep the note of pleading out of my voice.

“Ah, yes. I see now.” He got up from his seat and walked over to me in order to examine me more closely.

“The magical principles of corprus disease are elusive and miraculous,” he stated ponderously, prodding at one of the swellings on my neck. “I’m persuaded that it is in some manner the curse or blessing of a god – perhaps both. The victim, of course, cannot appreciate the marvellous nature of corprus – ” well, you don’t say! “ – but to a wizard, it is a profound and glorious mystery, a riddle worth a long lifetime of study.”

Gods, I couldn’t believe this. Typical bloody wizard! You come to them with a hideous flesh-eating disease that leaves you half-crazed, swollen up like a balloon and covered in weeping sores, and all they can say is “oh, how fascinating.”

“Did you know that corprus makes you immune to disease?” he continued, oblivious to my growing terror. “Have you ever heard of the prophecies of the Nerevarine? Ashlanders say the Nerevarine will be immune to disease. I’ve always thought that maybe I have the Nerevarine down in my Corprusarium, and I don’t even know it.” He chuckled softly. “The Nerevarine is a fat, disgusting corprus monster, and mad as a marsh rat. Wouldn’t that be funny?”

I drew a shaky breath, trying to fight down a rising sense of hysteria. “Ser Fyr,” I begged. “Please. If you have any idea of how to cure this – any way at all – then please, please tell me about it. I’ll do anything you want. Join House Telvanni. Please.” What the hell, I thought, I’d already tried the other two; might as well make it a hat-trick!

Fyr chuckled again. “Join my House? I’m not sure you would… fit in, my friend. Best stick to Redoran.”

How the heck did he know I was a Redoran? Oh well, it hardly mattered at this point. “Something else, then,” I begged. “Please?”

“Well. I’ve got a potion.” He paused. “In theory, it should cure corprus. Doesn’t work, though – probably kill you. Killed all my test subjects. But you’ve got nothing to lose, have you?”

I didn’t waste even a second thinking about my answer. “Fine. I’ll take it.”

He raised a finger. “Before I give it to you, though, I want you to look around below in the Corprusarium. Know what’s in store if you don’t take the potion. And while you’re there, I want you to pick up a pair of boots from a victim, calls himself Yagrum Bagarn. Bring the boots back, and then you can have the potion.”

A pair of boots? That was all he wanted in return for possibly saving my life?

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll do it. I’ll go now. Er… what was the guy’s name again?”

When I got down to the Corprusarium entrance, in the lower part of the tower, I found it guarded by an Argonian in steel armour. “I am Vistha-Kai, Warden of the Corprusarium,” he hissed. “I am here to warn you: do not harm the inmates. If you come to plunder the dungeon, you must endure their attacks, and take your chances with me, their Warden and Protector.”

“I’m not here to plunder the bloody dungeon,” I snarled, close to tears again (looking back, I realise the corprus was causing me some fairly violent mood swings). “I just came to collect some boots for Divayth Fyr.”

He shrugged. “Well, I will not tolerate you adding to their suffering. Indeed, they are brutal and ferocious, and they will kill you if they can. But you are their guests, and you may not harm them, or you will answer to me.”

“Okay, whatever.” What exactly was I was supposed to do to stop them attacking me, then? Oh, right… I had a Chameleon amulet, didn’t I.

The inside of the Corprusarium was the closest thing I’d ever seen to a living nightmare. All around me those deranged, bloated creatures lurched and shambled about, wandering aimlessly back and forth with only the occasional groan or roar of pain. And yet, when I looked at them closely I could see that some of them were still semi-rational, and vaguely aware of what was happening to them. Nothing on Nirn, I thought, could possibly be worse than that.

Deep within the Corprusarium I came across a small secluded area with a wardrobe, a cluttered table, and some chests and cushions. There were two people there – one was a Dunmer woman in bonemold armour, presumably another of Divayth Fyr’s daughters… wives… whatever. The other was a very short and incredibly fat man, who seemed to have no legs at all, just an enormous belly. He was sitting on something that looked like a giant mechanical spider, and his body was hideously disfigured with corprus – but as I drew closer I realised that he was very much conscious and alert.

“Excuse me,” I said hesitantly, forgetting that my Chameleon spell was still active. “Are you Yagrum Bagarn, by any chance?”

“What? Where… oh, there you are.” He sighed with relief. “Please, do try not to startle me like that. Anyway, what brings you to visit Yagrum Bagarn, Master Crafter, and Last Living Dwarf?”

I stared at him, feeling a little dizzy. “Last living Dwarf?”

He nodded. “This is how I style myself. I do not know for a fact that I am the last, but in my travels thousands of years ago, I never encountered another. And since I have been here, I often ask Lord Fyr, but he says he has never heard a credible rumor of another Dwemer – on Tamriel, or in any Outer Realm.”

“But… but that’s…” My voice trailed off as I remembered that no one actually knew what had happened to the Dwarves – for all I knew, there could still be some around. Certainly I had to admit that he didn’t look like any race I was familiar with.

“Anyway, you’re here for the Dwemer boots,” he continued, taking up a pair from the cushion beside him. “Tell my gracious Keeper that I have done what I could – only a Dwemer magecrafter could have done so much. But only idiots could have created these boots. It shames my race that we must be judged by the works of such lack-wit blunderers.”

“Uhh…” I croaked, completely lost for words. I just wasn’t in any state to cope with this right now. If this guy really was a Dwarf – which I still doubted, to be honest – this could have been the opportunity of a lifetime, the chance to solve a mystery that had plagued scholars for millennia. But I simply couldn’t handle any more of this craziness; I felt like I was going mad already.

I took the boots and hurried back through the Corprusarium and the tower, pausing only to re-cast the Chameleon enchantment. When I got back to Fyr I found him sitting at his desk, scribbling some notes. “Here,” I gasped, flinging the boots onto the desk. “Now give me the potion. Please.”

“Very well,” he said. “I’ll give you the potion, on the following condition: you must drink it here, before my eyes. It should act immediately, and I need to observe you very carefully. Agreed?”

“Yes, yes, just give it to me! Please!”

Fyr took a small vial full of dark liquid from his strongbox and handed it to me. Here goes nothing, I thought, as I tore out the stopper and gulped it down. Talk about kill or cure!

The taste was utterly, indescribably revolting. I actually had to squeeze my lips shut with my fingers to stop myself from spitting the mixture out and force myself to swallow it. Nothing happened for a second or two; then, suddenly, I felt a faint tingling sensation in my scalp. As I stood there I could feel it slowly spreading throughout my body, right down to the tips of my fingers and toes.

“What’s happening?” I said anxiously. “Is it doing anything?” Well, at least it hadn’t killed me yet.

Fyr hesitated, a very strange expression on his face. “Goodness…” Suddenly he leapt to his feet. “Good grief! Look! Look! It’s... WORKING!”

He rushed over to me and grabbed hold of my shoulder, peering closely into my face. He poked and prodded me in several different places, spun me around, made me open my mouth so he could examine my tongue, and finally let me go.

“Amazing,” he breathed. “I think it worked. No sign of the disease at all. Of course, you still have corprus disease, just like I planned – ”

“WHAT?”

“But all your symptoms are gone,” he continued blithely. “Marvellous. I’ll go try it out on some of the more desperate inmates. But I’ll answer any questions you have before you go.”

For several seconds I hesitated, unsure whether to believe him or not. I cast a suspicious glance down at my hands, arms and legs, all of which looked healthy. Gingerly I patted at my face and neck; the swellings were gone. The fog seemed to have lifted from my mind, and I could think clearly again.

I took a deep breath. “Okay, so you say I still have corprus. What does that mean, practically? Is it still possible for me to infect other people?”

“No, but the positive effects of the disease are still active. Increased strength, for example, and immunity to all other diseases. And you’ll live forever, barring accidents.”

I was starting to feel slightly dizzy again. Had I heard that right? “Live forever? So… so you’re saying I’m immortal?”

“As I said… barring accidents.”

Immortality and immunity to disease… why did that sound familiar? Lines of poetry flashed through my mind: Neither Blight nor age shall harm him, The Curse-of-flesh before him flies…

I swallowed hard, feeling a slight shiver run down my spine. “You’re sure I’m not still infectious?” I asked, trying to keep my mind on the here-and-now.

“Yes, yes,” he said, waving a hand impatiently. “You’re completely cured. Now, will that be all? I don’t wish to be rude, but I have many other matters to attend to.”

“Okay. Well… thanks, I guess,” I said. “For everything. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

“Not at all.” He lifted the Dwemer artifact I’d brought him from his desk and placed it carefully onto a shelf. “Always a pleasure to find a new subject for study… Now, be off with you.”

I have to admit I was pretty relieved that he wasn’t going to hold me to my promise of joining House Telvanni. Now that my mind was clear again, I could think of a thousand reasons why that would be a really bad idea. Let’s face it, Fyr was right: I wouldn’t fit in. And besides, I rather liked the Redorans, even if they were a bit stingy about actually paying me for the work I did for them.

I left the room slowly, deep in thought, and very nearly fell down the narrow chute leading to the lower part of the tower. It was then that I realised I didn’t actually have any way to get down, short of jumping (and probably breaking a few limbs in the process). Caius had only given me three Rising Force potions, and I’d drunk them all.

