Hmm? It's exactly the same as the old version. I literally copied the text straight from the Bethesda forum thread and posted it in here.

Anyway, some more screenshots:

Here boy!
'Messalina Borgia' at the Caldera mines
Ready for the big fight

And a couple more of pre-Morrowind Ada:

Looks like trouble
Getting in touch with her Nordic heritage

Chapter 37: Here Comes The Bride

Now that I’d been ‘outed’ as a spy and pretender throughout civilised Vvardenfell, I wanted to head out to the Ashlander camps as soon as possible. The only thing I did before leaving was quickly return to Ebonheart, using a Divine Intervention enchantment, to return Chrysamere and the Lord’s Mail.

Duke Vedam Dren had been away when I came for the artifacts on the previous day, but he was back now. I cringed when I saw him, remembering that I’d killed his brother Orvas only a couple of weeks ago. For a moment I was afraid he might try to arrest me – then I remembered that I was head of the Imperial Legion, so all his Legion guards actually reported to me. Phew.

The Duke stood up from his chair as I entered the room. For a moment we just looked at each other. “I’m sorry about your brother, serjo,” I said at last. “I didn’t set out to kill him, but he never gave me a chance.”

He shrugged, his face expressionless. “I am saddened at his death, but perhaps it was necessary.”

Unsure what else to say, I laid down the artifacts in their usual place and turned to leave. Just as I reached the door, I heard the Duke’s voice behind me. “Sera Ventura? Could I offer you a word of advice?”

I turned back towards him, a little surprised. “I’m told you claim to be the Incarnate,” he went on. “Nerevar reborn, according to legend. My father used to say, ‘When you hear something unbelievable, don’t believe it.’ From what I hear, your story is remarkable enough without relying on ancient prophecies. I suggest you stand upon your reputation, and leave superstitions to the prophets and holy men.”

“Thank you for your advice, your Grace,” I said, keeping my expression carefully neutral. He just sighed.

Well, there was one person who obviously wasn’t convinced yet. I guess it could have been worse, though – if he’d been really angry over his brother’s death, he could have made life very difficult for me. Clearly there hadn’t been any love lost between the two of them.

After leaving the Duke’s chambers I cast a Recall spell to take me straight to Tel Vos, not wanting to risk going back to the Vivec Temple. I’d planned to use my Levitation Pants to go up and visit Aryon, but I suddenly remembered that I’d promised his guard captain to ask the Zainab Ashlanders about trade goods. Looking at my map, I saw that the Zainab camp was some way south-west of Tel Vos. I could probably walk there by the next morning, as long as I didn’t get jumped by too many blighted animals along the way.

The walk to the camp was surprisingly pleasant. The Grazelands were nice to look at, even if most of the trees were bare this time of year, and they weren’t quite as cold as the ashy deserts to the west. I found a small cave to spend the night in – miraculously free of bandits for once – and arrived at the camp a short while after dawn the next morning.

From the moment I arrived, I could see that the Zainab were doing a lot better than the other Ashlanders. Their camp was bigger than any of the others, and some of the structures they’d built suggested they’d been there a long time. The people looked well-fed and prosperous – at least, as much as people who live in guar-hide tents can be prosperous. They were friendlier, too – I even got a couple of smiles as I walked through the camp, and some of the children waved and giggled.

As I approached the gulakhans’ tents, a man strode up to me with a broad smile on his face. “Ho, look, an outlander! Are you lost, poor thing? Did the big, bad beasts bite you, so you need a healer? Or do you need our trader, so he can take your gold and give you things we would throw away or give to our guar?”

There was laughter from the other men standing nearby. “None of those things, as it happens,” I said, a bit taken aback. “I may need to speak to your trader at some point, but I really came here to see your ashkhan. It’s about the Nerevarine proph-”

“Ah, so you are the outlander saying she is the Nerevarine!” he exclaimed. Everyone was looking at me curiously now. “Yes, you must talk to Ashkhan Kaushad. The ashkhan is very curious about this outlander who claims to be the Nerevarine.”

He practically dragged me towards the Ashkhan’s yurt. I hadn’t expected it to be this easy, not after the Urshilaku and Ahemmusa. With luck, maybe this guy would name me Nerevarine without making me do some idiotic task for him first.

Ha. As if. I should have guessed how it would be as soon as I met Kaushad, and saw his obvious amusement when I was introduced as the would-be Nerevarine.

“We have heard the rumours,” he said, nodding slowly. “We know you to be the outlander who claims to fulfil the Nerevarine prophecies. But teach us, ‘Ada Ventura’… how could an outlander be the Nerevarine?”

I told him. He sat back and listened as I recited the story which I now knew almost off by heart, showing him all my proofs. And when I’d finished, he threw back his head and roared with laughter.

“Excuse me,” he said, wiping his eyes. “Do not think me rude. But seriously. Do you believe this story yourself? I mean no offence, but you must admit, you are an outlander, and completely ignorant of our ways. How could you ever be our war leader? What sensible ashkhan would ever choose you to lead the tribes?”

His reaction left me genuinely speechless. I’d got so used to thinking of the Ashlanders as credulous and superstitious that I hadn’t for a moment expected anything like this. But Kaushad had reacted exactly as I would, if anyone came to me with that story – exactly as anyone with a grain of common sense would have done. Annoying as it was, I couldn’t help feeling a whole lot of respect for him.

“Perhaps I could perform some sort of task for you?” I asked. “To prove my worth?”

Kaushad thought for a moment, then nodded. “Very well. A vampire named Calvario has taken refuge in nearby Nerano Ancestral Tomb. If you are as worthy as you say you are, it should be a small matter for you to dispose of this vampire.” He smiled. “There, you have your task. Now perhaps you would leave me in peace for a bit?”

Like Sul-Matuul before him, it was obvious that he didn’t actually expect me to complete the task he’d given me. Well, I’d enjoy proving him wrong.

Outside, I got directions to the cave from the man I’d first spoken to, and asked him if I could speak to the trader. “Our trader Ashur-Dan has his yurt just here,” he said, pointing. “Why do you want to see him, outlander?”

When I told him the Telvanni had sent me to ask about trade goods, he laughed scornfully. “Trade goods we have in plenty. What, does the outlander think we are savages, because we do not have the things the settled people have? Big buildings, heavy furniture? We have no use for this trash. And do we need to dress ourselves in foolish clothes and stand about with fancy weapons to feel like men? Hah.”

I was tempted to ask why they even had a trader if that was how they felt. I refused to believe the guy made a living from ripping off the occasional lost traveller. But when I went to see Ashur-Dan himself, he told me pretty much the same thing, just a bit more politely.

“There are many fine things that might be had from the settled people,” he said. “But what use have the Zainab for these things? I am a trader, and would be glad to make a profit. But I can think of nothing wanted that we do not already have.”

None of this was very encouraging, but I decided to ask around a bit more before giving up altogether. Near the edge of the camp, I came across a group of women washing clothes in a stream. I introduced myself and asked whether there was anything they’d be willing to trade for.

One of the women laughed. “You come to us, outlander? You ask us about the trade goods wanted among the Zainab? We are just the women. No one listens to us.”

“Well, I’m listening,” I pointed out.

The women had a quick discussion amongst themselves in their own language. Finally the first woman nodded. “We Zainab make everything we need. We do not need things from outsiders. But….”

“But?”

“Our men get common diseases and blight diseases when they go out hunting or tending the herds,” she said. “They are sometimes gone for long times, and cannot return all the way back to camp to be cured by the wise women. The settled people make the bottled magics that cure common disease and blight disease, but the Zainab are often in short supply of these things. These magics might be the trade goods we would want.”

Magic potions? Well, that ought to be a nice little earner for the Telvanni – if they could think of anything they wanted in return. But how typical of a bunch of men to put up with nasty diseases for days, rather than admit they needed help...

I wrote down the suggestion in my journal and then set off for Nerano Ancestral Tomb. It was so far away from the camp that it was easier just to teleport back to Vos and walk from there. I’d have to make the entire journey back to the camp again when I was finished.

When I reached the tomb, I stopped outside to make sure I had everything I needed. I’d learned a lot from the last vampire I fought, and I didn’t want to get caught out again this time. After checking I had the right scrolls, and loading myself up with magically-protective gear, I cast the Amulet of Shadows enchantment and entered the tomb.

The outer rooms were full of undead creatures and littered with dead bodies, probably other adventurers who’d tangled with Calvario. I found the vampire himself in an inner chamber of the tomb, and quickly cast two scrolls at him in succession: a fire damage spell and a ‘Scroll of Baleful Suffering’, designed to blind him, demoralise him and disintegrate any weapons he might be carrying. Then I hit him with the Sound enchantment from the Ahemmusa Madstone. (I really wasn’t taking any chances this time.)

The spells left Calvario reeling and staggering, and I seized the opportunity to run up and stab him through the heart. I scooped up the vampire dust he left behind, and Recalled to Tel Vos to begin the journey back to the Zainab camp.

I arrived back a short while before sunset, tired and grubby but triumphant. Kaushad’s expression when I strolled into his yurt was priceless. I swept a low bow, trying to keep a straight face, and handed him the bag of vampire dust.

“Your task is complete, great Ashkhan,” I said solemnly. “Calvario is dead.”

Kaushad opened up the bag and eyed the dust suspiciously. “Well,” he said, with a slight cough. “So you killed the vampire? Ahem. Well. I will be happy to acknowledge you as Zainab Nerevarine.” Suddenly his eyes lit up. “But... it is customary for one seeking an honour from the Ashkhan to offer a generous gift as a mark of respect.”

I might have guessed he’d try it on. “That’s funny,” I said innocently. “Neither of the other Ashkhans asked me to give them gifts.”

“No gifts? What are things coming to?” Kaushad shook his head sorrowfully. “No wonder you do not know our customs. But since you are an outlander, I will do you the great favour of naming the gift I wish to receive – a high-born Telvanni bride.”

I nearly choked. “A Telvanni bride? You – you want to marry a Telvanni?”

“Yes, a high-born Telvanni lady. A pretty one, plump, with big hips to bring me many sons.”

I tried to speak, but all that came out was a kind of strangled squeak. “Where will you find a high-born Telvanni bride?” he went on, as if he hadn’t heard me. “That is simple. Visit high-born Telvanni lords and inform them that Ashkhan Kaushad of the Lordly Zainab would do them the honour of making their daughter his bride. Surely many Telvanni lords would be honoured to receive such an offer.”

“B-but –”

“Consider carefully the many daughters offered and choose for me the finest. Take counsel with my wise woman, Sonummu Zabamat – she knows my mind well in such matters.”

Oh, the b*stard. His eyes were sparkling; it was obvious he knew perfectly well what an impossible task he’d just sent me. He was just having a bit of fun with me – and the most annoying thing was that somehow, I still couldn’t help liking the guy.

I briefly imagined myself standing in front of each of the Telvanni Councillors, asking them if they’d allow their daughters to marry the Zainab Ashkhan. Then I imagined trying to persuade a young, beautiful, wealthy Telvanni noblewoman that she wanted to marry a middle-aged Ashlander chief. Frankly, I thought I’d rather take my chances with an angry Azura.

“I’m a rich woman,” I said, making a last-ditch save. “Might you be willing to accept some gold instead?”

Kaushad shook his head. “How can you ask this, outlander? A pretty bride to bring me sons and daughters is worth far more than gold.”

I couldn’t help wondering why he wasn’t already married if he was so keen to have kids – he wasn’t exactly a spring chicken. Perhaps he had been, and his first wife had died? I didn’t like to ask.

At a loss for ideas, I went to see the wise woman Sonnammu Zabamat. She was a very old woman, but her eyes were bright and she looked crafty. When I explained why I’d come and what Kaushad had said, she chuckled softly.

“Kaushad wants a Telvanni bride, eh?” she said, shaking her head. “No high-born Telvanni would wed an Ashlander. But…” She considered for a moment. “I have a plan.”

“Oh, thank the gods,” I breathed. “What is it?”

“Go to my friend, Savile Imayn, slavemistress of the Festival Slave Market – ”

“Festival Slave Market?”

“Yes, the Festival Slave Market in Tel Aruhn – and tell her you need a pretty Dunmer slave to pose as a Telvanni lady. She will tell you what clothes to buy, and will dress the slave like a high-born Telvanni. Then escort the pretty slave to Zainab camp and present her to Ashkhan Kaushad – he won’t know the difference.”

I opened my mouth to object, and then hesitated. Surely Kaushad was too smart to fall for a trick like that? But then again… he’d almost certainly never met a high-born Telvanni lady. It might just work.

The only problem was, of course, that it would involve buying a slave. And the idea revolted me. I’d done a lot of things I wasn’t too proud of in my quest to be named Nerevarine, but the line had to be drawn somewhere – and I certainly drew it at buying a slave woman in order to force her into marriage. As far as I was concerned, that was the worst possible form of slavery.

