Ah, good ol' Caius, worrying about the Nerevarine. I always knew he cared about us. And yeah, Caius never struck me as a "plan" type of guy. I always got the feeling he was more for improvisation.

Figures that Joan would be put off by working with a thief. But maybe her time on Vvardenfell's blunted her to the point she can accept its necessity.

Aw, it's fun to see Joan get excited about the poetry. But dang, Caius did not approve. I suppose duty is a harsh master.

And what's this? Caius is about to let her in on a bit more of what's going on? I can't remember how much he tells the player at this point, but if he starts going into some of the Nerevarine stuff it'll be a lot for Joan to take in.

@SubRosa: I get the feeling this mysterious Main Quest is about to kick in. Thing is, I've gotten enough spoilers over the years (inadvertently while reading old forum posts) to the point that I kind of know some of what's about to come. But since my head is also pretty dain-bramaged, I tend to forget a lot of what I read, which is a GOOD thing. Overall though, I get the sense that there'll be a lot of confusion and mystery, and it all starts with this upcoming chapter.

@Acadian: Morrowind is interesting because dealing with Caius is like following an opposite path, compared to Oblivion & Skyrim's Main Quest, in which we are respectively hailed as Champion, or Dragonborn. 🐉 Of course, Joan could parade around in her Imperial armors, casting Light spells and drawing attention to herself, and there'd be no consequence to this at all. But approaching the story in such a way wouldn't feel right.

The whole 'promotion' thing cracks me up! It's not like she's an overt member of The Blades, receiving accolades in some Grand Hall from some Grand Lord or something, dozens of knights and squires as witnesses. No, she's meeting an aged skooma addict in undercover situations, doing deeds which seem pretty darn shady, at best. "I'm promoting you..." he says. Okay.. but how? Why? ... if nobody else is supposed to know what's going on.

@WellTemperedClavier: Joan has an alignment of Lawful Good, which in Dungeons & Dragons means she's supposed to uphold the law at any cost. In DnD this would translate into her constantly righting wrongs on the spot. But in this case, she's forced to pertain to what she perceives as a greater good. So she can't go off searching for an Ald-ruhn Ordinator screaming "THIEF!!! THIEF!!!" because she's supposed to be following the Emperor's orders for this mysterious mission she's on. Chances are, the Ordinators would simply ignore her warnings, anyway.

That moment when she was trying to explain her thoughts on the books she 'perused' was pretty fun to write. One of those moments when the game does not provide any insight into what our character is thinking, but the story does.

Yes, this next chapter's going to be pretty overwhelming for Joanie. Just you wait.

Chapter XLII -- The Nerevarine Prophecy


"The Emperor and his advisors think you have the appearance of meeting the conditions of the Nerevarine prophecies. That's why you were pulled out of prison on his Majesty's authority, and sent to me."

Joan Marie shook her head, slowly. Unbelieving.

"So you could satisfy the conditions of the Nerevarine prophecies and become the Nerevarine..."

"Become the Nerevarine?"

The elder blade nodded somberly. "Here. This is a decoded copy of the package you gave me when you arrived. Read it later. It should explain everything."

But Joan found herself not satisfied. Perhaps what he was saying was true; perhaps she could read what she'd just been given, and perhaps it would pave what had been quite a few rutted roads within her mind. But the man who could (hopefully) give specific answers to some very specific questions was here, standing before her, right now.

"I... But I do not understand, sire. Why was it decided, to commission me for such lofty title?" She thought for a moment. "Are you thusly arranging that I pretend to play the part..." she gulped, "of the Nerevarine prophet?"

"As you'll see in the decoded message, the Emperor and his counselors say you have the 'appearance'," he said, using his fingers to gesture quotation marks, "of satisfying the conditions of the prophecy."

Joan Marie, newly-realized disciple of Arkay, scratched the nails of her right hand through her hair. Thought back. To the time just before she'd boarded that ship, the schooner which had taken her here to Vvarndenfell. Upon the ship were members of her home chapel; fellow worshippers and acolytes, and even the Chapel of Arkay's deacon. They'd been with her ON the ship when she'd originally boarded, she was sure of it. Yet they weren't around when she'd awakened some time (apparently days) later. The idea had been to travel to Vvardenfell as a group, where holy works would commence. Yet none of them were around to witness her entry into this strange land.

"I'd been called a prisoner," she mused, speaking to herself as though lost in a dream, her eyes glazed and unfocussed. "They had referred to me as such. 'You'd better do what they say'," she recalled that shirtless dark elf, the first person she'd met here in Morrowind, saying. "And I had explained to them that they'd been mistaken. I was not a prisoner! Yet then immediately, I was then set free. So I could locate a mysterious Imperial, an Emperor's Blade by his own admission, who'd been dwelling unobtrusively within a town full of Dunmer."

Had all of that been a ruse? A ruse which would allow her to enter the province of the dark elves and deliver the package without unwanted attention? - Had her fellow chapel brethren also been part of the ruse?