I glanced back nervously at Divayth Fyr, who was busy writing at his desk. The last thing I wanted was to have to go back to him and say “sorry, but I can’t get down.” Luckily, at that moment I spotted one of his ‘daughters’ emerging from another room.

“Um, excuse me,” I said. “Sorry to bother you, but, er...”

She glanced from me to the hole in the floor, and sighed. “You flew up here using a Rising Force potion, didn’t you?”

“That’s right,” I said, trying not to wince.

“And now you don’t have any way to get down, do you?”

“Um… no.”

She rolled her eyes. “Another genius here, I see.”

“Look, give me a break,” I mumbled, crimson with embarrassment. “I was dying of corprus disease when I came up here, can you blame me for being a bit distracted?”

Ms. Fyr narrowed her eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Do you want to get down there or not?”

“Yes. Please,” I said hastily.

She raised her hands towards me and mumbled some words in Daedric. There was a flash of white light. “Okay, I’ve cast a Slowfall spell on you. It won’t last long, so get down there quickly before it wears off.”

I’d no idea whether it really was a Slowfall spell she’d just cast on me, but it wasn’t like I had much choice. Gritting my teeth, I stepped over the edge of the hole, and found myself floating gently down towards the ground. I landed with a slight bump just as the spell wore off.

I emerged from the tower into the weak evening light. Was it really only that same morning that I’d set out for Ilunibi? It felt like days had passed since then. As I walked towards the coast, dreading the thought of having to water-walk my way back again, I spotted something I hadn’t noticed before: a small ferry-boat by a dock in the distance.

Why hadn’t anyone told me there was a boat? Then again, they’d probably have refused to take me anyway while I was suffering from corprus. I walked over to the boat to speak to the shipmaster, who turned out to be an Imperial woman like me.

“I can’t bring people to the island from Sadrith Mora,” she explained. “I can only take them back again.”

Was I right in thinking that made no sense whatsoever, or was it just a hangover from the corprus disease? Nope, I was right: it didn’t make any sense.

The shipmaster tried to make conversation as we travelled back to Sadrith Mora, but I wasn’t really in the mood for talking. I was still finding it hard to take in what Divayth Fyr had told me about the effects of corprus. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to live forever – I couldn’t help remembering a tale I’d once read, of a legendary swordsman who was unable to die. Would I end up like him, wandering the whole world and fighting everyone I met, desperately seeking someone to put me out of my misery?

And what was more, I couldn’t get that verse from The Seven Visions out of my mind. I hadn’t paid any attention to the ‘born on a certain day’ crap, but to have become ageless and immune to disease on top of that, and the letter from Dagoth Ur… it was hard to dismiss all this as just coincidence. Could it possibly be that…?

No, it was still ridiculous. Even if I was Nerevar’s reincarnation, and somehow managed to persuade the Dunmer to believe this, wasn’t the Nerevarine supposed to drive the Imperials out of Morrowind? Well, screw that. I’m not what you’d call hugely patriotic, but there was no way I was going to declare war against my own people.

It’s wasn’t my problem, I told myself. They’d just have to… wait for him to be reincarnated into someone else, or something. (I tried not to think about the fact that I’d probably have to die before this could happen.)

I found my armour lying just where I had left it, and spent some time cleaning and polishing it back at Wolverine Hall before returning to the Mages’ Guild to teleport back to Balmora. Iniel, the High Elf woman who acted as Guild Guide there, looked at me with deep suspicion. “Didn’t you have corprus disease just a few hours ago?”

“That’s right,” I said. “I got better.”

It was very late when I arrived back in Balmora, and I was dead tired – but I decided to go to Caius’ house anyway, just in case he was waiting for me. Turned out I was right: when I reached his house I saw a dim light in the window and realised that he’d sat up for me all evening. A wave of guilt swept over me as I remembered how I’d yelled at him earlier.

“Ah, Ada,” he said, as soon as he opened the door to me. “So… Divayth Fyr managed to help you, did he?” I could swear I saw a trace of relief in his eyes. Could it be that he himself was feeling slightly guilty about the mess he’d got me into?

“Yes. Er, Caius,” I said gruffly. “About the things I said earlier… I just wanted to say that I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean any of it, I was just a bit… over-emotional. What with the corprus and all.”

He waved this away. “Never mind that. I’m very happy to see you’ve been cured. But I’ve had a bit of bad news, I’m afraid.” He paused. “I’ve been recalled to the Imperial City.”

“Sorry to hear it,” I said politely, though privately I couldn’t help being delighted. This could only make it easier for me to leave Morrowind myself. “Er, how will this affect me, exactly?”

“You’ll be promoted to Operative, and will head the Blades here in Vvardenfell until I return,” he said. “I’ve only waited here to give you your final orders before I go.”

I nearly fell over. “What? Caius, is this a joke?”

“Not at all. I’m quite serious.”

“But I don’t know how to be a spymaster!”

“There’s nothing to it,” he said, shrugging. “Each agent has his own assignment, and reports directly to Cyrodiil. You’re promoted to Operative mostly to preserve your independence.”

I gaped at him, fury welling up inside me. So much for feeling guilty for all the names I’d called him! So this was his plan to keep me in Morrowind, was it? Well, I wasn’t falling for it this time.

I drew in a deep breath, and looked straight at him. “No.”

“No?”

“No. I won’t do this, Caius. I told you that last mission was the last thing I’d ever do for you, and I meant it.”

“But surely, after all that’s happened, you must see – ”

“No! N-O! Look, Caius,” I said, “all this Nerevarine stuff was okay at first, but it’s gone beyond a joke. If Divayth Fyr hadn’t happened to have the right potion, I’d be rotting in his Corprusarium right now. I’m not playing any longer. Soon as I save up enough money, I’m going straight back to Cyrodiil.”

Caius regarded me doubtfully, rubbing his chin. Apparently it was just beginning to sink in that I actually meant what I was saying. “Ada,” he said carefully, “I know it isn’t easy to accept that you’re the Nerevarine, but – ”

“I won’t do it,” I said. “You can’t make me.”

He shook his head slowly. “The Emperor will not be pleased.”

“The Emperor can kiss my – ” I broke off, trying to think of a way to finish that sentence that wouldn’t get me killed. “I’m sorry, Caius, but no. Even the Emperor would have to admit that I’ve more than paid off my debt to him by now. I am not doing it, and that’s my final answer.”

He said nothing. “Well, goodbye,” I said at last. “I hope everything goes well for you back in Cyrodiil. Blessings of Akatosh, Caius.”

Caius remained silent. I sighed, shrugged, and left the house without another word.

As I walked back to the Fighters’ Guild, I felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Sure, it was a shame about the argument with Caius, but still… I was free. Finally free. No more crazy cults, no more prophecies, no more trips out to the back of beyond to con a bunch of Ashlanders into accepting me as their personal saviour.

By the time I reached the Guild I was so tired that I was ready to collapse. I barely even had the energy to strip off my damp, muddy clothes before falling into bed, dropping off to sleep almost the second my head touched the pillow. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to sleep for long.

I just bought Morrowind for the PC - now I'll be more familiar with the quests as I read them - if I can ever find the time to play!!!

Love Divayth Fyr. Probably in my top five all-time characters for the categories of: Morrowind; Crazy Old Wizard/Mad Scientist; Ancient and Wise Mentor; and Bad@ss Grandpa.

Your depiction of him is exactly what I always thought he should be: A dash of Sheogorath, an ability from Magnus, and the king of guy Sotha Sil might want to challenge to a Game of Drink.

Chapter 21: The Plot Thickens

Only a short while later – it can’t have been more than an hour after I fell asleep – I was awakened by a very strange noise, a sort of low-pitched moan. I opened my eyes and almost screamed in terror as I saw a not-quite-human shape looming over me in the dim light. I couldn’t make out its features, but I could very clearly see the silhouette of the large, spiked club it held in its hand. As I watched, momentarily frozen with shock, it grasped the weapon with both hands and raised it above its head, poised to strike.

Acting purely on instinct, I flung back the covers and kicked the mysterious figure squarely in the stomach. As it staggered backwards with a grunt of pain, I leapt to my feet, grabbed my sword – which I always kept by me in case of emergencies – and viciously slashed at the creature’s face, chest and stomach. It didn’t bleed, it… crumbled.

“What the hell’s going on?” The noise had woken several people in the other bunks, and a couple of guards had rushed to see what was happening, bringing lamps. “What is that thing?”

‘That thing’, which was now lying on the floor in a messy heap, was a humanoid figure wearing nothing but a loincloth. Its flesh was a strange powdery grey, as if it were made of ash – in fact, it appeared to me that it was made of ash. The scariest thing about it was that it seemed to have no face – just a burnt-out hole in place of its eyes and nose, and a large, curved gash where its mouth ought to be. I didn’t have a clue what it was, but I had a pretty good idea who could tell me.

Wasting no time, I flung on some clothes and hurried out into the streets, leaving the others to clean up the mess. I ran at full tilt through the streets to Caius’ house, where I pounded on the door and banged at the windows, not caring who heard me. “Caius! Open up!”

About thirty seconds later, a sleepy-looking Caius answered the door in only his underclothes (ugh). “Ada?” he asked, stifling a yawn. “What is it?”