After a lot of thought, I eventually decided to go to the ‘Festival Slave Market’ (gods, what a name) and speak to Savile Imayn. Who knew – I might just find a young, pretty Dunmer slave woman who actually wanted to marry an Ashkhan. Miracles could happen. And if I didn’t… well, I’d just have to think of something else.

I slept over at the Fighter’s Guild in Wolverine Hall, and Water Walked over to Tel Aruhn the next day. I was avoiding Sadrith Mora over what had happened with Neloth, but since he and Archmagister Gothren had been enemies, I figured Gothren’s village ought to be relatively safe… unless some of his friends or family were out for revenge. Well, I’d have to risk it.

The Festival Slave Market was at the edge of the village. Slaves were kept there in open cages carved out of mushrooms, dangling from the roots of the main tower. The sight was disturbing, but not nearly as horrific as it had seemed when I first arrived, and I realised with a jolt of shock that I was starting to get used to it. I really didn’t want that to happen.

The slave trader Savile Imayn had clearly grown wealthy from her ‘business’, and wasn’t interested in hiding it. She looked ridiculously overdressed in the extravagant clothes she wore, but obviously I didn’t say so. I just walked over to her, forcing myself to smile.

“Ah, welcome to the Festival Slave Market!” she said brightly. “The finest slaves in Vvardenfell! I’m Savile Imayn, and – ” Suddenly she broke off. “Wait a moment, aren’t you the outlander who killed Archmagister Gothren? The one who claims to be Nerevar reborn?”

“I am,” I admitted. “Er, is that a problem?”

“Not at all,” she said, shrugging. “Call yourself the Nerevarine. We don’t care. Anyway, I know we have the slave for you. Are you looking for standard household slaves, sera, or for something special?”

“Something special, I guess,” I said. “I’m looking for a young, beautiful Dunmer woman with, ah, big hips.”

Savile raised her eyebrows. “Not for that!” I protested, feeling my face grow hot. “I need her to pretend to be a high-born Telvanni lady.”

“Really.” Her expression didn’t change. “Strange tastes you Imperials have. Well, it’s all the same to me as long as – ”

“I don’t want to sleep with her!” People nearby were starting to look at us now. “Look,” I said, lowering my voice, “let me try and explain.”

I told her all about Ashkhan Kaushad and his… unusual request, as well as the wise woman’s suggestion. She laughed heartily, shaking her head. “Sweet Alma, that Sonummu Zabamat and her cunning plans! I do have the slave you want – Falura Llervu, a pretty Dunmer girl. But first you must buy some exquisite clothing to dress her in.”

“Where can I get it from?”

“Tel Mora,” she said instantly. “Elegnan the Clothier. See these clothes I’m wearing? I bought them at her shop.”

I couldn’t believe the nearest fine clothier was half-way across Vvardenfell. Thank heavens I’d placed that Mark near Vos, or I’d have had to make the four-day round trip again. As it was, all I had to do was cast the spell, take the boat from Vos to Tel Mora, and then use Divine Intervention to return to Wolverine Hall. I was back in Tel Aruhn before lunch.

“Excellent!” Savile cried when she saw the clothes. “These clothes are perfect… but I need a little more time to coach Falura Llervu to play her part.” She thought for a moment. “I know just the thing we need! Go get a bottle of Telvanni Bug musk perfume. That will make Falura completely irresistible.”

If she made me go back to Tel Mora again, I was going to kill her. “I take it there’s an apothecary here?”

“Bilden Areleth, in the centre of the village.” Well, thank the Gods for that.

I bought the perfume – this Telvanni impersonation lark was getting bloody expensive, I can tell you – and returned once again to Savile. “You have the Telvanni Bug Musk?” she asked. “Good. Now, let me tell you my price. For this superb specimen, skilfully coached to play her part in your little scheme, I am pleased to accept from you the modest sum of 1,200 drakes.”

“I want to see her first,” I said cautiously. Savile nodded and led me to one of the slave pens.

A young, dark-haired Dunmer woman stood inside the cage, her eyes demurely lowered. She was pretty – though perhaps a bit on the thin side – and simply but neatly dressed in a cotton skirt and shirt. It felt very creepy to be examining her as if she were a pack-horse.

“Falura?” I said softly.

The woman raised her eyes. “Yes, sera. Falura Llervu of Velothis Haven, daughter of Andrano Llervu, lord of Tel Llervu, pleased to make your acquaintance.” Suddenly, to my surprise, her face broke into a grin. “See? Savile Imayn has taught me well. I shall be a high-born Telvanni lady, and no one will know the difference.”

“Well, that’s… wonderful.” I turned back to Savile. “Er, how much did you say she was?”

“1,200 drakes.”

I couldn’t bring myself to haggle over the price, especially not in front of the poor girl. I paid Savile with the letter of credit I’d been given by my bank, and for the first time in my life – and hopefully the last – found myself the ‘proud’ owner of a Dunmer slave.

“I also have an Imperial male for sale, if you’re interested,” Savile added hopefully.

“Maybe later,” I said, privately thinking that nothing on Nirn could ever induce me to come back here.

I led Falura out of the market and down to the Tel Aruhn docks. I’d already considered how to get her to the Zainab camp – she didn’t have a Recall spell, of course – and concluded that we’d just have to take the boat to Vos and walk from there. First, though, I needed to check that she was okay with Sonummu’s little scheme.

“So, Falura,” I said awkwardly, unsure of how to talk to someone I’d just bought. “How do you feel about marrying an Ashlander chief?”

Falura hesitated. “I admit, I am a little anxious… but anything is better than being a slave. And I am very tough and smart, and determined to make the best of my chances.” She turned shy, hopeful eyes towards me, and I realised that she was very young – no more than seventeen or eighteen at most. “But Savile Imayn said you wanted to give me something... some presents?”

“Ah, yes.” I held out the clothes to her, and she gasped with delight.

“Oh, sera!” she cried. “These clothes… they are divine!” She seized the clothes from me and held them to her cheek, burying her face into the velvety material, then grabbed the flask of bug musk in her other hand. “And such a perfume! Only the very rich can afford this!”

She sounded like a little kid who’d just been handed her birthday presents. I loathed myself for what I was about to do to her. This wasn’t just another small step down the ladder of morality – more like a massive leap. What would my parents say if they saw me doing this? What would Athyn say – or, gods forbid, Varvur?

“Listen, Falura,” I said urgently. “I won’t force you to marry Kaushad if you don’t want to. I’ll let you go. You won’t have to be a slave any more.”

Falura shook her head vehemently. “No, please! I shall do everything I can to please you and my new master... that is, my gracious lord and husband-to-be. Come, I cannot wait! Let us travel together to Zainab camp and meet this Zainab lord!”

I hardly knew what to say. If she really was happy about it, I guess it was no worse than a typical arranged marriage… but it still didn’t seem right to marry such a young, innocent girl to a man old enough to be her father, or even her grandfather.

What would happen if Kaushad ever realised the truth, I wondered? Would he take it out on poor Falura? I thought back to what I’d seen of the Ashkhan; obviously I didn’t really know anything much about him, but I couldn’t say that he’d struck me as the violent type. Arrogant and cocky, yes, but not a brute or a bully.

I decided to play it by ear and see what happened when Falura actually met Kaushad. She’d have plenty of time for second thoughts over the next few days, anyway, since we’d be spending them on board a ship to Vos.

The long journey was a little less boring with Falura as a companion. She was very talkative, full of questions, and seemed to see the whole thing as a kind of grand adventure. Before long she was asking me about myself and what I was doing in Vvardenfell, so I told her all about my quest to become Nerevarine.

“You are the Nerevarine?” she said in wonderment. “But... you are an outlander. How can that be? Such wonders in the world. Before, I was a slave; now I am a companion of the Nerevarine and the bride of a Zainab chief.”

She told me about her own background, and how she’d ended up as a slave. A fairly typical story, it seemed – apparently her father had got in serious debt to the Camonna Tong, and she’d ended up as payment. What I couldn’t understand was how meekly she accepted her fate. If my father had tried to do that to me, I’d have ripped his guts out – and I do mean that in a very literal sense.

From the docks at Vos, we spent an entire day walking to the Zainab camp. I must say that that was one of the most nerve-wracking journeys I’ve ever experienced. Falura was strong and a good walker, but she was completely helpless in a fight – and on top of protecting her, I had to worry that her beautiful clothes would get wet or torn or muddy. I’ve never been so relieved to finally reach an Ashlander camp.

Falura played her part beautifully, looking and sounding every inch the meek, doe-eyed virgin. It struck me that anyone who’d actually met a Telvanni would instantly realise she couldn’t be one. Still, Ashkhan Kaushad didn’t seem to notice.

“This is my new bride?” he said, looking approvingly at Falura. “I am very pleased with your gift, sera... though she is not so generous in the hips as I would like. I promise to make her a happy bride, and to do her honour as a high-born Telvanni lady. And, as I have said, I will now name you Zainab Nerevarine, War Leader of the Zainab, and Protector of the People.”

He presented me solemnly with an enchanted sandal (yes, just one – another of his little jokes, maybe?) and then took us on a walk round the camp so he could show off his new bride. While he was discussing wedding preparations with Sonummu Zabamat, I quietly asked Falura what she thought of her bridegroom.

“He is very distinguished-looking, isn’t he?” she whispered. “A bit severe, perhaps, but the lines on his face, there, show that he likes to smile. Oh, sera, I think I will be very happy.”

Hmph. All’s well that ends well, I guess, but I couldn’t help thinking I’d been very lucky. What would I have done if I hadn’t managed to find a willing slave to marry Kaushad?

That night, the entire tribe held a massive celebratory dinner – singing, dancing and a hearty meal of scuttle and ash yams, washed down with lots and lots of mazte. I ended up seated next to Falura, and soon realised I didn’t need to worry about her – she seemed to have fallen in love with Kaushad at first sight. I could see her eyes shining whenever she glanced at him.

“Thank you, sera,” she whispered to me, while Kaushad was talking to one of his gulakhans. “I am very pleased with Ashkhan Kaushad. He is good-looking, clever, and rich – although a bit full of himself, like all men.” We shared a sly grin. “Thank you for being my matchmaker and benefactor, and I hope you will visit us when I have brought Kaushad many fine sons and daughters.”

After a few more drinks, she was even promising to name her firstborn child after me. We’d just have to hope it was a girl, I suppose.

It was near midnight when the party finally broke up. I exchanged goodbyes with a tearful Falura, and walked away from the gathering so that they wouldn’t see my clumsy attempts to cast Divine Intervention. Just as I reached the edge of the camp, I felt a hand grasp my shoulder.

“Psst! Outlander!” It was Kaushad. “Do not think me such a fool. Of course I realise you have tricked me.”

My heart skipped a beat, but then I realised he was smiling. “I do not mind,” he went on. “In fact, I think you are very clever to hoodwink the chief of the Zainab, and I think that maybe a clever Nerevarine is not such a bad thing at all. Besides, I am much happier with this fine young woman than I would have been with a stuck-up Telvanni lady.”

For a moment I just stood there open-mouthed. “Shake hands with me, Ashkhan,” I said at last.

He hesitated. “It’s a gesture of respect in my culture,” I explained, “but it’s also a sign that you’ve met your match. And I know when I’ve met mine.”

A wide grin spread over Kaushad’s face. He gripped my hand firmly and shook it so hard that he nearly sprained my wrist. “Here is a little gift, he said, handing me a small parcel he’d been carrying under his other arm. “Perhaps when you wear it, you will think of Falura Llervu and me.”

It was too dark to see what he’d given me, so I didn’t open the parcel until I got back to Wolverine Hall. When I saw what was in it, I gasped – it was an incredibly beautiful embroidered shirt, similar to the one I’d given Falura. I wished I could go back to the camp to thank Kaushad properly.

As I laid down to sleep in the Hall that night, I decided I liked the Zainab best out of all the Ashlander tribes. They were smart, and most importantly, self-reliant – no sitting around dreaming and moping and waiting for mystical heroes to save them. And they knew how to have a good time, as I’d seen today. In many ways they were a lot like Imperials – if they’d just get over their knee-jerk hatred of the Empire, I suspected they’d actually get on pretty well with my people.

The next day I got up bright and early to go to Tel Vos. The first thing I did when I arrived was give Aryon’s guard captain, Turedus Talanian, the information about trade goods for the Zainab. He seemed very happy, and rewarded me with 100 drakes and an ‘Amulet of Levitating’ – something that would have been very useful at the start of my quest to be Telvanni Hortator. Still, I guess you can never have enough levitation enchantments.