"Do you REALLY satisy the prophecy?" Caius bellowed, nearly causing Joan to jump. "Are you REALLY the prophesied Nerevarine?" The man stepped back, shaking his head, perhaps going through a similar set of thoughts as the demurely-robed maiden before him. "At first, I thought we were just suppopsed to create a persuasive imposter. Now I don't know what to think."

"Nor do I, sire."

"But I am sure of one thing. This is not just primitive superstition, and we will treat it seriously, just as his Majesty commands."

"Ah. So this is all the Emperor's doing," Joan realized. "'Twasn't any of yours." Again, the question: why me?

Caius handed her a pouch. Hearing the way the contents within its fabric clinked and clicked, obviously it was full of coin. He then explained that Sul-Matuul and Nibani Macsa, two Ashlanders who lived in a camp called Urshilaku, were the purported heads of the Nerevarine Cult here in Vvardenfell.

"And you wish for me to suss these two, and speak to them, eh?"

"Tell them your story," Caius rasped. "Have them test you against the Nerevarine Prophecies. As heads of the Nerevarine Cult, they can best judge whether you satisy the prophecies."

Joan of Arkay said nothing. Found herself wondering if Caius knew how ridiculously casual he sounded, as he droned the most sobering set of words she'd ever received within her ears.

"When you've spoken to them, report back to me."

Unbelievable.

"Now, I've given you two-hundred drakes for expenses as you travel across the land," Caius intoned. "Make sure you also head to Fort Moonmoth, where you'll be able to pick up a few essential supplies, scrolls and potions and so on."

Finally, Caius handed her the package she'd originally entered Balmora with. Its contents had been coded when she'd first arrived in town, days and weeks and months ago, but now whatever code had been there was supposedly, presently, unscrambled.

Without blame, Joan experienced a desire to unravel and read what she'd just been given, right then and there. But then, she thought different. Because something was tickling within her throat. Though she had tasted wine long ago in the past, she'd never felt temptation for any sort of alcohol. But this could be one of those rare times. Perhaps it'd be a good idea to go for a drink.

"Does the Eight Plates peddle libations?" she asked Cosades, before her mind could temper the words.

------------------------------------

Notes: Joan has gotten really good with Speech over the past few months, in-game. When she actually does meet these two Nerevarine Cult leader folks, I wonder if she'll need to use her words to convince them of her supposed status. Hmm. What a weird quest.

I liked how Morrowind handled the Chosen One trope. I don't want to spoil anything for you. But it is not as convenient for the Chosen One as it usually is. You might be Chosen in this game, but Fate is not conspiring to make sure you succeed. Not by a longshot. In this game being the Chosen One is less an honor, and more like a doom hanging over your head.

I like her mysterious arrival more and more now. Had her brethern been in on things? Or had they been removed by some divine presence?

If now is not the time for a libation at the public house, I don't know when is! Hopefully Joanie can get used to her new life as not just an Arkayite, but also as the NeverNeverLandVarine.

So now Joan is beginning to realize that she is the chosen one but new questions arise. Chosen by whom, Azura or the Emperor? Are their objectives the same or do they conflict with one and other. I think Joan needs more information. Search the land learn the way of things before committing to action. Choose wisely Joan of Arkay.

Well, I guess that’s one way to tell for sure about this NeverRaven stuff – go get tested in Urshilaku.

I continue to love the delightfully quirky style of writing you use to express Joan’s thoughts. Such as:
’… as he droned the most sobering set of words she'd ever received within her ears.’
and
"Does the Eight Plates peddle libations?"

Yeah, SubRosa, you don't have to tell Joan this. She's already got some of the feelings you speak of. Not doom really, right now she's more confused than pessimistic. Put it this way: she's certainly not anticipating ever being hailed as some sort of champion, as we can expect in Arena, OB, and Skyrim. Rather, it's looking to be sort of the opposite. Like they're telling her to pretend to be some sort of false god.

But this seems to be why Morrowind is considered to be so different from the other Elder Scrolls games, and different from a lot of RPG stories in general. Our 'toon's not some glorified diety, come to save the world for everyone else. Or IS she? Really not sure how it'll play out.

It's a contrast from expecting to save the Emperor from Jagar Tharn's grasp (Arena), or saving Cyrodiil from the minions of Oblivion, for sure. Maybe the reason so many who praise MW's MQ do so because it's different, eh?

Hee hee that's a great web page.



I think they were in on it. Word got passed down from Uriel's people. "Be there when she boards the ship, but don't let her know she'll get to Vvardenfell alone. We'll make it ... worth your while." 🪙 Or perhaps everyone boarded the ship, but Joan got drugged & moved to a different ship. I don't really know. Leaving that open for interpretation!

But the cool thing is: I'm doing this game's MQ totally blind. All that stuff about her chapelmates not being there when she got to MW just happens to fit with the game's actual quest. Didn't expect that it would. Also the fact that Joan actually IS an orphan in her backstory. I didn't write her backstory to fit the game, so that's actually coincidence.




That's the mystery, for sure, Macole, Vampire Hunter. Caius is telling her Uriel himself is the one behind this, but is he really? It just seems so odd. That he'd know about Joan at all.