I leaned against the doorframe, panting heavily. “I’ve just been attacked in my bed by some sort of ash… zombie!”

“Ah,” he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Yes. I thought something like this might happen.”

“Whaaa…?”

“Come in.” He drew me into the house, shut the door, and steered me towards a chair. “Obviously I didn’t know this would happen, exactly. But I knew the Sixth House weren’t likely to give up that easily.”

“What do you mean?”

Caius sighed. “They know who you are now, Ada. Remember that letter you showed me? You may not believe you’re the Nerevarine, but Dagoth Ur certainly does. And as long as you’re alive, you’re still a threat to him.”

“So what shall I do?” I was starting to panic.

“Well, for a start, I’d stop sleeping in town from now on. Makes it too easy for them to find you. Maybe camping out in the backcountry is safer.”

I felt a painful throbbing in my left temple. “So you’re saying I can’t even sleep in a proper bed now?!”

“Up to you, of course. Or you could try taking the fight to them; they might have a base nearby.”

I winced. I didn’t even want to think about taking on any more Sixth House bases after what I’d been through in the last one. What was more, I had a horrible feeling I knew the answer to my next question.

“And… if I leave Morrowind?” I said weakly. “Will he still think I’m a threat?”

“I don’t know.”

I looked at him with deep suspicion. “You’re not just saying that to keep me here in Morrowind, are you?”

“No, Ada, I’m not. I honestly have no idea.”

I’d have loved to believe he was lying, but it was no use. When I’d had corprus I’d managed to convince myself that this was all part of Caius’ clever schemes, but now that I could think rationally again, I realised that this was impossible. Even Caius couldn’t summon up Sixth House creatures at his convenience just to punish me for disobeying his orders. Unless he was somehow in league with them, and… no, that was even more far-fetched.

If I’d only stood my ground, things might have turned out very differently. But I couldn’t help it; I simply didn’t have the energy to fight any more. I was exhausted, bewildered, sleep-deprived, aching all over from the previous day’s ‘adventure’, and all I wanted now was to curl up in a ball and sleep for the rest of the month, or preferably the year. I was spent.

“All right, Caius,” I said wearily, flopping back in my chair. “I give up. You win. If I have to fulfill the stupid prophecies to get Dagoth Ur off my back, that’s what I’ll do. Just tell me what needs to be done, and I’ll do it.”

“Very well.” He seemed wide awake all of a sudden. “Mehra Milo says the Dissident Priests do have records of Ashlander Nerevarine prophecies, and she has an idea how we might get a look at them. Go to the Hall of Wisdom and Justice and get Mehra to help you find the lost prophecies, then take them to Nibani Maesa and follow her advice. I can’t help you from now on, I’m afraid.”

“That’s all?”

He nodded. “Just remember that Mehra’s being watched. If something has gone wrong, find her private quarters; she’ll leave you a message there under the code word ‘amaya’. Oh, and one more thing…”

“Yes?”

“Just a little advice,” he said. “You’re no fool, Ada. The days of the Empire are almost over.”

I swallowed hard. “Things are really that bad?”

Caius nodded, his expression sombre. “When the Emperor dies, nine hells are going to break loose. Forget about the Imperial City – think locally. Worry about the Sixth House and Dagoth Ur, and squabbles between the Great Houses and the colonists. The rest of the political nonsense doesn’t amount to a plate of scuttle.”

I’d forgotten to bring my journal, so he had to write everything down for me on a scrap of paper. “Take these blacks,” he said just before I left, handing me a neatly-folded black shirt and pair of pants. So he did have a shirt! “You can use the house until I return, and I won’t be needing this ring while I’m in Cyrodiil. Take good care of them… and good luck.”

I plodded slowly back towards the Fighters’ Guild, thinking over what Caius had said to me. I knew I ought to be shocked, and upset, but right now I just felt numb. Maybe it was just too much to take in on top of everything else.

If the Empire did fall, what would replace it? I wasn’t much of a scholar, but I knew enough history to realise that the fall of Empires didn’t tend to be followed by a Golden Age of peace and prosperity. The last time the Empire had come close to collapse was during the Imperial Simulacrum, when the Emperor’s chief battlemage had imprisoned him in Oblivion and secretly taken his place. I was too young to remember those times, but my parents weren’t, and from what they’d told me – when they were willing to discuss it at all – I got the impression it had been anything but a pleasant time to live through.

As I crossed the bridge over the Odai, I was so deep in thought that I barely noticed the guy standing right in front of me. It wasn’t until I got up close to him that I realised he wasn’t moving, and was blocking my way. I looked up at him in bewilderment, and realised with a sinking heart that I recognised him: a green robe, a scarred face, and an all-too-familiar glazed look in his eyes.

“The wickwheat is winnowed, and under the harrow, the earth is prepared for planting.” His red eyes glowed eerily in the flickering light of the torch he carried. “The n’wah must die, and their flesh serve to sweeten the soil.”

Hang on, this was a new one. “The n’wah must die?”

“You, foreigner! You must die.” He leaned in towards me, his face contorted with hatred. “Beasts and men, outlander mer, all must die. Flee his wrath and quit this land, if you would live, or your flesh shall feed the earth.”

To say that I really didn’t need this right now would be an understatement. “Get away from me.” I could hear the tremor in my voice. “Get out of my way now or I’ll shove you into the river.”

He just stood there, those red gimlet-eyes boring right into me. For a second I thought I might actually have to make good on my threat, but at the last moment he suddenly turned and stalked away. As the retreating figure vanished into an alleyway, I realised that I was shaking.

Back at the Fighters’ Guild, I took stock of the situation. I basically had two choices: hire bodyguards, or follow Caius’ advice and sleep outside of town. Since the first option wasn’t exactly practical on my current budget, it looked like I’d either have to bunk down in the nearest cave or try the barracks at Fort Moonmoth.

Would the Sixth House servants find me if I slept at the fort? Well, it was worth a try. At the very least, being surrounded by a lot of heavily-armed soldiers would make me feel a bit safer.

I packed up as many of my belongings as I could and set out for the fort, now so tired that I was literally close to collapse. Upon arrival, I rolled into the first bed available and fell into a long, mercifully uninterrupted sleep.

It was almost midday when I finally woke up the next morning. I lay there for several minutes, replaying the previous day’s events in my head as I tried to collect my thoughts. Okay… I’d killed a Sixth House priest, been cursed with corprus disease, got cured of corprus disease, met a guy who claimed to be the Last Living Dwarf, and nearly got myself brained by an ash creature. Now I just had to work out which of those had actually happened and which I’d just imagined.

The ‘Last Living Dwarf’ part I was fairly sure was a hallucination, either on my part or more likely on his. That was one of the symptoms of corprus, wasn’t it? Perhaps the guy I’d met was in the early stages: still able to speak coherently and hold a conversation, but completely delusional. Poor b*stard.

Everything else, though, I was fairly sure had really happened. And I had a nasty feeling that somewhere along the line I’d agreed to become the Imperial Spymaster for Vvardenfell. Clearly I needed to grab Caius before he left and have a long talk about what this actually meant, and how long I’d be doing it for.

I walked back to Balmora in the early afternoon, after a long and vigorous bath and a hearty meal. Before doing anything else, I stopped by the Mages’ Guild to buy supplies. Masalinie Merian had already gone to bed when I’d returned the previous night, and her eyes nearly popped out of her head when she saw me.

“Ada!” She took a nervous step backwards as I approached. “Are you… did you…?”

“Yep, I’m cured,” I said flatly. “I could explain how, but it would probably take all afternoon.”

She hesitated, still hovering nervously at a safe distance. “Are you sure you’re cured?”

“I’m fine,” I told her. “I promise. I am no longer infectious.”

She still looked a bit suspicious, but I finally managed to convince her that I really was 100% corprus-free. “Well,” she said. “That’s truly amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

As I left the room, I could hear her and some of the other mages whispering together. No doubt a wildly-exaggerated version of the story would be all over Balmora before the week was out.

Afterwards I crossed the river into eastern Balmora to visit Caius. I knocked at his door several times, but for the first time ever, he didn’t answer. Thinking he might be out, I leaned against the door to wait – and was astonished when it instantly swung inwards under my weight.

The house was empty. It looked exactly as it had done the night before, only… no Caius. Looking around the room, I spotted a money pouch lying on the table alongside a short note.

Ada,

Had to leave sooner than I expected. I’ve left you some gold – you’ll need it for expenses.

Caius

So he’d gone. I picked up the bag of gold and jiggled it about in my hands. For ages I’d wanted to be rid of Caius, but now that he’d gone, I actually felt a little lost. What was I going to do now?

I walked back to the Mages’ Guild with a heavy heart. Masalinie realised something was wrong the minute she saw me. “What’s the matter, Ada?”

“He’s gone,” I said dully.

“Gone? Who’s gone?”

“Caius. I visited him just last night, and now he’s… well, gone.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” To my immense surprise, she wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tightly. “Men are such beasts, aren’t they? But Ada, my love, I’m sure an attractive girl like you can do better than that.” She wrinkled her nose. “To be quite honest, none of us could understand what you saw in him in the first place.”