Now all I had to do was get Aryon to declare me Hortator. I hoped he wouldn’t be angry about the Nartise Arobar business, but from what I’d seen of the Telvanni councillors in general, I suspected there was no love lost between him and Neloth.

I was right. Aryon had heard about the rescue, and he made me tell him the whole story. “So Neloth has lost his bargaining chip?” he said, chuckling. “I congratulate you, Ada. Most amusing.”

“Unless you’re one of the Arobars, I suppose,” I said bluntly.

“Quite. But tell me, have you gathered the votes of the surviving Councillors?” I nodded. “I, too, am willing to vote for you… which means you are now the Hortator of House Telvanni. And I have a little something for you, called the ‘Robe of the Hortator’.”

Ooh, a robe this time? That sounded good. I waited as Aryon went to the bedroom below his chambers and returned carrying the Robe of the Hortator. He shook it out so I could see what it looked like… and I stared in utter horror.

It was pink. Bright pink and yellow. Someone was going to die for this.

I could see the amusement in Aryon’s face as I gingerly took the robe from him. “It is an ancient artifact,” he said, “and hasn’t been used in centuries. But I thought you would be pleased.” He winked. “I wish you luck, Hortator. I may even pray for you.”

I wondered who he would pray to, knowing the Telvanni weren’t exactly big fans of the Temple. Surely not one of the Imperial gods? Azura, maybe?

Oh well, at least I’d got what I came for. Finally, after all these weeks, I’d passed one of the hardest tests of the Seven Visions. The Fourth Trial was complete.

I left the BGSF before these chapters posted, so I've never seen them - Steamy and Awesome Write !!!!





SPEW !!! ROFL !!!

This post has been edited by mALX: Apr 11 2011, 04:29 AM

Chapter 38: Divine Intervention

The last of the Ashlander tribes was the Erabenimsun, out in Molag Mar. I wasn’t looking forward to this one – I remembered the Erabenimsun from the time I’d rescued that idiot priest from some witch-women, and the people there had seemed as harsh and unpleasant as the landscape they lived in. But it had to be done, so I practiced saying the name a few more times (“E-ra-ben-im-sun! E-ra-ben-im-sun!”) and then set out from Wolverine Hall.

Arriving at the camp was a bit of a shock to the system after the pleasant time I’d spent in the Grazelands. The people there were as cold and unfriendly as I remembered them, and the looks I got from some of them were so hostile that I didn’t dare do much more than skirt around the edges of the camp. Which is why I was delighted when I saw someone I recognised: Assaba-Bentus, the young hunter who’d helped me rescue the priest.

When he saw me, he grinned and waved. I couldn’t help being relieved that he’d managed to escape from the mabrigashes. “So you got away?” I asked, as he walked over to me.

“I told you I would, outlander.” He smiled triumphantly. “If you are looking for that fool of a priest, you come too late. He left many days ago.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” I said, “but that’s not actually what I came for. I’m here to prove to your Ashkhan that I’m the Nerevarine.”

Assaba-Bentus’ eyes grew wide. “Then you are the one who…? Sun and wind, outlander!” He shook his head. “You are lucky you met me and not one of the war-lovers! Go to our wise woman, Manirai, and tell her I sent you.”

He led me through the camp to the wise woman’s yurt, while I wondered what he meant by ‘war-lovers’. All the people I’d seen in the camp looked to be armed and – well, if not dangerous, at least very ready to defend themselves.

Inside the tent, Manirai soon explained. “I am of the peace-loving Erabenimsun,” she told me. “We only wish to live and hunt as we have in the past, and do not wish to anger our neighbours by raiding and warfare. But Ashkhan Ulath-Pal and his supporters are strong and sure of themselves. They have grown rich by raiding and fighting, and they will not be ruled by the counsel of their wise woman.”

My heart sank. “Then I don’t suppose there’s much chance of them agreeing to declare me the Nerevarine?”

“Never,” she said instantly. “They all hate outlanders, and are proud and haughty, and will never suffer an outlander to rule them.”

Damn it! Why did things always have to be so difficult? “If you would be Nerevarine of the Erabenimsun,” she went on, “you must kill Ulath-Pal and his gulakhans, and help me make peace-loving gulakhan Han-Ammu our ashkhan. He could then name you Nerevarine.”

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. ‘War-lovers’ or not, there was no way I was going to just walk into these people’s tents and slaughter them without any provocation. I was getting really fed up with people using me and my Nerevarine quest as an excuse to bump off their political opponents. Why the hell didn’t I just join the Murderers’ Guild, or whatever those ‘honourable’ assassins called themselves?

On the other hand, clearly I had to find some way to deal with Ulath-Pal and his gulakhans. When Manirai told me that one of them, Ashu-Ahhe, was a great warrior and the strongest of the Erabenimsun, it gave me an idea: I would challenge him to a duel.

I persuaded a nervous Assaba-Bentus to show me the way to the Ashkhan’s yurt, and asked him what Ulath-Pal might accept as a gift. “No gift you could give would please him, outlander,” he said, biting his lip. “You will be lucky if he lets you out alive.” I went in anyway.

Since arriving in Morrowind, I’d got pretty used to being looked at like I was something between a maggot and a cockroach. Even so, Ulath-Pal’s attitude really took the cake. He looked at me with such obvious disgust that for a moment I wondered if my Corprus had come back. “What do you want, Imperial?” he asked, somehow making it sound like a swear word.

“Ashkhan Ulath-Pal.” I bowed, ignoring the filthy look he was giving me. “I’d like to challenge your champion Ashu-Ahhe to a duel.”

He snorted. “You are not even worth killing. Get out.”

So much for Ashlander courtesy. “Perhaps you’ve heard of the Nerevarine Prophecies, Ashkhan?” I said, ignoring his rudeness. “This ring here is the Moon-and-Star, the symbol of Nerevar Indoril. I need to be declared Nerevarine of all the Ashlander tribes in order to fulfil the prophecies. Would you be willing to do this if I can defeat your champion?”

Ulath-Pal’s mouth dropped open. For a moment I thought he was either going to spit in my face, or attack me on the spot.

“You want me to name you Erabenimsun Nerevarine? I would rather name you ‘Guar-Dung’.” How mature. “You are a hound. I despise you for a foreign fool, and the only honour I will show you is to kill you with my own hand if you ever trouble me again. Leave my sight, now, while you can.”

“I’ll just have to ask him myself, then,” I said, shrugging. The other man in the tent, who seemed to be Ulath-Pal’s bodyguard, took a threatening step towards me. I bowed again with exaggerated politeness and left the yurt.

When I faced Ashu-Ahhe in his own yurt and I told him what I wanted, he laughed shortly. “Yes, we know about the prophecies. We think they are foolish superstition. But if you want to die by my hand, so be it.”

We arranged the duel for that evening, and I went to tell Manirai what I planned to do. She shook her head doubtfully. “I fear they will not deal honourably with you, outlander. Be prepared.”

I took her advice, and spent the rest of the day making preparations.

As I walked that evening to the duelling ground – a small clearing just at the edge of the camp – I could feel the tension in the air. Even the ‘peace-loving’ Erabenimsun probably wouldn’t be too happy to see their tribe’s champion beaten by an outlander. I got a mild shock when I saw Ashu-Ahhe in his battle armour and realised that it was enchanted with a permanent Shield spell. No wonder this guy was considered so unbeatable…

Manirai had told me that he wasn’t a spellcaster, so I didn’t waste my time casting magical protections. Instead I began the duel by casting a Sound spell with the Ahemmusa Madstone, remembering how well that had worked against Calvario the vampire. I saw him wince momentarily, but it didn’t even slow him down. Quite impressive.

Ashu-Ahhe was a powerful warrior, but unlike Bolvyn Venim, he didn’t have the advantage of ebony armour and a Daedric longsword. His weapon was a simple chitin war axe, and underneath the Shield spell, his armour was standard bonemold. The hardest thing for me was breaking through the magical shield, which dulled the force of my sword strikes. After a long struggle, I managed to stab him in the unprotected area at the top of his thigh. As he gasped and flinched momentarily, I used my Star of the West power to drop him to the ground.

If it had stayed at that I would have let him live, but before I could do or say anything else, Ulath-Pal let out a howl of rage. “Outlander witch! You have cheated!”

I whirled round to face him. “Cheated? So it’s fine for him to use a magical shield, but if I use spells and enchantments, that’s cheating?”

He didn’t even bother to answer me, just snapped his fingers at the two warriors standing beside him. “Kill her.”

I’d been half-expecting something like this after what Manirai had said. As Ulath-Pal’s goons closed in on me, I grasped my Amulet of Divine Intervention and cast the spell. I could see the shock and fury on their faces as I vanished, reappearing less than a second later in Wolverine Hall.

There was no time to waste. I cast a Recall spell, taking me to a secluded area in the hills just above the camp, where I’d set a Mark earlier that day. I edged forward until I could just see the tops of the yurts, and then cast the Chameleon enchantment on my Amulet of Shadows and straightened up to see the camp.

The place was in uproar, with people running around and shouting. By now Ashu-Ahhe was lying in a pool of blood – I must have hit a major blood vessel. No one seemed interested in healing him.

I spotted the Ashkhan along with his bodyguard, who wore nothing but furs. I hadn’t wanted to do this, but there was nothing for it. So much for solving things peacefully, I thought, gritting my teeth as I took down my bow and the enchanted arrows I’d bought that afternoon. Well, at least I’d tried.

My first arrow, enchanted with deadly shock magicka, hit the bodyguard squarely in the chest. The others dived for cover, looking around frantically to see where the shot had come from, but they couldn’t see me. I waited until the other warrior emerged cautiously from his hiding place and then shot another arrow, striking him in the thigh. Three down, one to go.

Ulath-Pal was more difficult, as he was wearing armour. His head was unprotected, but I didn’t trust my aim enough to try and hit him from this distance. Thinking quickly, I cast the Amulet of Levitating that Master Aryon’s guard captain had given me, and floated down until I was just behind the Ashkhan. Hovering slightly above him, I brought the edge of my glass longsword heavily down on his skull.

At that moment the Levitation spell wore off – followed seconds later by the Chameleon spell – and I fell to the ground in a heap. My ankle went crunch.

“Excuse me,” I said faintly to the circle of shocked, frightened faces gathering around me. “I think I’ve broken my ankle. One moment please.” White-hot pain shot through me, and for a moment I nearly passed out. I fumbled around for a potion before Manirai, looking astonishingly calm, stepped forward and cast a healing spell.

“Thanks.” I struggled to my feet. “And now I’d like to speak to… what was his name again? Han-Ammu.”

A lank-haired, rather weedy-looking young man stumbled forward, visibly trembling. “I am Han-Ammu. What do you want with me?”

“I’m told you’re next in line to be Ashkhan.”

“What? No!” His face was filled with horror. “I – I cannot!”

I went over to Han-Ammu and gently laid a hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps you and I should go to your yurt and have a little talk?”



I’d thought persuading Han-Ammu to become Ashkhan would be the easiest part of my task, but boy was I wrong about that. I did my best to explain the Nerevarine situation to him, but it just seemed to make things worse. “So you killed Ulath-Pal and his supporters, just because of these prophecies?” he gasped. “You are mad!”

“I didn’t kill them because of the prophecies,” I said, trying to keep my patience. “I killed them because they were trying to kill me. Anyway, Manirai says that – ”

“I don’t care what Manirai says,” he said flatly. “I don’t want to be Ashkhan. Everyone despises me. I am a weakling, and a coward, and a fool – I hate it, but it is true. I just want to be left alone.”

“Well, we all have to do things we don’t want,” I said. “Do you think I want to be the Nerevarine? You think you’ve got it bad – I’m going to have to march up Red Mountain and face off against a living god. Think yourself lucky.”

He shook his head miserably. “I’m not good at fighting. And no one likes me, anyway. I can’t make anyone do anything.”

“Couldn’t you be Ashkhan just long enough to make me the Nervarine?” I asked, in exasperation. “And then give the job to someone else?”

Han-Ammu sighed. “You don’t understand. You cannot just give up the title of Ashkhan – once you have it, it is yours for life. And I don’t want to be Ashkhan.” His voice rose to a high-pitched whine. “Don’t you understand? I won’t be any good at it. I am going to be a complete failure, and everyone will hate me even more than they do now. Please! I just want to be left alone!”

Well, it wasn’t difficult to see why everyone hated the guy. I was about to drop the softly-softly approach and really let him have it, when I heard a small, faraway voice echoing in my head. “No! I won’t do this! I am NOT the Nerevarine! You can’t make me…”

Sigh. I might have known my own words would come back to haunt me someday. For the first time, I was starting to understand just how I must have looked to Caius Cosades. Stifling a groan, I left the yurt and went back to speak with Manirai.