I opened my mouth to protest, and then closed it again. What did it matter now, anyway? “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Take my advice, and find someone closer to your own age. One of those strapping lads at the Fighters’ Guild should be just your type.” She winked. “After all, you know what they say about the best way to get over a man…”

I’d heard that expression, yes. Maybe it was time I found a boyfriend, I thought. After all, it looked like I was going to be here for quite a while yet. And it was certainly long enough since I’d last slept with anyone (though given that I’d spent most of that time in prison, that was probably a good thing).

Masalinie transported me to Vivec, where I hurried to the Temple canton to look for the Temple priestess Mehra Milo. She wasn’t anywhere in the Library of Vivec, so I decided to take Caius’ advice and look for her quarters. How was I supposed to find them, though? It wasn’t like I could ask anyone.

I finally managed to locate them through a scribbled floor plan someone had left on a desk. The door was locked, and no one answered when I tried knocking. After checking no one was nearby, I set out to pick the lock, which luckily wasn’t too much of a challenge.

The room behind the door was clean and tidy, but Mehra wasn’t there. She’d left a short note on top of a chest of drawers, and my heart sank as I read it:

Amaya,

Sorry I missed you. I had to run some old documents over to the Inquisitor at the Ministry of Truth, and I’m likely to be tied up there for a while. Why don’t you meet me there as soon as you can? Then we can leave together as soon as I’m done. And Amaya, don’t forget to bring me the two Divine Intervention scrolls you borrowed. Or, if you used them, buy a couple of new ones for me. I think I’m going to need them soon. Janand Maulinie at the Mages Guild in the Foreign Quarter keeps them in stock.

Alvela Saram is the guard at the entrance; just tell her you’re looking for me, and she’ll let you in.

Your faithful friend,
Mehra

PS: I left a couple of Levitate potions here for you, just in case. I couldn’t remember if you knew the spell or not, so I drew a couple from stock.

How a message like this could possibly have fooled even the most brain-damaged Ordinator was beyond me. Honestly, “I’m likely to be tied up there for a while?” Even I could have done a better job of writing a ‘coded’ message based on the spy novels I’d read as a teenager. No wonder the Dissident Priests kept getting themselves arrested if this was their idea of ‘secret’ communications.

So Mehra needed me to spring her from jail, did she? Great, another marvellous opportunity to get myself arrested and tortured. At least I had the Divine Intervention scrolls she’d asked for, so I could make a hasty exit if things got too hairy.

Sighing, I took the letter and the Rising Force potions and made my way to the shrine of Vivec on top of the canton. Rather than just drinking one of the potions, I donated one to the shrine for the usual 24-hour Levitation blessing. The last thing I wanted was for the spell to wear off at an inconvenient moment. I levitated up to the Ministry of Truth, where a female Ordinator stood guard on one of the balconies – I could tell she was female because she didn’t wear the usual closed helmet.

“Excuse me,” I said cautiously, hovering a few feet away from her. “Are you Alvela Saram?”

“I’m sorry. No pilgrims allowed in the Ministry,” she said firmly. “I’ll have to ask you to lea- wait, you’re not here to visit anyone, are you?”

I shook my head, and she quickly handed me a key she’d concealed beneath her belt. “Mehra said you would come,” she whispered. “I’ll say you subdued me with magic and stole my key. It opens all three exterior doors – the upper back door is best.”

“I don’t suppose you happen to have keys to the cells, do you?”

“I’m afraid not.” Of course; that would have been too easy. “Search for the keys in desks; no one carries keys while on duty. Mehra is in Prison Keep in the cell on the far right. Oh… and some of us are sympathetic to the Dissident priests, but kill an Ordinator, and you’ll lose that sympathy. Mehra said you’ve got rank in the Temple, so maybe you can bluff your way through.”

Somehow I doubted that my extremely low rank in the Temple would allow me to bluff my way past the guards – or, for that matter, that anyone would believe I was capable of subduing an Ordinator with magic. My only hope was to stay out of sight until I got to Mehra. Luckily I had a secret weapon: my Amulet of Shadows. (Boy was I glad I’d been lucky enough to find that thing!)

I flew up to the back door Alvela had mentioned and cast the amulet’s enchantment before braving the Ministry of Truth – probably the first time a non-Dunmer had ever entered it except as a prisoner. The interior was gloomy and forbidding, as you’d expect from a prison carved out of a big floating rock. I didn’t waste time searching for keys – I just hurried through the corridors, past doors with creepy names like ‘Hall of Processing’, until I reached the one marked ‘Prison Keep’ and used an Ondusi’s Unhinging scroll to open it.

I found myself in a vaguely circular, cavern-like room with a high domed ceiling. Heavily-armed Ordinators patrolled the room on raised wooden platforms, while a group of miserable-looking prisoners milled about on the rock floor below. Mehra wasn’t among them, but I could see a heavy door on the right side of the room which presumably led to her cell.

I floated up and over the guards and down to the cell door, where I prepared to cast the Chameleon enchantment again before trying the lock – only to realise there wasn’t enough charge left on the amulet. Bugger. I didn’t have any Ondusi’s Unhinging scrolls left either, and there certainly wasn’t time to try and pick the lock.

I tried casting the Unhinging spell myself, once again cursing myself for not having paid more attention to my magic lessons. I’d been the despair of my Alteration tutor, but she’d certainly had the last laugh. It failed, of course, and now I had only seconds left before the spell wore off.

My second attempt failed just as miserably, and moments later I realised my hands had become visible again. I cast a desperate glance around me, and noticed several of the prisoners looking at me in astonishment and confusion. The guards hadn’t spotted me yet, but they soon would. Ignoring the other prisoners, I closed my eyes, concentrated really hard, and whispered the words of the spell one last time.

The click of the lock sliding back was the most wonderful sound I’d ever heard. Quickly I yanked open the door and slipped through it, hoping the loud creaking sound wouldn’t alert the guards. But it seemed my luck had run out – just as the door swung shut behind me, I heard an angry shout.

“Sh*t!” I announced to a surprised-looking Mehra Milo. “I think they’re on to us.”

With admirable presence of mind, Mehra strode over to the door and cast a Lock spell on it. It would buy us some time, though probably only a minute or two at most. “Do you have the scrolls?” she demanded.

I nodded and started to dig around in my pack for the Divine Intervention scrolls. Outside I could hear loud banging on the door, and lots of yelling in Dunmeris – angry curses and shouts of “Find the key!”

I found the scrolls, threw one of them to Mehra and quickly cast the other myself. Seconds later we were both standing in the courtyard of a large Imperial-style stone building. “Where are we?” I asked, blinking.

“Outside the Imperial Chapels in Ebonheart.” She smiled. “Of course, normally I only use Almsivi Intervention scrolls. But for my escape from the Ministry of Truth, a Divine Intervention scroll was just what I needed.”

A grin spread across my face as I realised how clever she’d been. Even if the Ordinators worked out where we’d gone, none of them would know Divine Intervention spells. By the time they got to Ebonheart we’d be long gone.

“We need to go to the secret Dissident Priests monastery at Holamayan,” Mehra continued. “I have a friend named Blatta Hateria who can take us there by boat. When we arrive we will get the lost prophecies from Gilvas Barelo, the leader of the Dissident Priests.”

We hurried through Ebonheart – me flying, Mehra walking – until we reached the docks, where a young Imperial woman stood on board a small fishing boat. I’d noticed her and her boat a few times in passing, but hadn’t thought anything of it. “Hello, Mehra,” she said with a smile. “Want to go fishing?”

“We certainly do.” Mehra hurried me onto the boat, and we set off for the headquarters of the Dissident Priests.

Holomayan was another three-days’ journey away, out on one of the remote islands of Azura’s Coast. While we travelled, I told Mehra everything that had happened to me since I last saw her, and mentioned that Caius had been recalled to Cyrodiil.

“I wonder,” she said, frowning. “I never know what he’s thinking. I think he’s involved in something secret, something dangerous. I was hoping he might help us, and now he’s gone…”

We reached Holomayan a few hours before dawn on a cold, misty day. As we walked up the steps to the monastery, Mehra told me that it had once been a shrine to Azura – I just couldn’t get away from Her Twilightness, it seemed. Apparently the door to the shrine only opened at dawn and dusk, the magical twilight hours sacred to Azura.

We settled down outside the door to wait patiently (well, not quite so patiently on my part) for it to open. Finally, as the first rays of sunlight peeked over the horizon, the magically-sealed door slid open with a loud rumbling sound.

Mehra led me inside, and while I took the opportunity to eat and freshen up, she went to explain the situation to Master Gilvas Barelo. A short while later she took me to Barelo, an elderly man with a gentle, wise face, and introduced me – to my horror – as the outlander who believed she might be the Nerevarine. Having kindly dumped me right in it, she left us alone so that we could discuss the Lost Prophecies.

Master Barelo showed me copies of several documents from the ‘Apographa’, the priestly writings suppressed by the Temple. The first one was the document actually known as ‘The Lost Prophecy’, which he read out to me:

“From seventh sign of eleventh generation,
Neither Hound nor Guar, nor Seed nor Harrow,
But Dragon-born and far-star-marked,
Outlander Incarnate beneath Red Mountain,
Blessed Guest counters seven curses,
Star-blessed hand wields thrice-cursed blade,
To reap the harvest of the unmourned house.”