When I told her about Han-Ammu’s reluctance, she didn’t seem surprised. “Han-Ammu is the son of our former chief, Airan-Ammu, but he is nothing like his father. Of the many virtues required by an ashkhan, he lacks only three things: strength, courage, and wisdom.”

“Just those, eh?” I heaved a sigh. “Surely there must be something he’s good at?”

“I fear not. But – ” here a sly look came over her face – “Ulath-Pal and his gulakhans all bore tokens recognised by the tribe as conferring strength, willpower, and intelligence. If you could recover these, and persuade Han-Ammu to accept them, it might give him the confidence to accept the responsibilities of leadership.”

I didn’t exactly enjoy the thought of stripping my dead enemies’ corpses, but I was too tired to protest. “Okay, I guess it’s worth a try. What should I say to him?”

Manirai frowned. “But you claim to be Nerevar reborn. Surely you don’t need my counsel?”

“Um. Well.” I gave an embarrassed cough. “I’ll be honest with you, Manirai: I’m not quite as good a diplomat as the real Nerevar. Besides, I think even he would have had trouble with Han-Ammu.”

She raised her eyebrows. “And what would Nerevar himself have done, if his powers of persuasion failed him?”

I shrugged. “Well, he sounds like a practical sort of guy. I’m guessing he’d have found someone who was better at it than he was, and asked them for help.”

We stared at each other for several seconds. Manirai cracked first. “Very well, outlander,” she said wearily. “Listen, and I will tell you what to say.”



It was past midnight, and I was still sitting in Han-Ammu’s yurt. “Yes, I see,” he said solemnly, looking down at the enchanted war axe lying in his lap. “It is the axe that gives strength in war, and it is the idea of the axe that gives confidence to the tribe, but it is the ashkhan who bears the axe, who accepts responsibility for the safety of the tribe. Now, with Ulath-Pal dead, I hold the fate of the tribe in my hands, and I must accept that responsibility.”

I’d made this speech three times over now, once with each of the enchanted tokens, and I was close to breaking point. “So you’ll agree to be Ashkhan now? Please?”

There was an unbearably long pause, and then he nodded. “Thank you for your lesson, Ada. I shall be Ashkhan of the Erabinimsun, and I shall name you Nerevarine.”

I could almost have kissed him. “Thank you!”

“Wait one moment.” He scampered out of the tent, and returned carrying a jewelled belt. “This is the Seizing of the Erabenimsun, an enchanted heirloom of the tribe. It shall be a sign to all Dunmer that the Erabenimsun have named you Nerevarine.”

I thanked him again, now so tired that I was practically falling asleep on my feet, and Divine-Interventioned back to Wolverine Hall. I didn’t even have the energy to get undressed before falling into bed.

When I woke up the next morning, I felt like punching the air in triumph. I’d done it! I was the Nerevarine! The relief was so great, I could almost have forgotten that I’d never really wanted it in the first place. And all I had to do now was kill a God…

Soaking in the two-hour bath I always needed after travelling in the wilds, I mulled over my next move. All I had to go on was the message from Archcanon Saryoni’s assistant asking me to meet him in the High Fane. I guessed that I should take all my proofs with me if I wanted to be taken seriously.

Knowing I’d have to get it over with sometime, I swallowed my pride and forced myself to try on the Robe of the Hortator. It was even worse than I thought – not only did the colour clash horribly with my pale skin and red hair, but the robe itself was clearly designed for someone much larger and wider than me. I looked like something out of a cake shop. I could forget about walking inconspicuously through Vivec in this thing – I’d probably be visible from the top of White Gold Tower.

There was only one thing for it: go that evening under cover of darkness. This being midwinter, it turned out to be under cover of rain as well. The upside was that the Ordinators, busy trying to keep their shiny armour dry, didn’t pay too much attention to me – they probably assumed I was starring in one of Crassius Curio’s plays or something.

I’d been worried about having to take off my armour, but the Hortator’s Robe turned out to have one advantage: it was big and loose enough that I could wear it over my cuirass without any difficulty. It also trailed on the ground about a foot behind me. If Nerevar himself had really worn this thing – which, frankly, I didn’t believe for a second – he must have been a half-giant. (I guess that would explain the terrible fashion sense.)

By the time I reached the Temple canton, dripping and squelching with every step, the only thing I wanted was to get back home and be clean and warm and dry. I was convinced that I was going to catch a cold, until I remembered I couldn’t get colds any more. Blinking raindrops out of my eyes, I looked around for the priestess I was supposed to be meeting – and then realised I didn’t even know what she looked like.

Just as I was starting to panic, I heard a woman’s voice calling urgently from the shadows. “Quickly! Over here!”

I followed the sound into the large arched passageway that ran underneath the High Fane, hoping I wasn’t being led into a trap. Peering into the gloom, I suddenly recognised the woman who’d spoken – it was the priestess who’d sold me all those Rising Force potions to use at Vivec’s shrine. [censored].

“Did you want to – ” she began, and then suddenly broke off. “It’s you!”

“Yes. Me.” Not the wittiest response ever, but I wasn’t exactly on top form right now.

Danso Indules stared at me for several seconds, clearly not quite believing that I was the person she was supposed to meet. “You’re here to meet the Archcanon?”

“If possible, yes.”

She still looked dubious. “Then… you have been declared Hortator and Nerevarine by the Houses and tribes? You have their tokens?”

I pulled off my left gauntlet. “This ring is the Moon-and-Star,” I said, showing it to her. “And this other ring is the Hortator’s token from House Redoran. The belts are from House Hlaalu and the Erabenimsun, and this, uhm, eclectic collection of amulets – plus one fashionable shoe – comes from the other Ashlander tribes. And finally, this stunning robe is the Robe of the Hortator from House Telvanni.”

“Very well,” she said with a sigh. “Archcanon Saryoni is in his private quarters, and he very much wishes to speak with you, but I am to warn you... avoid confrontations with the Ordinators at all costs. Berel Sala has informed them that you may try to assassinate the Archcanon.”

“What? You’re joking!” That lying b*stard!

She shook her head. “There is a private back entrance to Saryoni’s quarters, reachable from the Hall of Wisdom. If you manage to sneak past the Ordinators by stealth or magic, and pick the lock, you might reach him that way.”

Swearing under my breath, I made my way to the Hall of Wisdom, following the directions Danso had given me. I could sneak past the Ordinators using the Amulet of Shadows, but it didn’t have much charge left, so I’d have to be careful not to take too long. I had a moment of panic when I took a wrong turning inside the maze of passages, but at last I managed to reach the secret door the priestess had mentioned. Luckily no one was there to see me as I cast an Ondusi’s Unhinging spell to open it.

Archcanon Saryoni, who was pacing up and down by his desk, looked around sharply when he heard the door creak open. His eyes widened when he saw me and he instinctively backed away a couple of steps. I don’t think it occurred to him that this madwoman, dripping water and dressed like something out of a freak show, could be the person he’d arranged to meet.

“Archcanon,” I whispered urgently. “It’s me, Ada Ventura. The Nerevarine.”

“You?” For a moment he looked stunned, then he recovered himself. “I see. Thank you for coming, Sera Ventura. I – ” He broke off, and cleared his throat. “You know the Temple’s doctrine on the Nerevarine?”

“I do,” I said with a sigh. “But serjo, I have to ask you something. If you keep arresting and killing everyone who looks like they might fulfil the prophecies, how will you ever know if they’re true or not?”

There was a pregnant pause. “The Temple must protect the people from false doctrines,” Saryoni said at last. “And your association with Imperial intelligence makes your motivations and integrity suspect. But our situation is desperate. Much as I hate to admit it, you and your prophecies may represent our last hope.”

I waited for him to continue. “I would rather have you hear the details of our situation, and the circumstances leading up to that situation, from Lord Vivec himself. He has asked to see you. Would you agree to a private meeting with him, and hear in person what he has to say?”

Wow. This was unexpected. “A meeting with Vivec himself? Really?”

Saryoni nodded. I hesitated, wondering whether to trust him. This could be a trap, I thought. On the other hand… if he’d wanted to trap me, he could just have waited here with a dozen Ordinators.

“All right,” I said at last. “I’ll do it.”

“Good.” Hurriedly, Saryoni pressed a small key into my hand. “Here is a key which will open the locked entrance to Lord Vivec’s palace. He is expecting you. His Lordship is remarkably patient, but perhaps it would be better not to keep him waiting.”

I thanked him politely and used my Almsivi Intervention amulet to take me back to the temple entrance. From here it was just a short walk to the palace, and that locked door that I’d once gazed at in awe, never imagining I’d ever have any reason to go through it.

As I turned the key in the lock, I felt a tiny prickle of nervousness and excitement. I was going to meet a god! Okay, so there’d already been Azura… but so far I’d only felt her presence, and heard her voice in my head. I hadn’t really met her as such. My heart was thumping heavily as the door swung open and I stepped inside the room.

The huge domed chamber was almost empty apart from three pillars and a triangular plinth in the centre, surrounded by braziers. Over the plinth, glowing in the light of the braziers, a figure floated several feet above the ground. He was sitting cross-legged and wore nothing but a loincloth and some mismatched pauldrons.

This must be Vivec, I thought. I walked over to the plinth and bowed low, then raised my eyes to the chief god of the Dunmer.

Vivec was about the same size as a normal Dunmer, with a slim, almost delicate build. He had soft, hypnotic golden eyes, and his face had an ageless look to it that reminded me of some of the oldest Telvanni. The strangest thing about him was his skin, which was split down the middle – the left half of his body was ash-grey like an ordinary Dunmer’s, while the right side was gold-coloured, like an Altmer’s.

He wasn’t quite as impressive as I’d hoped, to be honest. After all the build-up to this moment, I’d just been expecting something… more, I guess. I didn’t doubt that Vivec really was a god, but I didn’t sense anything coming from him that resembled the tremendous power I’d felt in Azura’s presence. Apart from his strange skin colouration, he looked pretty much like any other elf.

So this was the guy who was supposedly getting it on with all the Buoyant Armigers? I can’t say he really appealed to me, though I could certainly see how some people – male as well as female – might be attracted to him. It struck me that I’d just met a God for the first time, and all I could think about was whether I’d want to do him. Then I suddenly wondered if he could read minds.

I felt myself blushing heavily, but if Vivec had heard my thoughts, he didn’t show it. He went on looking at me for a few more seconds, a neutral expression on his face, and then finally spoke.

“I expected you. We have business, you and I.” His voice was lighter and softer than I had expected. “When I was young like you, I was very impatient – so I will keep our business short. Then, later, there may be time for… other things.”

Oh [censored], maybe he really had heard what I was thinking about. Or guessed. “What sort of business, Lord Vivec?” I asked, my mouth suddenly very dry.

“First, I propose to remove my curse upon the Nerevarine, end the persecution of the Dissident Priests, and proclaim to all Morrowind that Ada Ventura is the Incarnate and Nerevarine, the prophesied saviour of Morrowind, and the last hope to withstand the menace of Dagoth Ur and the Sixth House.” He looked straight at me. “These things I will do, whether you wish or not.”

Was he kidding me? How could I not want that? “Fine by me!” I said weakly. “Go ahead!”

“Next, I propose to surrender to you the power and responsibility of defeating Dagoth Ur.” He uncrossed his legs and floated down to the ground in front of me. “You may choose to refuse; I will not compel you. You will receive the power as a gift, in the form of an artifact called ‘Wraithguard’, and the responsibility as an oath. First, will you accept Wraithguard as a gift?”

“What is Wraithguard?” I asked cautiously.

“Answer me first.”

“All right.” I shrugged. “I accept.”

“Good. Sensible of you.” Seemingly out of nowhere, a heavy, ornate armoured gauntlet appeared in Vivec’s hands. He handed it over to me. “And now, will you give your oath, before all gods and men, before all spirits visible and invisible, before my honour and your honour, to dedicate yourself and Wraithguard to the defeat and destruction of Dagoth Ur, and the preservation of Morrowind and its people?”

Sweet Mara, what was I getting myself into? But I’d known all along that it would eventually come to this. There was no turning back now – I had to defeat Dagoth Ur, and I couldn’t possibly do it without Vivec’s help.

I took a deep breath. “Yes. I swear it.”

“Not very sensible,” he said with a slight smile. “But very good. I was hoping for someone who would have no hesitations about making such an oath. You will now have a brief, momentary sensation of time passing.”

“What?” I took a step backwards. “What are you going to do?”

“Don’t be alarmed,” he said calmly. “You are being taken out of time in order to avoid the unpleasant experience of learning how to use Wraithguard. It will be over before...” For a brief moment I felt myself floating, weightless, in total darkness. “...you know it.”

And then I was back in the palace, standing in front of Vivec. I drew another long, shaky breath. “Okay. What now?”

“I will notify the Temple that you are our champion. There shall be no more persecution of the Dissident Priests, and I hope both sides shall swiftly be reconciled.” He stepped back up onto his plinth. “We have time for questions, if you like – or you may leave, as you wish. But I think there are at least two things you ought to know before you leave: how to use Wraithguard, and how to defeat Dagoth Ur.”

“Okay, so let’s start with Wraithguard. What should I do with it?” Then it occurred to me. “It’s one of Kagrenac’s Tools, isn’t it?”

Vivec nodded. “To defeat Dagoth Ur, you must go to Red Mountain to recover the other tools – the artifact hammer Sunder and the blade Keening. Then proceed with all three to the citadel of Dagoth Ur, and find the Heart of Lorkhan. Use the three artifacts to sever Dagoth Ur’s connection to the Heart, and he will be destroyed, and the Blight ended on Morrowind.”

“How do I sever the connection?”

“Strike the Heart once with Sunder, then several times with Keening. You must wear Wraithguard, because you cannot handle either Sunder or Keening without it. That is the short, simple explanation.” Again something materialised in his hand, this time a piece of paper. “Here is the long, detailed explanation, written down for your convenience. Read it, study it, commit it to memory.”

My mind was reeling as I took the paper. “So… what the Dissident Priests said is true. You did get your powers from the Heart.”

“Some of it is true,” he said quietly. “That part, yes. But not all.”

“But you persecuted them.” I knew I was on dangerous ground here, but I couldn’t help myself. “You allowed your followers to have them imprisoned and tortured and murdered, for saying something you knew was true. And you tried to have me killed. Why?”

“Suppression and persecution of dissent is just one of the standard tools of statecraft.” My jaw dropped. “As for you… I thought you were my enemy. A pawn of the subtle Daedra Lord Azura, or of Emperor Uriel Septim, or a simple fraud – perhaps a Hero – but not much of one if my faithful could destroy you. Now, circumstances are altered. Mistakes were made... but no more.”

Mistakes were made? Gods, he sounded just like any other weaselly politician. This was the god-king Vivec, the great leader worshipped by the entire Dunmer nation?

“Why not just tell them the truth?” I demanded. “Did you really think the people who’d worshipped you for centuries would abandon you just for that?”

“Because the Apographa was such an unfortunate mixture of truth, falsehood, and speculation that I couldn’t afford to manage the confused reaction of our faithful. Any doubt whatsoever weakened their faith, and we needed their faith to give us the power to maintain the Ghostfence.” He shrugged. “In retrospect, perhaps we lost the faith of those we most needed while preserving the faith of the meek and indifferent. Who can say?”

I said nothing, but I wasn’t convinced. Yes, his explanations sounded very reasonable, very human – but that was exactly the point. I’d expected better from a God, somehow.

“In my library, I have made available two conflicting accounts of the events of Red Mountain.” He gestured towards the back of the room, where some papers lay on a lectern. “My own true account, and another false account common among the Ashlanders and preserved in the Apographa. Read them. I don’t care whether you believe my account or not; I leave it up to you to judge which is true.”

I walked hesitantly over to the lectern and began to read the papers. One was written by Vivec himself – supposedly a transcript of his own words to a captured Dissident Priest undergoing interrogation. (So Vivec carried out these ‘interrogations’ in person, did he? That certainly didn’t make me feel any more comfortable around him around him.) The other claimed to be an account from a shield-companion of Nerevar, who came to live among the Ashlanders after Nerevar’s death.

The parts concerning the life of Nerevar were roughly the same in both accounts. They told the story of his friendship with Dumac, the king of the Dwarves, and their eventual falling-out which led to war and the Battle of Red Mountain. It was only when they reached the part about Nerevar’s death and Kagrenac’s Tools that they started to diverge. Vivec’s own account was broadly in line with what I’d already heard from the Dissident Priests, but the other version told a very different story.

According to the second account, Nerevar didn’t die of his wounds after the battle. He left Dagoth Ur to guard Kagrenac’s tools, and tried to summon Azura to ask for her counsel. But the Tribunal, who wanted the power of the tools for themselves, used a false summoning ritual with poisoned robes and candles. Nerevar was murdered.

After his death, a furious Azura appeared to the Tribunal. She cursed them and their entire race for what they had done, turning their skins the colour of ash and their eyes as red as fire. The story ended with a dire warning from Azura: “What you have done here today is foul beyond measure, and you will grow to regret it. For the lives of gods are not what mortals think, and matters that weigh only years to mortals weigh on gods forever.”

A chill ran down my spine as I read those words. Was I imagining things, or had the room just got a lot colder? I had a sudden vision of the dying Nerevar, surrounded by his wife and his two most trusted friends, screaming in agony and despair as he realised he’d been betrayed. True or not, the fact that this story even existed made one thing very clear: I couldn’t necessarily trust anything Vivec said to me.

I tucked away the two papers into my pack and slowly left the room, lost in thought. I could feel Vivec’s eyes on me as I left the room, but he didn’t say anything. I’m sure he realised I didn’t trust him, but what could either of us do about it?

I didn’t look at Vivec’s plans to defeat Dagoth Ur until the next day. He talked about scouting campaigns, aggressive raids inside the Ghostfence, assaults on the citadels of Ur’s Ash Vampire kin, and finally a full-scale attack on Dagoth Ur himself. Things you’d expect to do with an entire army as backup. And I’d have to do it all alone.

Well, at least I had a magic glove.

ROFL !!!




Great paragraph !! Awesome Write !!

Chapter 39: Ada Vs. The Volcano

I can’t describe what a relief it was to finally be able to walk through the streets in safety, without having to constantly check over my shoulder for Ordinators. I wanted run around Vivec shouting out the good news, but since it was still pouring with rain that would have been a bit impractical (and probably got me arrested for disturbing the peace). Instead I spent the morning in Ebonheart, looking over Vivec’s plans to defeat Dagoth Ur.

Before going back to Ald’ruhn, I went to the Duke’s chambers to collect the Lord’s Mail. Never mind how dishonourably I’d come by it – at this point I needed as much protection as I could get. Another thing I decided to take was the Shadow Shield, the enchanted shield I’d picked up in the stronghold of Kogoruhn. I left Chrysamere, though – it had been useful in the fight against Bolvyn Venim, but I mostly preferred to fight with a one-handed sword and shield rather than a heavy, unwieldy claymore.

When I arrived in Ald’ruhn I found a message waiting for me at the Fighters’ Guild. It was from Varvur, asking me to meet him in the evening at the Rat in the Pot – he must have waited there every evening for several days. Aww, how sweet of him.

I spent the day in Skar receiving congratulations from Athyn Sarethi and the other councillors, but I couldn’t keep my mind off my appointment with Varvur. When I finally arrived at the tavern that night, he was waiting in one of the lower rooms – the same one where we’d spent the night together a week ago.

As soon as the door closed behind me, he pulled me into his arms and kissed me as if we hadn’t met for a year. “I missed you,” he murmured against my cheek.

I felt slightly guilty. I had missed him, of course, but the truth was I’d been so busy that I’d barely had time to think about him. I hugged him back extra-tightly to make up for it.

“I heard the news,” he said at last. “Lord Vivec himself has declared you the Nerevarine. Is it true that you have actually seen him? Spoken to him?”

I nodded, and he heaved an envious sigh. “It must have been an incredible experience. I would give almost anything to have been in your place.”

He looked so awed that I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’d found it a bit of a letdown. “What have you been doing in the meantime?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Almost nothing. The weather has been too bad for any Redoran expeditions.” He clenched his fists. “I feel so useless. You are going off to battle Dagoth Ur, while I’m stuck here. If I could only go with you to Red Mountain – ”

“No,” I said firmly. “Either you’d get corprus, or you’d end up with a blight disease or something. The only reason I can go is because I’m immune to those things.”

He sank down onto he bed with a frustrated sigh. I sat down beside him, sliding my arms around him. “Isn’t there anything else you could do? Join the Legion, or – okay, maybe not the Legion. What about the Redorans at Ghostgate?”

“Hmm.” Varvur looked thoughtful. “My cousin Salyn is a Buoyant Armiger at Ghostgate. I suppose I could join the Order, if my parents would agree to it.”

“The Armigers? Aren’t they the ones who all – ” I broke off, but it was too late.

“Who all… what?”

“Er.” I could feel myself blushing. “I heard that they, ah, ‘serve’ Lord Vivec in more ways than one. If you know what I mean.”

For a moment Varvur looked shocked, and then he burst out laughing. “Who told you that?”

“The publican at Ghostgate.” My face was burning.

“Well, she was teasing you.” He shook his head. “I don’t mean to be rude, but… I think it is hard for a Westerner to understand. Your gods are so distant… but imagine if you could actually see and speak with the people you had worshipped all your life. The love we Dunmer have for Vivec is not the same kind that a mortal has for another mortal.”

“But, um, the 36 Lessons – ”

“Those are all metaphor and… what is the word? Allegory.” He paused. “I am not saying that Lord Vivec hasn’t had mortal lovers. But for all the Armigers to be… that is ridiculous. Why would he bother with people like my cousin Salyn when he has the Lady Almalexia?”

My head jerked up. “Hang on. Almalexia? I thought she was Nerevar’s wife?”

“She was, yes, before his death. After that she became the consort of Lord Vivec.”

My mind was starting to race. Vivec and Almalexia were lovers? That certainly put a whole new spin on the story of Nerevar and the Tribunal. Had that really started after Nerevar’s death… or before it?

It didn’t necessarily mean anything, of course. But… if the people involved had been mortals, rather than gods, I wondered if anyone could have avoided drawing the obvious conclusion.

Varvur was looking at me oddly. “Is something wrong?”

“Er… no. Nothing.” I took a deep breath. “Varvur… what’s going to happen about us? We can’t keep meeting in secret like this forever.”

“I know.” He paused. “I’m not sure if… Ada, do you think you would be willing to marry me? Have my children? Not yet,” he added, seeing my expression, “but later, perhaps?”

“I’m… not sure. Maybe. If things work out, I mean.” Both of us were silent for a minute.

“I think perhaps we should wait,” I said at last. “Until I get back from Red Mountain, I mean. After all… I can’t even be sure I ever will come back.”

Varvur’s arms tightened around me. “No! You are the prophesised Incarnate. Even Vivec himself has said so. How can you possibly fail?”

“The prophecies only say that I have to defeat Dagoth Ur,” I reminded him. “Not that I have to survive the battle.”

Neither of us said much else, but we spent a long time lying in each other’s arms. And despite what we’d just agreed, we slept together one last time before I left. After all, it might be the only chance we got.



The week that followed was a long, painful, seemingly endless slog. I’d spend all day battling through the raging blight storms of Red Mountain, fighting cliff racers in the air and monsters of all kinds on the ground, until finally I reached one of the ancient Dwemer citadels. Then I’d carve a path through the Sixth House servants inside while hunting around for the rest of Kagnerac’s Tools.

In the notes he’d given me, Vivec had suggested that I challenge each of Dagoth Ur’s ‘ash vampire’ kin before tackling Ur himself. According to him, this might fool Ur into thinking I was trying to make my way up the Sixth House hierarchy. I wouldn’t be able to kill any of them permanently, as the Heart of Lorkhan would eventually bring them back to life, but it would at least buy me time to search for Sunder and Keening.

Most of the Ash Vampires attacked me on sight, but I did have one rather weird encounter in Endusal, the citadel of Dagoth Endus. I’d been using a Chameleon spell to sneak past one of those tentacle-monsters, and ran straight into Endus himself. He spotted me as soon as I got close, but instead of attacking, he smiled and raised a hand in greeting.

“I greet you, Ada Ventura,” he said in a friendly way. “Or Nerevar. Or whoever you are. I’m Dagoth Endus, brother of Dagoth Ur, and lord of Citadel Endusal. Would you like a little ancient Dagoth brandy?”

I was a little taken aback, to say the least. “Dagoth brandy?”

“It is a rare nectar beyond compare, distilled ages before your ancestor’s ancestors, and a fitting toast to our challenge.” He uncorked a small bottle and held it out to me. “Would you like to sample it?”

“Are you joking?” I snapped. “Just how stupid do you think I am?” Talos, I thought this kind of thing only happened in trashy adventure novels. “Ah, Agent Ventura, I’ve been expecting you. Please sit down and enjoy a sumptuous meal while I explain my over-complicated plans for world domination.”

“No? Pity. But then, a pity to waste it on a coward like you.” He tossed the bottle aside. “Still, you are the challenger, so honour demands that you deliver the first blow. Whenever you’re ready.”