“I’ve annotated your copy with our best efforts at interpretation,” he said. “But a rough summary might be: ‘An outlander – foreign-born, but welcomed as a guest – confronts seven curses beneath Red Mountain. His hand, blessed by Azura, uses a cursed blade to bring justice to House Dagoth, or House Dwemer, or both.’” He shook his head. “The Nerevarine? An outlander? That wouldn’t please many Ashlanders, and it may explain how the prophecy got lost.”

I could well imagine that it wouldn’t please the Ashlanders. On the other hand, ‘Dragon-born’ certainly seemed like a pretty clear reference to Cyrodiil, or at least the Empire. No matter how little I liked it, the idea of my being the Nerevarine was getting more and more plausible.

“The prophecies all say ‘he’,” I pointed out, grasping at straws. “Doesn’t that mean the Nerevarine would have to be male?”

“Well, the word in the original Ashlander tongue is gender-neutral,” he explained. “It was translated as ‘he’ simply because everyone assumed that Nerevar’s reincarnation would be a man.” Oh.

The next document he showed me was a poem describing the ‘seven curses’ mentioned in the Lost Prophecy:

...through the doors of the unmourned house
where scoffers scoff and schemers scheme
from the halls of the oath-breaking house
rings seven curses of gods blasphemed

first curse, Curse-of-Fire
second curse, Curse-of-Ash
third curse, Curse-of-Flesh
fourth curse, Curse-of-Ghosts
fifth curse, Curse-of-Seed
sixth curse, Curse-of-Despair
seventh curse, Curse-of-Dreams...

Heaven save me from yet more Ashlander poetry. At least this one vaguely rhymed, sort of.

“Fire and ash come from Red Mountain,” Barelo explained. “Flesh is corprus. Ghosts, Seed, and Despair are unclear, but Curse-of-Dreams seems to refer to recent cases of soul sickness and Sleeper attacks in the towns.”

As I was still trying to absorb all this, he shoved a heavy pile of books into my arms. “Here are a few books about Nerevar you might find of interest. We have also prepared a document for you called Kagrenac’s Tools, which will explain to you the terrible secret that the Temple conceals about the true history of the Tribunal. It is to conceal this secret that the Temple persecutes the Nerevarine and the Dissident Priests.”

I thanked him, trying to look grateful, and retreated to the library to study the books he’d given me. To my surprise, I actually found them quite interesting. It seemed there was rather more to the story of Nerevar and Dagoth Ur than most people thought.

All the ‘official’ accounts of Nerevar’s life agreed on several points: Dagoth Ur of House Dagoth had betrayed the Dunmer during their war against the Dwemer. Lord Nerevar, with the help of his three closest counsellors – his wife Almalexia, and his friends Vivec and Sotha Sil – had united the other Houses against the Dwemer-Dagoth forces. The Dwemer were defeated in the Battle of Red Mountain, Dagoth Ur was killed, and House Dagoth utterly destroyed.

However, Kagrenac’s Tools told a slightly different story. According to this, the Dwemer had discovered the heart of the god Lorkhan beneath Red Mountain. A Dwarven priest named Kagrenac had crafted enchanted tools to steal power from the heart, hoping the Dwemer could use them to create a new god for their own benefit. When he used the tools at the Battle of Red Mountain, the entire Dwemer race had instantly vanished from the mortal world.

Dagoth Ur had not betrayed the Dunmer – instead, Nerevar had left him to guard the tools while he went to consult his counsellors. But Dagoth was seduced by the power of the tools, and used them to grant himself divine powers. When Nerevar and the Tribunal returned, they fought and Dagoth was badly wounded – but not killed. After Nerevar’s death, the Tribunal succumbed to the temptation to use the tools, turning themselves into gods the same way as Dagoth Ur.

This, the author claimed, was why the Tribunal’s powers were fading. Dagoth Ur had been driven mad by the corrupt power of the tools, but the Tribunal had been corrupted by them as well. And since Dagoth Ur was closer to the source of their power, he was slowly growing stronger, while they grew weaker.

It all sounded very far-fetched – gods’ hearts, evil cursed tools of DOOM – yet as I thought about it, everything seemed to click into place. The sudden disappearance of the Dwarves… the Tribunal’s failure to stop the Blight… and that letter from Dagoth Ur talking about Nerevar’s ‘betrayal’. In his madness, no doubt he’d convinced himself that he really was innocent of any wrongdoing.

I wandered over to Mehra Milo, who was seated at a table nearby, hoping she might be able to tell me more. She was completely absorbed in a book, and didn’t even notice me there until I coughed politely. “Ah, Ada,” she said, with a somewhat dreamy smile. “Forgive me; I was caught up in my reading.”

I looked down at the book she’d been reading. To my surprise I realised that it was Children of the Sky, a simple schoolroom book about the Nords of Skyrim. “Are you interested in Nord culture?” I asked her.

She shrugged. “These people are our ancient enemies. Like all man races, they are of inferior blood, but otherwise are human in every respect. Are they capable of enlightenment? Do they have souls? Who can say?”

I gazed at her for several moments in stunned silence. Had she just said what I thought she had said?

Now don’t get me wrong: while I’ve met people of every race who don’t fit the usual stereotypes, I have to admit that for the most part they largely hold true. The Nords are hard-drinking louts who live for fighting, the Khajiit have refined thievery into an art form, and we Cyrodiils will talk you into selling your own grandmother and then haggle over the price. Deep down almost everyone prefers their own people and culture, and anyone who tells you they don’t is probably lying. But to convince yourself that your own race really is better, that being born Altmer or Imperial or Dunmer actually makes you a superior being – that’s a different matter entirely.

Here was an intelligent, educated woman, with several human friends, open-minded enough to challenge the doctrine of the Temple she belonged to – and yet she was questioning whether Nords (and by extension, all humans) had souls. Did she even realise she was talking to a member of the ‘inferior’ man races? From the faraway expression on her face, I got the impression that she’d completely forgotten. But even if she hadn’t, I suddenly realised, it didn’t matter – from her perspective she was just making a simple statement of fact. Almost all Dunmer probably felt that way, even if they were better at hiding it.

Suddenly I felt a long, long way from home. Who the heck was I kidding, thinking that these people would ever accept me as their Nerevarine? I had to get out of here.

I wandered out of the room, leaving Mehra to her book, and went to speak to Gilvas Barelo. “Well, I think I’d better be going,” I said, trying to sound casual. “I… need some time to think about all this.”

“So soon?” he asked, a little surprised. “But you know you can only enter or leave Holamayan at dusk and dawn? Please, make yourself comfortable here. Rest in our beds, and make good use of our services.”

“It’s OK,” I said firmly. “I have some Almsivi Intervention scrolls left. Thanks for all your help with the prophecies.”

I’d taken one of them from my pack while I was speaking. Before Master Barelo could reply I unrolled it and cast the spell, not even caring where it would take me. It was time to go back to Plan A.

This post has been edited by Helena: Dec 8 2010, 12:45 AM

Hm, interesting approach to the jail-break quest. One of my more preferred Morrowind MQ jobs, but the bat-like Ada keeping to the upper shadows was a nice way of going about it. I always used the chameleon enchantment, had a short invisibility spell handy, and stealth-casted my to the cell door.

Also, Ada's rude awakening, incident with the Sleeper, and relocation to the fort was a nice touch. It shows a lot about her in how she deals with Caius, her greater acceptance of being the Nerevarine, what to do after.

One nit:


Perhaps "Write everything down for me," or maybe "Inscribe everything down for me" was what you meant?

Other than that, my relatively untrained grammar experience detected nothing else wrong. All in all, another good installment.

Gaah... how did I manage to miss that? Anyway, I've corrected it now, and here are some screenshots:

Hi Mom!
Before the Shrine of Azura
Nice outfits

"Young Lady, you get down from that statue Right This VERY INSTANT!!



While she's only got the one, you have to admit, Azura's shrine is the most...um...eye-catching. Though it does have a tendency to cause one's gaze to miss her face entirely.



Now, be honest, how fast did it take you to get the money for those outfits? And wouldn't you get a greater return-on-investment if you sank your money into murder-oriented equipment and went dungeon-diving?

This post has been edited by Captain Hammer: Dec 8 2010, 04:23 AM

My fave - scary height !!!!

Chapter 22: Two’s Company

Seconds after casting the spell, I landed in some kind of outdoor courtyard and promptly choked on a mouthful of red dust. As I blundered around in the storm, trying to work out where the hell I was, I realised that I was standing on the open-topped plaza of a Vivec-style canton. Had I gone mad, or had the Blight suddenly spread to the Ascadian Isles while I was travelling to Holamayan?

It finally emerged that I had landed in Molag Mar, a Temple stronghold on the coast of the Molag Amur region (best described as ‘like the Ashlands, only worse’). Since I had absolutely no desire to stay there, I hopped on board the first available boat and settled in for the slow journey back to Vivec. When I arrived and went to the Fighters’ Guild to repair my equipment, I was accosted by the steward Lorbumol gro-Aglakh.

“I’ve been looking for you, Ventura,” he said, giving me a hearty slap on the back. “Fancy taking on a debt collection job?”

I hated that kind of mission. I was about to mumble some sort of excuse when he continued, “2,000 septims, and you get to keep half of it.”