After we’d fought, and I’d defeated him – somehow I got the impression he wasn’t really trying – I thought how weird it was for an Ash Vampire to fuss about honour and etiquette. Maybe he was trying to win my sympathy, but in my view it just made him a hypocrite on top of everything else. You couldn’t claim to care about ‘honour’ and then spend all your time skulking under a mountain, sending out hordes of blighted minions to terrorise people who couldn’t fight back, and hypnotising innocent people into doing your bidding. The fact that the Ash Vampires weren’t just mindless monsters made their actions worse, not better.

The other strange thing that happened that week occurred at Ghostgate, in the Tower of Dusk. I’d come back to the Redoran hostel after a long day of battling ash creatures and Corprus beasts, and was surprised to see a grey-haired, balding Imperial in a Legion cuirass sitting at the bar. When he saw me, he smiled and motioned me over to join him.

“Hello,” he said, patting the seat beside him. “They call me Wulf. What brings you to Ghostgate?”

Wulf? Weird name for an Imperial – it sounded more Nordic. “I’m the Nerevarine, believe it or not,” I said, hoping I wouldn’t have to explain what it meant. “I’m going to confront Dagoth Ur beneath Red Mountain.”

His face lit up. “What a piece of luck! Look. I’m an old Legion veteran – as old as the poor old Emperor, bless his soul. I’m too old for campaigning – I came this far to look at hell, but I can’t go any farther than this.” He scrabbled in his pocket and fished out an old, worn-looking coin. “I’d take it kindly if you’d carry this old lucky coin with you when you go to Dagoth Ur. Sort of a token of the tough young hero I used to be. Would you do that for an old man?”

“Sure,” I said, taking the coin. It felt slightly warm in my hand. I slipped it into my own pocket and turned back to Wulf, remembering that he’d mentioned the Emperor. “Have you heard anything more about the troubles back in Cyrodiil?”

Wulf sighed. “The Emperor is getting old. Don’t know how much longer he’ll hang on. So is the whole Empire, for that matter – getting old, that is.” He took a swig of his drink. “The Emperor and the legions have held the Empire together for hundreds of years. It’s been a good thing, by and large… but maybe it’s time for a change? Time for something young and new.”

His words reminded me of what Caius had said just before he left for Cyrodiil. “What sort of thing?”

“No idea,” he said promptly. “I’m old, and old dog doesn’t get new ideas. But maybe young folks like you should try some. Could be messy... but change is never pretty.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” I found it hard to imagine life without the Empire, and frankly I preferred not to think about it.

“Well, good luck on the mountain,” he said with a smile. “Go with Kynareth – and don’t forget my old lucky coin.”

At that moment the bartender called over to ask what I wanted to drink, and I turned away to speak to her. When I turned back a moment later, Wulf had gone – completely vanished. Odd.

“Do you know that guy?” I asked the bartender.

“What guy?” she asked, looking puzzled.

“The one I was talking to just now. Old Legion veteran. Calls himself Wulf.”

She looked bewildered. “I didn’t see anyone. And I don’t remember any old Legion veterans here at all… at least, not in a very long time. I could be wrong, but I don’t think so.”

I looked back at the seat where Wulf had been sitting only moments ago. How could she not have seen him? Maybe he was a ghost, I thought. Nothing would surprise me any more.

I took out Wulf’s coin to look at it as I sipped my drink. There was something a bit unusual about it, and I suddenly realised what it was – the face on the coin was Tiber Septim, not the current Emperor Uriel VII. Boy, it had to be really old – Tiber had died four hundred years ago.

“Go with Kynareth,” Wulf had said. I laughed rather bitterly. Every one of the Nine Divines would have to be working overtime if they wanted to get me out of this alive.



At long last I had gathered everything I needed for the assault on Dagoth Ur’s citadel. I paid one last visit to Vivec’s Shrine in the Temple Canton before flying out to Red Mountain from Ald’ruhn. I’d chosen to go at night in the vague hope that I might be able to catch Ur unawares, though I knew it wasn’t very likely.

I couldn’t take very much with me this time, as I had to carry Sunder, Keening and Wraithguard on top of my normal gear. Unfortunately Wraithguard was made for the right hand, so I had to use it in place of my normal strength-enhancing gauntlet. I’d just have to hope that Wraithguard’s impressive set of defensive enchantments would make up for it.

Flying over Red Mountain at night was an even more nerve-wracking experience than it was during the daytime. The combination of darkness and thick ash-storms made it almost impossible to see anything, especially in a closed helmet, and I had to rely on my sense of direction to guide me towards Dagoth Ur’s citadel. It was pretty much by luck that I finally spotted the bubbling crater of Red Mountain far below.

I’d expected the place to be heavily guarded, but there was nothing around the entrance apart from a few cliff racers. I guess Dagoth Ur never expected anyone to get that far. More fool him, I thought, as I searched for the crank to open the Dwarven door.

The inside of the citadel looked like any other Dwemer ruin. I’d been hoping to somehow sneak in and find the Heart without having to face Ur himself, but I hadn’t taken more than a few steps before I heard a mocking voice calling to me. I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“Come, Nerevar. Friend or traitor, come.” The voice seemed to come from the walls themselves. “Come and look upon the Heart, and Akulakhan. And bring Wraithguard... I have need of it.”

How did he know I was there? And what the hell was ‘Akulakhan’? Oh well, so much for the subtle approach. I was just going to have to face him head on.

Dagoth Ur’s taunts continued as I progressed deeper into the ruin. For the most part I ignored them – in fact, they were quite useful in helping me to find my way through the facility. But it was pretty damn creepy to think that this guy was somehow watching my every move.

The ancient, rust-covered Dwarven corridors were almost empty apart from Sixth House guards and a few dead bodies. I couldn’t help rolling my eyes as I walked past a bunch of randomly-placed lava pits – honestly, this guy was seeming more like the villain of a cheesy adventure story every minute. He even had an underground volcano lair, for crying out loud. All I needed now was for him to kidnap Varvur, dress him up in a skimpy outfit and dangle him over a shark-infested pool.

At the very end of the innermost chamber was a small wooden door, guarded by the last of the Ash Vampires. I could sense that Dagoth Ur was very near now. After defeating the guard, I cast all my protective enchantments before creeping through the door.

“Welcome, Moon-and-Star, to this place where destiny is made!” Dagoth Ur’s voice echoed around the rocky walls of the cave. The place was a lot smaller than I expected, dimly lit and containing only a few braziers and a large ash statue. I couldn’t see any sign of the Heart of Lorkhan.

Dagoth Ur himself stood at the end of the cavern. He appeared much as he had in my dreams: tall and thin, with grey, shrivelled-looking skin stretched over protruding bones, his face covered by a golden mask. Like all the Ash Vampires he had freakishly long hands and fingers, with sharp, claw-like nails.

“Now that you have come to me here, there can be but one result,” he continued. “Many times I have considered offering to accept your oath of service.”

“Hang on.” I narrowed my eyes. “Who said anything about an oath of service?”

“You might try to buy my trust by giving me Wraithguard, Keening, and Sunder. I thought we might once again be friends... comrades... brothers in arms.”

Ah, here it was: the ‘join me and we will rule the world together’ speech. “Nope,” I said. “Sorry. Not going to happen.”

“But I have won this place and power by right of conquest,” he went on, as if I hadn’t spoken. “I will not risk it to cunning and deceit. If you are my enemy, I cannot trust you – and even if you are not my enemy, I cannot let you live.”

I began to draw my sword, but he held up a hand. “I have final questions I would ask you, if you would answer.”

Actually, maybe it would be a good thing to keep him talking while I figured out what to do. “Go on then,” I said with a sigh.

“My first question is: Are you really Nerevar reborn?”

“Well, Azura seems to think so,” I said. “And I guess if anyone ought to know, it’s her. But if you don’t trust her, your guess is as good as mine.”

He sighed. “What a world.... Perhaps we shall never know. But as I have sympathy for you, and the melancholy fate of all mortals, I shall weep for your death.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said sarcastically. “Anything else?”

“My second question is: if you win, what do you plan to do with the power from the Heart? Will you make yourself a god, and establish a thearchy? Dispute control of Tamriel with the Septims? Or will you share the Heart with your followers, as I have, and breed a new race of divine immortals?”

Obviously I couldn’t tell him what I was actually planning, so I just smiled mysteriously. “Maybe I have my own plans for the Heart.”

“Well, perhaps there may be surprises in store for me yet.” He shrugged. “No matter. My final question is: if I had offered to let you join me, would you have surrendered Wraithguard, Sunder, and Keening to me to seal your oath?”

“Are you kidding me?” I shook my head in disbelief. “I’m not a complete idiot. I don’t want to join you, and even if I did, there’s no way I’d hand over the tools. Why the hell should I trust you?”

“Thank you for your forthright response,” he said, sounding a little amused. “And now, if you have any questions, ask them… otherwise, you are the challenger. I await your first blow.”

I paused. There were all sorts of things I could have asked him, of course, but the truth was that I really didn’t care. I didn’t want to hear his excuses, or his justifications, or his promises of how great Morrowind would be when everyone was an Ash Zombie or a walking corpse. What was the point, when I was just going to have to kill him anyway?

“Nah,” I said at last. “Not really. Let’s just get on with this, shall we?”

“As you wish.” He stood back, waiting for me to attack, as he had promised.

Well, I still didn’t really have a plan, but there was nothing for it. I hurled myself through the air towards him, thrusting my glass longsword between his ribs. It didn’t even break the skin.

Dagoth Ur laughed and swatted at me with one of those claw-like hands, and I only just managed to dodge the blow. Gritting my teeth, I tried again, and once again he just shrugged off the blow as if it were a flea-bite. The same thing happened several more times – and then suddenly, without warning, he vanished.

Glancing around, I saw a second door set deep into the rock wall. Could that be the way to the Heart?

Something was glittering on the floor just in front of the door. I moved closer and realised that it was a House Dagoth ring, inset with gems and enchanted with some very powerful resistances. Cautiously I slipped it onto my finger and cast the enchantment, then opened the door – and found myself standing on a narrow platform, half-way up the wall of a vast natural cavern. The place was huge.

Dagoth Ur was standing on the edge of the platform, only a few feet away. When he saw the expression on my face, he threw back his head and laughed.

“What a fool you are. I’m a god. How can you kill a god?” He shook his head. “What a grand and intoxicating innocence. How could you be so naive?”

I was barely listening. Beyond the platform on which we both stood was a massive stone head the size of a house, crowned with a headdress of Dwemer steel. Looking more closely I saw that it was attached to an equally enormous body, fifty feet high, rising out of a huge lava pit at the bottom of a cavern. The sheer scale of the thing was almost beyond belief.

“Numidium,” I whispered, remembering the story of the Brass God. I’d always thought it was just a legend, but now…

I almost forgot Dagoth Ur was there until I heard his soft, mocking laughter. “Admiring my handiwork, ‘Nerevarine’? Akulakhan will be the champion of my armies, liberating first Vvardenfell, then Morrowind and then, perhaps the rest of Tamriel. It will serve as a sower and cultivator of the divine substance derived from the Heart. Then, perhaps, it will be time to consider whether the Dunmer should cultivate ambitions of empire.” He took a step forward. “Now do you see why it is useless to oppose me? There is no escape. No Recall or Intervention can work in this place. Come, lay down your weapons – it is not too late for my mercy.”

Screw that, I thought, and plunged over the edge of the platform. If this lunatic thought I was going to help him with his plans for a Greater Morrowind, he had another think coming. A spell of some kind whizzed past me as I flew, and I realised I’d have to find the Heart pretty damn quickly.

I floated round behind ‘Akulakhan’ to shield myself from Dagoth Ur’s spells, looking around desperately for anything that looked like a Heart. Where the hell was it? At long last I spotted it, resting on a small platform at the base of Akulakhan’s spine. It was pulsating steadily, and seemed to be surrounded by some kind of magical shield.

Quickly recasting the ring’s enchantment, I detached Sunder from my belt and dived downwards. At once I was hit by a blast of magicka – it must have been a curse of some kind – and I felt my strength and energy begin to leech away. My pack slipped off my shoulders, and I could only watch in horror as all my supplies – food, potions, Divine and Almsivi Intervention amulets – disappeared into the lava.

There was no time to lose; I needed to get this done quickly before Ur could hit me with any more spells. As soon as I got within range I swung Sunder at the Heart with all my strength, but too late – a massive bolt of fire magicka exploded around me, and for a few horrible moments it was like being caught in a furnace. If it hadn’t been for the magical resistances, I’d probably have been killed outright.

I grabbed my last healing potion and gulped it down, then seized up Keening and slashed it several times across the Heart. High above me, Dagoth Ur let out a cry of rage and horror.

“What are you doing? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Suddenly he was standing right behind me. “Fool! Stop!”

I ignored him and continued to hack away at the Heart. With a terrible roar he lunged forward, sinking his long, sharp claws into my shoulder. The inch-long fingernails tore through the thick metal of my cuirass as if it were made of butter, sinking deep into my flesh.

I screamed in pain and tried to shake him off, but he only dug in deeper. Frantically I jabbed at the Heart with Keening, willing it to die. All at once it seemed to deflate, shrivelling up like a punctured balloon before vanishing completely.

A howl of anguish echoed around the cavern as Dagoth Ur saw the source of his powers vanish. He tore his hand away from my shoulder, ripping my flesh, and stumbled back onto the narrow wooden bridge leading away from the platform. I turned round to see him standing with one hand raised, ready to cast another of those terrible spells.

There was no time even to think. I dropped Keening and lunged forward, barrelling into Dagoth Ur and knocking him off balance. With a final, despairing wail, he tumbled over the side of the bridge and into the bubbling lava pool below. The last thing I saw was his clawed, bloody hand grasping wildly towards the ceiling as he sank beneath the surface.

All of a sudden there was a loud rumbling sound, and the entire cavern began to shake. What the hell was this, an earthquake? Vivec hadn’t said anything about earthquakes!

The platform where I’d entered the room was twenty feet above me. I looked around frantically, wondering how to get back up there, until I suddenly realised I could still fly. I grabbed Keening and Sunder and launched myself upwards, not a moment too soon – the second my feet touched the upper platform, the rumbling increased and I saw Akulakhan’s massive body crack and fall to pieces. If I’d stayed on the lower platform I’d have been crushed by the falling rocks.

I found the crank to open the door on a nearby Dwemer pipe, and pulled it. The stone covering slid back and I pushed through the door into Dagoth Ur’s cavern, trembling like a leaf. Only moments after the door closed behind me, I realised that the Levitation spell had worn off.

As my eyes adjusted to the faint light, I wondered vaguely why I felt so weak. I put a hand to the back of my neck where Dagoth’s finger had dug into it, and found it soaked in blood. Dimly I realised that I was quite badly injured. When the shock and excitement of battle had worn off, it was going to hurt like hell.

I tried to cast a healing spell, but my mouth was so dry that I choked on the words. The spell fizzled out miserably, leaving me without any magicka for a second attempt.

Taking a few shaky steps forward, I realised that there was someone else there in the cavern with me. A Dunmer woman in a light-blue gown stood by the entrance to the cavern, her arms outstretched as if to welcome me. She was beautiful, shimmering faintly in the torchlight, and somehow I knew she was Azura. I sank to my knees, too exhausted to do anything else.

“You no longer bear the burden of prophecy.” She took a step forward, smiling down at me. “You have achieved your destiny. You are free. The doomed Dwemer’s folly, Lord Dagoth’s temptation, the Tribunal’s seduction, the god’s heart freed, the prophecy fulfilled. All fates sealed and sins redeemed. If you have pity, mourn the loss – but let the weeping cease.”

As she spoke, the cavern seemed to fade and in its place I saw a vision of Red Mountain. The ash-storms died down, the Ghostfence faded away, and the sun emerged from behind white, wispy clouds. The sky was clear and blue above Ghostgate. It was like a beautiful dream.

“The Blight is gone, and the sun’s golden honey gilds the land.” The vision faded, and I was back in the cavern with Azura. “Hail saviour, Hortator, and Nerevarine. Your people look to you for protection. Monster and villains great and small still threaten the people of Vvardenfell; enemies and evils abound, yet indomitable will might rid Morrowind of all its ills.”

“I’ll try,” I said weakly. “But, uh… maybe if you could see your way to…”

Azura nodded. “For you, our thanks and blessings; our gift and token given. Come, take this thing from the hand of God.”

She stretched out her hands, and I saw that they held a small, beautiful ring. As I got to my feet I saw her slowly fade away, leaving only the ring floating in the air where she had stood. As my hand closed around it, I felt my strength flood back as Dagoth Ur’s curse was lifted.

Unfortunately the ring hadn’t actually done anything to heal me. I was still bleeding fairly heavily, and the pain from my wounds was getting worse every minute. If I didn’t find a way to heal myself soon I would probably go into shock. Sighing, I plodded over to the door and began to make my way out of the building.

As I struggled on through the endless corridors, I could feel my breathing grow shallow and my strength ebb away with every step. I still didn’t have enough magicka to cast another healing spell, and there was no way I’d ever manage an Intervention spell in this state. My only hope was to get back to Ghostgate, but that was impossible – even if I managed to fend off the ash-creatures along the way, it was still a walk of several miles. I’d never make it.

At long last I reached the outer door and staggered into the open air, blinking in the early-morning sunlight. It was a beautiful day, without a trace of ash or blight. A new dawn. And I was going to die.

I sank to the ground, wincing at the intense heat rising up from the steaming lava pit. If I had to go, I thought, at least I could take Kagnerac’s tools down with me. Crawling to the cliff edge, I dropped them over one by one – first Sunder, then Keening, and finally Wraithguard – and watched them slowly sink into the lava. Then I lay back, feeling tears beginning to sting my eyes.

I’d never get to say goodbye. That was what hurt the most. Uncle and Aunt… Athyn… Varvur… I’m sorry.

Something was digging uncomfortably into my left thigh. Gods, couldn’t I even die in peace? Wincing with every movement, I fumbled around in my pocket and drew out the ‘lucky coin’ that Wulf, the old Legion veteran, had given to me.

Much luck it had brought me, I thought sourly. Maybe I should toss it into the lava and make a wish? Sighing, I rubbed it idly between my fingers – and it abruptly vanished.

Hang on a second…

A vision of Daedric writing flashed through my mind, and I found myself mouthing the words without knowing what they meant. Suddenly I knew that something had changed. I didn’t feel any stronger or healthier, but somehow, for a few precious seconds, I felt that I had hope. If I acted now, I might just have a chance – but I’d have to be quick.

Think, Ada, think... With any luck, I might just have enough magicka left to cast Almsivi Intervention. Clearing my mind as far as possible, I mumbled a prayer to any gods that might be listening, then gritted my teeth and poured every last ounce of energy and concentration into casting the spell.

In the fraction of a second that followed, which felt like an hour, I was sure I had failed. Then I heard the familiar ‘sucking’ sound, and moments later I found myself in the courtyard of the Temple in Ald’ruhn.

There was no one else around. Feeling strangely light-headed, I dragged myself to my feet, stumbled over to the door and banged on it as hard as I could. It swung open suddenly and I practically fell through the doorway, right in front of the priest Tuls Valen. His eyes widened in shock when he saw me and he opened his mouth to speak.

“Can’t talk now. Heal first.” I brushed past him and limped into the inner chamber, where healing shrines to various saints were arranged around the central ashpit, and collapsed to my knees in front of a random shrine. I could use these for free, right? “Oh, Saint Roris – ” I began, and promptly threw up all over the collection plate.

“Oops,” I said faintly, just before everything went black.

I'm not exactly sure I'd want to see that. But that didn't stop me from chuckling.

Looks like we're close to the end. Time for me to start again reading the sequel.

Chapter 40: The Morning After

I’m not sure how long I lay there in the dimly-lit chamber, tossing and turning, drifting in and out of consciousness. At one point someone held a drink of some kind to my lips, and in my confused state I got the idea that they were trying to poison me. I struggled and swore, but they held me down firmly and forced me to swallow the foul-tasting liquid. I don’t remember anything else after that.

When I came to, the first thing I saw was a Temple healer standing over me. I tried to sit up but she laid a hand on my chest to stop me. “No, sera. Don’t try to get up. You have been very ill.”

The room swam into focus, and I saw that it was filled with people – Archcanon Saryoni, Duke Dren, the Sarethis, all the Redoran councillors, Mehra Milo, Tuls Valen, and the Redoran priest Lloros Sarano. It was like a mass reunion of everyone I’d ever met. All I needed now were Caius Cosades and those naked Nord guys and I’d have the full set.

“Why are there so many people here?” I murmured, still a bit confused.

“They are here to keep vigil.” That was Lloros Sarano. “For the past three days you have hung between life and death.”

Ah yes. Things were slowly starting to come back to me – Dagoth Ur, the volcano, Azura…

“Sorry for vomiting all over your shrine,” I mumbled to Tuls Valen.

He smiled a little thinly. “No matter.”

My head itched. I put a hand up to rub it, and realised to my horror that half my hair was gone – singed off by Dagoth Ur’s fireball spell, presumably – and the rest was a ragged mess. My poor, poor hair. I’d just have to go around in a big hat or something until it grew back.

“So,” I said faintly. “Is it really over? I mean… the prophecies and everything?”

The Archcanon nodded. “It is over. The Sixth House has fallen, the Blight is gone… and Saint Nerevar walks among us.”

Who? Oh yes… that’s right. Me.

“I think I’d like to go back to sleep now,” I said, and closed my eyes.

When I woke up again a few hours later, everyone was gone apart from Athyn and Varvur. I felt a lot less woozy this time – I must have been magically sedated to stop me moving around too much. That would explain that disgusting potion they’d made me drink.

As soon as Varvur saw I’d woken up he said something urgently in Dunmeris to his father, who turned to me with a smile. “Ah, you’re awake. It’s good to have you back with us, Councillor Ventura.”

‘Councillor’? I sat bolt upright. “My stronghold! Is it finished yet?”

“Yes, yes, sera,” he said soothingly, patting my hand. “You have a wonderful stronghold.”

At that moment the healer came back in carrying a bowl and a washcloth. I suddenly realised that I was wearing nothing but a loose robe, which left very little to the imagination. I would have been embarrassed, but I guessed the others had already seen all there was to see anyway. (Well, Varvur definitely had.)

I turned back to Athyn. “So… I’m a Councillor now?”

“Yes, indeed. In fact, there are matters we need to discuss – but that can wait until you are feeling better. For now, you need to rest.”

The healer began to dab at my neck with the cloth, and I sighed. “So I’ve really been at death’s door these last few days?”

Athyn nodded. “You lost a lot of blood. And I’m told that when you first arrived, you were covered in burns and other injuries. Poor Tuls almost mistook you for a corprus beast.”

“You were having such strange dreams,” Varvur broke in. “Raving about giant statues and people trying to poison you. And then, after they gave you the potion, you just lay there so white and still. We thought – we thought that – ” His voice cracked slightly, and Athyn laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t understand,” I said feebly. “Couldn’t… couldn’t someone just cast a healing spell?”

The healer shook her head. “Whatever made those wounds, they could not be healed by magic. We managed to stop the bleeding, but they had to be stitched.” She paused. “I’m afraid you will have scars, sera.”

I glanced down at my chest, where Dagoth Ur had torn through my armour with his thumb. A long, jagged wound ran from the base of my neck to my left armpit, just above my heart. From the feel of it, there were more of them on my shoulder and the back of my neck. No more low-cut gowns for me.

“I’ll live, I guess,” I mumbled. I could see the pity and compassion in Varvur’s face, and somehow that hurt more than anything else.

At that moment I heard a strange rumbling sound from somewhere outside the building. Tuls Valen came into the room, and he and the others had a quick conversation in their own language which I couldn’t be bothered to try and follow. Eventually he detached himself from the group and turned towards me.

“The people of Vvardenfell are gathered outside, muthsera,” he told me. “They want to see you in person, to see that you have survived. Do you feel strong enough to come outside, for a few minutes, and appear before them?

With Varvur’s help, I clambered out of the bed – wincing at the pain in my shoulder – and took a few experimental steps. “I guess,” I said at last. “As long as it’s only a few minutes.”

The healer found me a warm, clean robe and some shoes, cast a ‘Fortify Fatigue’ spell on me, and led me outside into the courtyard. When I saw the massive crowd waiting for me there, I nearly fainted. There were hundreds of people, thousands of people – so many that I could almost believe the entire island had turned out to greet me. Had they all been camping out there for the past three days?

As soon as I stepped through the archway leading out of the courtyard, a shout went up. “She is here! All hail Ada Ventura, the Incarnate! Nerevar reborn!”

The roar of cheers almost knocked me backwards. I cast a helpless glance round at the priests and soldiers standing around me, and saw that they were looking at me expectantly. Oh gods, were they expecting me to make a speech? Help!

I gave a little wave, and the cheers grew even louder. “I, ah – ” I tried to call out, but my voice sounded hopelessly feeble against the roar of the crowd.

“SILENCE! She speaks!” The noise died down almost instantly, leaving an equally deafening silence. Oh no, this was even worse!

I cleared my throat. “Ladies and gentlemen,” I began, not knowing how else to start. “Thank you all so much for coming here today. I – I just wanted to say how grateful I am to everyone who’s helped me in my quest to defeat Dagoth Ur. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Gah, I sounded like I was accepting a scholarship prize or something. I found myself wishing I had Dagoth Ur’s gift for fine speeches.