Wow. I had to admit, I could really use that kind of money right now. “Who owes the money?” I asked, privately wondering whom it was owed to as well.

“A woman called Lirielle Stoine, at the Rat in the Pot tavern in Ald’ruhn.”

Damn it. I’d got to know Lirielle quite well during the time I’d spent in Ald’ruhn, and I rather liked her – besides, I felt I owed her one for helping me get those shirts back. Perhaps, if all else failed, I could help her the way I’d helped Tongue-Toad.

As I left the guild, I noticed a crowd of people gathered around a ‘Wanted’ poster pinned to the wall. “Have you heard?” one of them said excitedly. “Somebody broke into the Ministry of Truth and freed a prisoner!”

The poster offered a very large reward for information on the intruder, described as ‘of unknown age, race and sex’ – clearly the other prisoners hadn’t talked. I fervently hoped that no one would ever collect that reward. Given that it also described the unknown intruder as ‘a powerful spellcaster’, it didn’t seem very likely.

I went to Ald’ruhn via the Mages’ Guild and headed over to the Rat in the Pot to eat lunch, while thinking over the problem of Lirielle’s debt. I decided it would be better not to ask her about it directly – if she knew the Fighters’ Guild had sent me after her, she might clam up. When I finished eating, I went to Lirielle and quietly asked her if I could speak to her in private for a minute. She nodded and led me to a storeroom beneath the tavern.

“I know about your debt problems,” I said, as soon as I was sure we were alone. “Don’t bother asking me how. I just wondered if there was anything I could do to help.”

Lirielle looked taken aback. She hesitated for a moment, but finally shook her head. “My brother Ruran is dead,” she said flatly. “At least, I believe he is. The Camonna Tong said he owed them money, which I don’t dispute – but now they say I owe my brother’s debts, and I just don’t have the money. How can I pay what I don’t have?”

Damn, it was worse than I thought. “Why do you think your brother is dead?” I asked her.

“He knew he was in debt,” she said, shrugging. “He went off to ‘seek his fortune’ in some place called Mallapi northeast of Gnaar Mok, and I haven’t heard from him since. That was two months ago.”

After what had happened in Ilunibi, the mere mention of Gnaar Mok was enough to make me shudder. What was more, I suspected Lirielle was right about her brother – it was possible he was still alive, but after two months, the chances weren’t high. Even so, I felt I ought to at least offer to search for him.

“Would you like me to go there and look for him?” I asked.

Lirielle sighed. “Thank you for offering to help, but I very much doubt you’ll find him alive. And even if you do, he’s not likely to have the money.”

I got the feeling there wasn’t too much love lost between her and her brother, given how little she seemed to care whether he was actually dead or not. Still, looking for Ruran was one option; maybe Percius Mercius would have some better ideas.

I didn’t go to him immediately, though; instead I went to Skar to visit Athyn Sarethi, my House Redoran sponsor. As usual he appeared warm and friendly, even taking time to introduce me to his wife Domesea, but after my conversation with Mehra Milo it all seemed rather hollow. Did he feel the same way about humans, underneath all the friendliness? I tried to tell myself that it didn’t matter – after all, he was still my best hope of ever getting off this godsforsaken island.

Athyn must have sensed that something was wrong. “Are you all right, my friend?” he asked, once we had retreated into his study. “I have not seen you in some weeks. I hope all is well?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said quickly. “Just a little… stressed, that’s all.”

“Why? What has happened?”

Let’s see…First I managed to accidentally summon the Daedra Lord Azura, who bullied me into helping her win a bet against Sheogorath. Then I was sent to clean out a Sixth House base and ended up being cursed with corprus disease. To find a cure I had to crawl through the dungeons of a mad Telvanni wizard, then when I got back I was attacked in my bed by a zombie and forcibly promoted to leader of the Emperor’s Blades. I broke into the Ministry of Truth to rescue a Dissident Priest, and discovered a secret that could shake the Tribunal Temple to its foundations. Did I mention that I may well be the Nerevarine? “It’s… kind of a long story,” I told him.

“There is time,” he said, shrugging.

I decided not to mention Azura and her bet on the grounds that he wouldn’t believe me, and the Dissident Priests business for obvious reasons. Instead I gave him a heavily-edited account of my mission to Ilunibi – I didn’t mention anything about the Blades, only that the Legion had sent me there (which at least was technically true). Amazingly enough, he seemed a tad skeptical of my ‘miracle cure’ story.

“Are you sure of this, sera?” he asked doubtfully. “In my whole life, I have never heard of anyone recovering from corprus. Could it perhaps have been a less serious disease?”

“No, I’m pretty sure it was corprus,” I said, and explained about my visit to Divayth Fyr.

Athyn listened carefully to my story, a neutral expression on his face. If he thought I was lying, he didn’t show it. “Well, if this is true, it is hopeful news,” he said at last, with a rather sad smile. “I have seen far too many lives destroyed by this disease.”

I didn’t tell him what Fyr had said about living forever, or the letter I’d been given by Dagoth Gares. He clearly found my tale unbelievable enough as it was, and what was more, I couldn’t be sure whether he’d heard of the Nerevarine prophecies – the last thing I wanted was for him to start getting suspicious.

I asked if there were any more Redoran duties I could perform for him, and he nodded. “I believe there are smugglers operating near the coast in the cave of Shurinbaal. Before I send you to investigate, though, I must ask another favour of you.”

“What is it?”

For the first time since I’d met him, Athyn looked slightly embarrassed. “I would like you to take my son with you.”

Ah. “Varvur is my youngest child, and my only son,” he continued. “He is a good son, but I believe my wife and I may have… over-indulged him a little. He needs some occupation that will give him a sense of purpose, and distract him from his grief over his friend’s death. Would you be willing to help me?”

I didn’t see any reason to refuse. Back when I worked for the Cyrodiil Fighters’ Guild, middle-ranking members like me were often charged with taking care of the new recruits – a task we sarcastically referred to as ‘babysitting’. On one particular job I’d even managed to end up with Vitellus Donton, the Guildmaster’s son. That was one heck of a nerve-racking mission, I can tell you.

“Of course,” I said, mentally adding ‘keep sponsor’s son alive at all costs’ to my list of mission objectives. “I take it he does know how to fight?”

Sarethi nodded. “He has training, but little experience. I hope he will not be a burden to you, but we must all begin somewhere.”

We agreed that I should come back the next morning to collect Varvur before setting off for Shurinbaal, yet another cave near to Gnaar Mok (how had this wretched little village got to be such a hotbed of underworld activity?). Since I was going there anyway, I thought I might as well pop into Mallapi on the way and see if I could find any trace of Lirielle’s brother. Athyn also told me that he suspected the smugglers had a contact in Ald’ruhn, and asked me to investigate.

I spent the rest of the day in Ald’ruhn before going out to spend the night at Buckmoth Legion Fort. The next day I returned to Sarethi Manor, where Varvur was waiting for me in his room. He wore a full set of bonemold armour and looked distinctly nervous.

“Kinsman,” he murmured, giving me a weak smile. “It is good to see you again.”

I smiled back, trying to put him at his ease. “Hello, Varvur. I don’t think we were ever properly introduced. I’m Ada Ventura.” I held out a hand, forgetting that it wasn’t the custom among the Dunmer. He took it awkwardly and held it in both of his for a moment before letting it drop.

“I know. I will always remember what you did for me when I was in trouble.” His face flushed slightly, and he lowered his eyes to my Legion cuirass. “You are a Legionnaire, then? I didn’t realise.”

“Yep. Knight Errant, as it happens.” There was an awkward silence. “Okay, let’s get down to business. What sort of weapon do you prefer to use?”

He shrugged. “I can fight with swords, or spears. Which is better?”

“Whichever you’re best at,” I told him. “Remember, this isn’t a drill. These guys aren’t going to go easy on you just because you’ve never done this before.”

Varvur eventually chose a spear (I had to resist the temptation to ask whether he had an Argonian maidservant to polish it). He said goodbye to his father and his distraught-looking mother, who seemed one step away from flinging her arms around him and sobbing “My baby!”, and then we set off – out through the gates of Ald’ruhn and down the long, boring, cliff racer-infested route to Gnaar Mok on the coast.

I tried to engage Varvur in conversation as we went along, but he didn’t seem to have much to say for himself. I got the impression he was either very shy, or slightly in awe of me, or both. New recruits to the Guild would normally be ruthlessly mocked until they got over their shyness, but for once I held back – I’d no idea if Varvur was the type to run crying to Daddy if he thought I was being mean to him, but I wasn’t going to risk it. Besides, in all honesty, I thought the poor kid had been through enough humiliation recently.

“Are you all right?” I asked eventually, when we stopped by the wayside to rest and eat.

He sighed. “I’m sorry. I know I am not good company right now, but… I was thinking about my friend, Bralen Carvaren. I still feel as if this was all my fault.”

“How was it your fault?” I asked. “Didn’t the priest say that your mind was being affected by that ash statue?”

“But I should have realised! If I had only told someone about those dreams…” He clenched his fists. “But I didn’t, and now my best friend is dead. I can never forgive myself.”

Oh, boy. “Varvur, can I offer you some advice?” I said. “Don’t waste time beating yourself up over it. It won’t change what’s happened and it won’t help anyone, least of all you. I’ve been there, believe me.”