“The threat of Red Mountain is gone,” I continued. “But we must all work together to defeat the other evils that still threaten Morrowind. Go forth and… heal this land,” I went on, stealing blatantly from Azura. “And go with my blessing.”

Okay, let’s face it: on a scale of ‘inspiring speeches’ from one to ten, that would be lucky to rate a three. Everyone applauded loudly, of course, but frankly I could probably have stood there reciting nursery rhymes and have got the same response. Suddenly I began to feel very tired again, and a little dizzy.

Athyn and Varvur stepped forward and caught me as my knees started to wobble. Together they helped me back into the Temple, where the healer cast some restoration spells and put me back to bed. I ate some broth – which was all I could manage for the moment – and settled down gratefully for another long sleep.

The next day, Athyn Sarethi came to see me alone. I wasn’t really in the mood to talk politics, but I tried to look enthusiastic when he told me he had some important business to discuss.

“Ada.” He sat down beside the bed. “As I told you yesterday, the Council has agreed to grant you the rank of Councillor. Is this acceptable to you?”

“I guess so.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. “Is there anything I should… say, or do?”

“Not for the moment. Your position will be formally confirmed at the next Council meeting.” He paused. “But there is another matter that must be settled at the same time: that of choosing a new Archmaster.”

Ah, so that was what this was about. “You have my vote, Athyn,” I said, rather surprised that he felt the need to ask me.

“No, my friend. I’ve told you before that I don’t wish to be Archmaster.”

“Who else, then? Not Garisa Llethri,” I begged, struck by a sudden horrible thought. “Please. It’s not that I dislike him exactly, but – ”

“No, I wasn’t thinking of Garisa.” He took a deep breath. “Ada, you are a Councillor, and you are our Hortator. The Council is in agreement that the title of Archmaster should go to you.”

I’m not exaggerating when I say that I nearly fainted. I was still weak and exhausted from the battle with Dagoth Ur, and I really wasn’t prepared for this. “Archmaster?” I wheezed. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” He took my hand in his. “I’m quite serious, muthsera. Venim was a strong Archmaster, but in some ways I believe you would make a better one. You temper your strength with mercy.”

“But… but…” I could hardly speak. “You can’t be serious! I don’t know how, and… oh, for crying out loud, Athyn – you know what I’m like. I’d never make a good politician. I’d probably start a war just by losing my temper with the wrong person!”

“You exaggerate, Ada,” he said gently. “No one is perfect, but you have done more for House Redoran than you think. You’ve won us several important victories against the Hlaalu and Telvanni. People are starting to speak of our House with respect once more. And as for diplomacy, well… you could hardly be worse than Venim in that regard.”

“I can’t even make speeches! You saw that yesterday!”

He shrugged. “Neither could I at your age. That is something that can be taught.”

“But …” I looked at him helplessly. “Athyn, you do know that I’m a Blade, right?”

Athyn sighed. “My friend, I am an Agent of House Redoran. Did you think I would agree to sponsor you without making enquiries into your background? I have known of your Imperial connections for quite some time now.”

“Then – you mean you…” That was when it hit me. “You were the one who had me followed!”

“I did. I also made various other enquiries, which I doubt you have heard about.” He shook his head. “I hope you will forgive me, but you understand that I must protect my House.”

Suddenly I began to feel like an idiot. Athyn had been a Redoran politician for over 300 years – had I really imagined that he would be naive enough to take everything I said on trust? Yes, I’d done exactly that. What an arrogant little cow I was.

“So how much do you actually know?” I said at last.

“Enough. Not everything, perhaps – but I have learned enough to convince me that you are sincere, whatever your connections may be.” He paused. “I haven’t said anything to the other Councillors, however, and I suggest you don’t either. As I said before, they may not be quite so… understanding.”

I could hardly believe my ears. “And you still want me to be head of your House?!”

“Indeed. I think you will make a good Archmaster, Ada – in time, of course. And I will always be here to advise you, should you need it.”

I stared at him, suspicion slowly dawning on me. This had all worked out very conveniently for him, I thought – he’d wanted rid of Venim, but didn’t want to be Archmaster himself. Could it – could it be that he’d planned this all along?

I was starting to realise just how much I’d underestimated Athyn. He might be gentle, mild-mannered and almost painfully honourable, but he certainly wasn’t stupid. It honestly hadn’t occurred to me till now that he might have had reasons of his own for promoting me through the Redoran ranks so quickly. More fool me, I guess.

“I’m not going to be a puppet, Athyn,” I told him, looking him straight in the eye. “I’m happy to take advice from you, but if I’m going to be Archmaster, I’ll make my own decisions – and you may not like them. Just so you know.”

“Of course,” he said gravely. “I would expect nothing less.”

“Well. Okay then.” There was a pause. “So… I’m Archmaster now? Just like that?

“As I said, you will be formally appointed at the next Council meeting.”

“And am I still Hortator? Or is there no need for that any more?”

Just for a second, a shadow passed over Athyn’s face. “You have done your duty as Hortator,” he said slowly, “but… I fear there are still troubles ahead. For this reason, I believe you should keep your title.”

He went away after that, leaving me to digest the fact that I was now head of House Redoran, the Imperial Legion, the Fighters’ Guild and the Vvardenfell chapter of the Blades. Something was going to have to give, of course, but there’d be time to think about that later.

I wasn’t thrilled at the thought of becoming a professional politician, but somehow the thought didn’t horrify me nearly as much as it would have done a while back. I never thought I’d say this, but I was just getting so tired of having to fight people. Over the past few months I’d been responsible for countless deaths, and none of them really brought me any satisfaction – not even Dagoth Ur’s. After all, in his own mind-bogglingly insane way, he’d believed he was doing the right thing for Morrowind – and from what I’d seen, heard and read of the Tribunal, I could well believe that they actually had murdered Nerevar and left him to take the rap.

Who knew? Perhaps I’d make a good Archmaster. I’d never have thought it, but then I’d never have thought I’d make a good ‘legendary heroine of ancient prophecy’ either. I could never know until I tried.



As soon as I was well enough – and had got my hair trimmed into a slightly more fashionable style – I went out to Bal Isra with the Sarethis to visit my stronghold. It wasn’t finished yet, of course, but I must say that what they’d done so far was pretty impressive. The main building and the others still under construction had been surrounded with high chitin walls, making the place actually look like a stronghold rather than a house plonked down randomly in the middle of nowhere. There was even a lookout tower.

But it was the inside that really took my breath away. Fully furnished, decorated and populated, it was a Redoran manor to rival any of the ones under Skar. It might not be as big or grand as some of the others, but it was mine, and that made it a hundred times better.

“It’s beautiful”, I whispered, my voice choked. “Just… incredible. Thank you so much for this, Athyn.”

He smiled. “In truth, my friend, I had very little to do with it. But it is only fitting that you should have such a reward after all you have done for our House.”

“A beautiful home indeed.” Domesea was admiring the master bedroom, which was furnished with a large double bed and stocked up with food, drink, potions and weaponry. “Perhaps someday soon you will find someone to share it with, sera.”

Behind his parents’ backs, Varvur and I grasped each other’s hands, and shared a secret smile.



Some time later I went back to the Palace of Vivec to receive my congratulations from the God himself – not that he really was a god any more, of course. He’d lost his divine powers with the destruction of the Heart, just like Dagoth Ur. I wondered if he’d have changed in any way, but he was just floating quietly above his plinth, the same as ever.

“The blight is gone, and we have survived,” was the first thing he said to me. “Now we must dedicate ourselves to rebuilding the Temple. And you must dedicate yourself to your responsibilities as Protector of Morrowind.”

“What sort of responsibilities, Lord Vivec?”

“There is much to do,” he said. “You still have Kagrenac’s Tools, potent weapons, and – ”

“Ah. About the tools.” I coughed slightly. “I, er, kind of threw them into the crater of Red Mountain.”

Vivec’s brows shot up. “You… destroyed the tools?” He looked as if he could hardly believe it. “Why?”

“To stop anyone else using them, of course.” I realised that I was being a bit rude. “Forgive me, my Lord, but… would you really want to take the chance of this happening all over again?”

“You must do as you judge best, of course.” There was a long pause. Outwardly he looked as calm as ever, but I got the impression that I’d genuinely shocked him. It was then I realised that he would never have even thought of destroying the tools – any more than Dagoth Ur would.

“And the Temple?” I asked, before the silence got too uncomfortable. “What will you do now that… I mean…”

“We have lost our divine powers,” he finished for me. “But not altogether. Some token of the people’s faith remains, and we shall dedicate it to rebuilding the Temple. Now that Dagoth Ur is gone, we can turn our energies to the more humble needs of the people. It is good, honest work, and I believe there is redemption in it.”

I itched to ask what exactly he wanted ‘redemption’ for, but there wasn’t much point in telling him that I suspected him and Almalexia of killing Nerevar. I didn’t have any proof – and besides, he probably knew anyway.

“As for you,” he went on, “there are many blighted beasts and horrors that have survived, and must be hunted down and destroyed. There are lesser monsters and villains of all kinds who prey upon the people. There are unsolved mysteries, and legendary treasures undiscovered. I’m sure you will find much to occupy you.”

A short while later I was walking back down the steps of the Palace, enjoying the wintry sunlight. It was the 31st of Evening Star. Tomorrow was the festival of New Life, the first day of the new year. It seemed appropriate somehow.

And me? After all that time I’d spent trying to escape Vvardenfell, now I had the chance – and I suddenly found that I didn’t want to. Somehow, so slowly and gradually that I hadn’t even noticed, I had got used to living in Morrowind. It was a part of me now. I had a home, a family, and… well, who knew?

I would still go back to Cyrodiil some day, of course, and track down my family. But not just yet.

Oh, and one other thing. Remember Wulf, the old Legionnaire whose ‘lucky coin’ saved my life? The story had spread, and a day or two ago I’d received an urgent message from Lalatia Varian – a priestess at the Imperial Chapels in Ebonheart – asking me to come and see her. She made me tell the whole story, as well as repeating the spell I’d cast on the mountain, and I could see her excitement growing with every moment.

“It’s as I thought,” she said, when I’d finished my story. “The words of that spell translate as ‘Luck of the Emperor’ in Daedric. I hesitate to suggest it, but I think you have been visited by an aspect of Tiber Septim. Surely this is a sign of a great doom laid upon you by the gods.”

Talos himself? Could it be true? I’m not sure; all I know is that at this point, I’ve seen way too much to be a skeptic. So if you’re ever hanging around Ghostgate and happen to run into an old Legion veteran named Wulf, buy him a drink, and say hi to him from me. You never know when it might bring you luck.


Epilogue

Vvardenfell’s citizens react to the coming of the Nerevarine:

Nibani Maesa (Wise Woman of the Urshilaku)
“It is as my dreams have shown me. The Devil is dead, and the Blight is gone. This is a good time to have lived, and to have seen you with my own eyes.”

Hasphat Antabolis (Fighters’ Guild drillmaster, Balmora)
“Now you are a part of history, Ada. It is an honour to know you. And yet, there is still the mystery: does the hero shape the times, or do the times shape the hero? Perhaps you should write a history book, Ada…”

Sharn gra-Muzgob (Mages’ Guild alchemist, Balmora)
“Very interesting. So you are this Nerevar hero, reborn? Do you remember anything from the life of this Nerevar? Can you think like him? Talk to him? Here, stick out your tongue: can you feel it when I do THIS? I must make a careful examination of you for my... mystical studies.”

Hassour Zainsubani (Ashlander trader, Ald’ruhn)
“Very interesting. At least part of the Nerevarine Prophecies are true – you, Ada, and your deeds are living proof of this. But… are you also the Nerevarine who will drive the foreigners from the land and redeem the false promises of the Great House Dunmer? Very interesting.”

Addhiranirr (Thieves’ Guild operative, Vivec)
“Just like Addhiranirr said... silly superstition. Maybe you got lucky? Maybe this Dagoth, poor old fellow, and tired, so he falls down? All the stories Addhiranirr hears? Make you sound like some kind of hero or something.”

Some final screenshots from the last few chapters:

Fashion victim
Serious Dark Lord style
"Precioussss..."
"All hail Ada, the Incarnate! Nerevar reborn!"

These last two chapters were positively riveting !! I quoted the last two screens, very powerful images after having just read what she went through - to see it (even down to the change in hair) - AWESOME WRITE !!! (not just these last chapters, but the whole account from the beginning). Very powerful ending, leaving the reader feeling some of the experience along with Ada !!!

Thanks mALX! I enjoyed writing those ending chapters, especially the last one. By the way, in case anyone missed it, I've also updated 'The Neveragaine Strikes Back' with a new chapter.

I had started reading it, but stopped because it left me with a huge knowledge gap - wanted to finish this one first before reading the sequel, lol.