He nodded wearily. “I know. My father says this as well…. but it is difficult.”

“At least you had a good excuse,” I pointed out. “I – I knew someone in Cyrodiil who killed a guy in a fight. She didn’t have any excuse; she was just drunk. It was an accident, but she ended up being jailed for murder.” I paused. “I guess… I’m saying it could be worse, that’s all.”

“You’re right, of course.” He gave me a rather strained smile. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t be troubling you with my problems.”

Neither of us said much else until our next rest stop just outside Gnaar Mok, when I decided it was time to set down some ground rules. “Okay, Varvur, listen up! Before we go hunting smugglers, there’s a few rules you need to know about.” I paused. “Tell me, have you ever actually killed anyone before? Er – in battle, I mean?” I added hastily, wanting to kick myself for my tactlessness.

Varvur hesitated slightly. “I have killed before… but only animals, on hunting trips. Not people.”

“Okay, so at least you’re not a complete beginner. Anyway, Rule Number 1: If we get into combat you do exactly what I say, at once, without question. Got it?”

“Yes, Kinsman.”

“Call me Ada,” I said. “Rule Number 2: make sure you stay out of my way at all times. Don’t go ahead of me unless I tell you to. Don’t even think about getting between me and an enemy I’m trying to fight.” I winced reflexively. “This little Bosmer guy in the Fighters’ Guild tried that once and nearly got his arm lopped off. Don’t be like him.”

“No, sera – Ada.”

“Number 3: if I give you advice, remember it. I want you to think it over afterwards and include it in your practice sessions. Got it? Okay, let’s go.”

The small collection of rotting shacks on Gnaar Mok island looked even more dismal than I’d remembered. I didn’t really want to talk to any of the locals, in case the smugglers had contacts in the village, but as I had no idea where Shurinbaal was I didn’t have much choice. The first person I met was the same Wood Elf I’d spoken to on my last visit, still sitting hunched-up on the steps of his hut.

“Are you here to kill the breeding netch?” he asked, as I approached.

“Breeding netch?”

“There’s a pair of them just north of here. We drove them off a few times, but I’m sure they’ll be back unless someone does something.” He scowled. “We’ve asked the Legion for help, but they keep saying it’s ‘not a priority’.”

“I see,” I said knowingly, disguising the fact that I didn’t have a clue what a netch was or how to kill one. “Well, I might be able to help if you give me some information. I’m looking for two caves, Shurinbaal and Mallapi.”

His expression didn’t change. “Kill the netch, and then we’ll talk.”

Resisting the urge to swear at him, I turned away, and then suddenly a good idea struck me. “Okay, Varvur!” I said brightly, turning to my unfortunate lackey. “Time to show what you’re made of. Think you can handle a breeding netch?”

“I will try,” he said, shrugging. “It seems a shame to kill them, though. They are beautiful animals.” The Bosmer just snorted.

We headed out across the narrow plank bridge, and walked slowly northwards until Varvur spotted one of the netch in the distance. I have to admit that my first instinct was to laugh: the thing could only be described as something like a giant floating jellyfish. I didn’t see how it could possibly harm anyone, except by exploding and showering them with blue gunk.

“Go ahead,” I said to Varvur, taking down my bow. “I’ll stay back here and shoot it down if you get into trouble.”

Spear at the ready, Varvur bravely advanced on the fearsome jellyfish. I watched as he neatly dodged under its dangling tentacles and thrust the spear several times into its underbelly, then ducked out of the way as it sank to the ground like a deflated balloon. “Not bad,” I said approvingly, when he returned. “Okay, I’ll tackle the next one.”

I managed to shoot down the other netch before it could get anywhere near us. Knights in books got to fight dragons and monstrous sea-serpents, I thought; I got to fight giant jellyfish. Talk about embarrassing ways to die...

We returned to the village, where the Wood Elf thanked us for killing the netch. “Mallapi’s north-east of here, and Shurinbaal’s south-west on the coast,” he told me. “I take it you know the place is crawling with smugglers? Well, it was nice knowing you.”

It was getting dark now and starting to rain quite heavily, so Varvur and I wasted no time in looking for a place to sleep. I managed to guilt-trip the village shipmaster into letting us stay in the hold, where we spent a cramped, stuffy, uncomfortable night. I guessed that the smugglers probably did most of their business at night and slept during the day, so we waited until morning in the hope of catching them unawares. Unfortunately it seemed they’d already got wind of our arrival by then, as they were waiting for us.

The moment we entered the cave, we were rushed by two female smugglers in quick succession. The first was a hefty Redguard in bonemold armour, who carried a nasty-looking axe. Luckily she wasn’t wearing any leg protection, and Varvur managed to stab her in the thigh with his spear before she could get close enough to attack us, while I tackled the other woman. The battle was quick but messy – I could only hope the shouts hadn’t alerted other smugglers deeper into the caverns.

“Are you all right?” I asked Varvur, who was breathing heavily. It was hard to see in the dim light, but his face looked distinctly paler than usual.

“Yes. I – ” He broke off. “I’m sorry, it is just… all that blood. For a moment it made me think of – of…”

Gods. I was sorry for him, truly I was, but at the same time I couldn’t help feeling slightly exasperated – I hadn’t realised that the job of tutoring Varvur would involve dealing with his guilt complex as well. To say that I wasn’t qualified for this would be putting it mildly. I need a raise, I thought, and then remembered that I wasn’t even getting paid for this mission.

“Okay, calm down. Deep breaths.” I sheathed my sword and laid my hands on his shoulders. “Want to beat a retreat? I could try and take on the rest by myself if – ”

“No! I promise you, I am fine.” He was gripping his spear tightly. “It won’t happen again. Let’s move on.”

I was still a bit wary, but finally decided to give him a chance. At least he wasn’t fainting, or throwing up, or doing any of the other crazy things raw recruits tend to do.

In the end I was glad I did, because Varvur actually handled himself pretty well. He was nervous, of course, and made mistakes, but he held his nerve and obeyed instantly whenever I gave him an order. I couldn’t teach him all that much about fighting with spears, not being very familiar with them myself, but he listened carefully to what I said and seemed to be taking it in.

After dealing with the rest of the guards as quickly and quietly as possible, we finally reached the heart of the caverns and came upon a storeroom blocked off by a wooden gate. There were two people inside; I couldn’t see much of them but I could tell by their voices that they were a man and a woman. They were deep in conversation and didn’t spot us.

“Do you still have your Chameleon amulet?” Varvur whispered.

I nodded – I always carried it around my neck these days, just in case. After casting the enchantment, I whispered some instructions to Varvur, then moved to stand just by the gate and motioned to Varvur to walk forward. The two smugglers leapt to their feet at the sound of footsteps and rushed to the gate, drawing their weapons. “What the hell…?”

The woman was the first to burst through the gate, and I’d cut her down before I even realised that she was wearing Legion uniform. At the same time Varvur moved forward to tackle her companion, who wore only light armour. The fight was over in seconds.

I bent over the woman’s body, astonished and slightly upset to realise I’d killed a fellow Legionnaire. Had she been the smugglers’ contact in Fort Buckmoth, then? Or was she just a deserter? “Shame we couldn’t take her alive,” I muttered. “She might have given us good information.”

Varvur had knelt down beside the body to examine it more closely. “An Imperial soldier,” he said in disgust. “I should have kno – ”

He broke off quickly, but not quickly enough. “Care to repeat that, Varvur?” I said quietly.

“Forgive me.” His face had flushed deep maroon. “Forgive me, Ada. I didn’t mean – I spoke without thinking.”

I took a deep breath, trying to control my temper. “Never mind,” I said at last, through clenched teeth. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard that, and it probably won’t be the last. Come on.”

I made to enter the storeroom, but he was blocking my way. “Surely you would not deny there is corruption in the Legions!”

“Well, of course there is! There’s corruption everywhere, Varvur! You think everyone in House Redoran is completely honest and upright?” He was silent. “Oh, right, I forgot: you’re Dunmer. Only us humans with our ‘inferior blood’ could possibly be corrupt.”

Varvur’s mouth fell open. “I- inferior blood? I have never said this!” His eyes glittered with indignation. “Who has said this to you?”

Instantly I regretted bringing it up. “No one important,” I mumbled. “Just… someone I thought was a friend, that’s all.”

“A Redoran?”

“No, not a Redoran.” I lifted the dead Legionnaire’s body and hauled it away from the door, shoving it into a corner. “Let’s get going.”

The room beyond turned out to be a veritable treasure trove. Crate after crate revealed piles of smuggled goods worth a fortune: gems, weapons, alcohol, skooma, enchanted jewellery. “We’d better not take any of this,” I said, rather regretfully. “The Legion will want to take it in as evidence later on.”

No matter how hard we searched, however, we couldn’t find a single scrap of evidence connecting the smugglers to anyone in Ald’ruhn. “You could ask the Imperials at Fort Buckmoth,” Varvur suggested. “They may have suspects.” For now that seemed to be the only option.

We searched the rest of the caverns carefully in case anyone had managed to hide from us, but we didn’t find anything. There was only one cave left unexplored, and this turned out to contain a deep, peaceful-looking natural pool. The smugglers had built a wooden walkway over it, with steps leading down into the water. “Might as well have a bath while we’re here,” I remarked to Varvur.

His eyes widened. “A bath?”

“Yes, a bath. Not together, of course!” I said impatiently. “We’ll take it in turns.”

He reddened. “I didn’t mean – ”

“That’s OK.” I slung my pack down on a crate and started to dig around in it. “Please don’t tell me I forgot to bring shampoo…”

By now he was looking at me as if I were completely insane. “You bring shampoo with you on a mission?”

“Well, yes, of course. What else would I use to wash my hair?” I was still hunting around for soap and shampoo, when I noticed that Varvur was staring fixedly at the water below.

“Ada,” he said slowly. “I think… perhaps you should see this first.”

I followed his gaze to the water, and nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw what he was looking at. Just below the surface of the water, staring right up at us, was a large creature with the head and body of a human, but octopus-like tentacles in place of arms and legs. A dreugh.

“Okay… maybe I’ll skip the bath for now,” I said rather faintly. I didn’t feel quite up to mud-wrestling a dreugh on top of everything else we’d done that day.

We left the cavern and went back to the village to rest, eat and clean ourselves up as best we could, before heading out to Mallapi. It took us quite a while to find the entrance out in the swamps surrounding Gnaar Mok. “What are we looking for here?” Varvur asked, as we stood before the small wooden gate.

“You know Lirielle Stoine at the Rat in the Pot?” He nodded. “I’m looking for her brother. He owes money to the Camonna Tong, and they’re pestering her about it.”

Varvur’s face darkened. “The Camonna Tong? Lirielle never told me this. How did you find out?”

“Long story,” I murmured, wishing I’d never agreed to take on this job. How was I supposed to explain why the local mobsters seemed to be using the Fighters’ Guild to collect their debts? Especially when they supposedly hated everyone and everything associated with the Empire? One thing was certain: I needed to have a long talk about this with Percius Mercius at some point.

I didn’t have much idea what we might find inside the cave, but one thing I certainly hadn’t expected to see was a scamp. The frost enchantment on my sword killed it pretty quickly, but it worried me to see Daedra here – if we ran into a more powerful one in such close quarters, we’d be in trouble. “I wonder how that got in here?” Varvur mused aloud.

“Could have been summoned by a conjurer.” We exchanged glances. “Better watch our backs in here, I think.”

I really wasn’t enjoying the thought of tangling with a bunch of spellcasters, but in the end there was no need – we found Ruran Stoine’s body, or what was left of it, in a pool of water near to the entrance. Clearly the poor guy hadn’t had as much luck fighting the Daedra as we had. His corpse was in a pretty disgusting state after lying in a muddy puddle for months, and I nearly gagged at the smell as I reluctantly searched it for any treasure he might have been carrying. I did find an oilskin money pouch, but it only contained about 800 septims – far less than the 2,000 I needed.

“How will you find the rest of the money?” Varvur asked.

“I’ll have to pay it myself, I guess.”

He looked at me in surprise. “You would pay her debts for her?”

“I’ll get most of it back anyway,” I admitted. “Though I’m not sure I actually have 1,200 drakes right now…”

Varvur hesitated. “Perhaps I could…”

“No! Don’t even think about it, Varvur.” I shook my head vehemently. “Lirielle won’t take money from you, and neither will I. This is my job, not yours.”

“But if you don’t have the money – ”

“I’ll sort it out. Don’t worry.”

“You are kind,” he said quietly. “And you have honour.” I felt even worse.

We emerged from the cave to find that a raging storm had blown up. There was no way we could walk back to Ald’ruhn in these conditions, so we had to spend another night on board that horrible boat. By the next morning I was really wishing I’d taken the opportunity to have a bath, even if it would have meant fighting off a dreugh first.

We began the journey back to Ald’ruhn after breakfast. Varvur was rather more talkative now that we knew each other better – I noticed that his Tamrielic seemed more fluent as well – and we chatted about various things along the way. Unfortunately, at one point the conversation somehow drifted onto the subject of slavery. Varvur was brave enough – or foolish enough – to admit that he disapproved of abolitionists, and the discussion went sharply downhill from there.

Looking back, I really ought to have known better than to argue about this with a Dunmer, but I couldn’t help it – that particular topic is like a red rag to a bull for me. “How can you do it?” I asked at last. “How can you look a Khajiit or Argonian in the face and tell them that it’s all right for their people to be enslaved?”

“You don’t understand.” Varvur looked frustrated. “Of course I would like to see slavery abolished – many Dunmer would. But… it must be the Dunmer people who decide this, not the Imperials. After all, it is our country.”

“And until that happens?” I demanded. “We’re just supposed to stand there and watch people being treated like animals, are we?”

“You have no right to interfere! In Morrowind we believe necromancy is evil beyond words, but we don’t invade Cyrodiil to stop your necromancers from tormenting the spirits of their ancestors. You Imperials seem to think that – ”

I hated that expression. “Stop saying ‘you Imperials’! We’re not a bloody hive mind!”

“All right then, most – some Imperials seem to think that we are barely more than savages.” He heaved an exasperated sigh. “You may rule Tamriel now, but Morrowind was a great nation before Western men were even civilised. Sometimes… sometimes it makes us impatient to hear Imperials preach to us of civilisation.”

“Well, I don’t see how kidnapping people from their homes and locking them up and selling them on like livestock can be described as ‘civilised’,” I muttered, without looking at him. He didn’t answer.

We walked on in stony silence, right up until we were almost in sight of Ald’ruhn, when I paused to drink some water in the shade of a giant boulder. As I shoved the canteen back into my pack, Varvur shyly laid a hand on my arm.

“Ada?” he said softly. “I apologise for the way I spoke to you earlier. I forgot that you are my superior in the House and I should show you respect, even if – if I don’t agree with what you say. I’m very sorry.”

All of a sudden I felt incredibly guilty. This was the second time in two days that I’d blown up at Varvur over something relatively trivial. My behaviour had been at least as bad as his, and I was supposed to be the leader here. No wonder if he hadn’t shown me proper respect; it wasn’t like I’d done anything to deserve it.

“I’m the one who should apologise,” I said. “I’ve been a complete b*tch this last couple of days, and – well, I don’t really have any excuse. I’m sorry too.”

“There is no need. I was the one at fault.”

“No, really, I – ” I broke off. “Look, if we don’t stop apologising now we’ll be at it all night.”

“You are not angry with me?”

“Honestly, Varvur, it’s fine. You Redorans need to lighten up a bit,” I said, with a wink.

“‘Lighten up’?”

“Take things less seriously, I mean.”

“Ah.” A cautious smile hovered around his lips. “Is that an order, Kinsman?”

I grinned. “See? You’re getting the hang of it already.”

We walked on, Ald’ruhn looming large in the distance. “So you really don’t believe humans are inferior?” I said at last, only half-jokingly.

“Of course not,” he said, looking shocked. “My father would never have allowed me to believe such a thing. He always says that he owes his life to a human.”

“Really?”

Varvur nodded. “He grew up among humans, in Hammerfell. He was sent there for his education. Have you not read the book The Hope of the Redoran?”

“I haven’t,” I admitted. So Athyn had been educated in the West, had he? That would certainly explain a lot.

As we parted at the gates of Ald’ruhn, I was starting to realise just how hypocritical I’d been. Wasn’t I showing as much prejudice as Mehra Milo, by judging all Dunmer on the basis of one person’s comment? As I walked towards Fort Buckmoth, where I planned to spend the night, I wondered if perhaps I ought to make that visit to the Urshilaku after all. At the very least, it couldn’t hurt to try.

Ah, babysitting duty. Whether the son of Mistress Donton back in Cyrodiil, or our young Sarethi hear on Vvardenfell, it never really seems to change. At least it isn't a twerpy Bosmer upset with the low pay...

*Reflexive shudder* God. Maglir. I really enjoyed killing that guy.

Hey, I enjoyed it so much, that I stopped after I was done, reloaded (which took me back to "Find and interrogate the Blackwood Company official," another enjoyable replay) and made a new save file just before heading into the Blackwood Company the final time. I have killed Maglir multiple times (after killing off the rest of the Blackwood Company multiple times) as a source of stress relief and humor.

It got to the point where I'd use Awtwyr's over-powered battlemage status to make Maglir do funny things as I killed him:

Light him on fire, have a barbecue
Turn him into a Bosmer-cicle
Invent the new energizer bunny (that one was hilarious)
Damage his speed and strafe around punching him (Raging Bull!!!)
Shot an arrow and pinned him to the floor
Telekinesis + Damage Health + Paralysis = Force Choke comes to Oblivion!
Spell stacking practice: multiple stacked weakness to magicka effects, + 10 points drain health
Be the Great Bambino: Warhammer + 100 Blunt skill = "And It's OUTTA HERE!"

And my personal favorite;
The Way of Zen: Just stand there. Allow him to bring about his own downfall. Reflect tranquilly on the sound that one hand makes. Also, take a moment to be thankful for 101% Reflect Damage, and how it restores balance and serenity to a wounded world.

Then...laugh hysterically when he dies.

This post has been edited by Captain Hammer: Dec 12 2010, 02:32 AM

"There is no love without a quarrel"

Eh, Helena?

The UESP Wiki entry for that quest even has a note saying "yes, you get to kill him this time."


Not if it's Ada you're in love with, certainly