Joan was literally a nobody back in Cheydinhal. She was a student who'd received some military training, and also she was involved with the Chapel of Arkay back home. But that was all. She hadn't done anything to attract attention to herself beyond that.



Also doing a lot of reading. There's a lot of information in that Decoded Package, along with everything else going on with the MQ in this game.


"Delightfully quirky..." wow, Thanks, Acadian!

A lot of that is automatic writing; literally just open the mind occasionally. Maybe it doesn't work for other writers, but for me there's often some weird combination of words or some phrase, come to me from the universe. Also, you actually taught me to try to write in more of a medieval fashion, long ago when I first joined Chorrol, writing the Saga of Ann Thraxx. So I always filter my TES stories in that fashion, as well.


All: Next couple chapters, I'm going off the rails, folks. A couple of ideas which'll diverge from the story being told by the game. Why? Because it's the Fan Fiction section. As usual, I'm somewhat nervous about this.

It's gotta be a shock to hear this. Joan's entire life has revolved around her faith in the Nine, and now she finds herself a potentially major figure in an entirely different faith!

Despite the shock, she's still thinking. She's putting things together to figure out some of the oddities of her arrival. Yes, there is a lot going on in Vvardenfell. Like Caius himself says, they need to take this seriously even if they don't believe it per se. The Emperor expects this work to be done. And maybe, just maybe, there's something cosmic going on behind the scenes.

I do not blame Joan for wanting a drink after all that. Whew!

And yeah, going off the plot can definitely be a good thing. I'm curious as to where you'll take Joan with this.

Chapter XLIII – The Oracle

Midnight, 4 First Seed (Day 202), Year 428





Turns out, Eight Plates didn’t ‘peddle’ any of the ‘libations’ Joan was familiar with from back home. No Surilies, no Tamika’s, not even any beers or ales. No Nordic mead! Perhaps these sorts of brews could be found in Imperial-established towns, such as Ebonheart or Gnisis. Joan wasn’t sure. She was not in the habit of purchasing or consuming alcohol. The only liquor sold by Dulnea Ralaal (the Plates’ proprietor) from Joan's home province was Cyrodiilic Brandy. But the price? 100 drakes per bottle! -- Way too expensive for somebody who was constantly needing to allocate her funds, while attempting to avoid destitution.

Dulnea suggested shein or matze. Either choice could be had for just 10 drakes. “Matze is brewed from rice, and can be found in other provinces, though probably not Cyrodiil,” she said to the plainly-robed Breton before her, “while shein is more of a localized sort of drink, fermented mostly from comberries.”

Thinking it’d be better to show respect toward the locals, Joan Marie bought a mugful of shein. Had a seat. Took her first sip, savoring its bittersweet taste. And another sip. About halfway toward the mug’s last dregs she realized a sort of warmth had crept within her person, as though she was ready to endure anything coming her way. A certain sort of bravery had infused its way into her blood, perhaps.

“No wonder provincial logic tends to favor these brews for combat,” the crusader mused.

But she also noticed her mind, it had blurred a few notches. As though her intellect wasn’t quite as sharp and alert. As though she’d get lost partway through reading one of her studious tomes, unable to comprehend the last paragraph’s streams of words. It wasn’t fully necessary to possess a lot of smarts here in this dim, dark elf bar of course, but still. This sort of drink, shein, would be bad for spellcasting! -- That is what she surmised, right away. Grasping for mana while out in the world somewhere, while being faced down by a gang of brigands, or a giant, flying monster, needing to heal up on-the-fly while magical essences were dwindling!

No, none of that would ever happen, not so long as Joan Marie of Arkay was at the helm. She smiled, unable to efface such jubilant reaction from her thoughts. Was this the reason drunkards always were in such befuddled moods?

"Inebriation...so this is what it is like to be so," the robed woman at Table Six mumbled.

Still, this combination of brave (yet a little dulled) felt just about perfect for someone who was about to unravel the package which contained a bevy of “decoded” material, material which was sounding as though it could change the course of the rest of her life. Joan hadn’t been ready to pore over whatever contents the Emperor’s package contained a half hour ago, but now she thought maybe she could handle them.

But first, she was distracted by a leaflet made of fine parchment, which had been placed at some point, right there on the table before her.

“A Fashion Guild, right here in Balmora?” She took a final swig of her mug. How unusual.

Distracted, she began reading the leaflet, which seemed mostly an advertizement for those who were concerned about improving their apparel. “Come one, come all,” she read quietly. “Are you Forlorn about your Frumpy Frocks? - Grouchy over your Grumpy Garb? Here at the Fashion Guild of Balmora, we can assist!" She unfolded the leaflet further. "Become the Daring Diva, or play the part of the Torrid Tart you have always desired...Flaunt like a Flooz, Strut as Chic. Make him, or her, your curious about this wonderous Vixen of Vogue who Vaunts the Valley of the Odai like no other.”

Joan laughed, actually caught herself in mid-chuckle, before regaining her usual modium of personal manners. Irrationality, be damned. But still... this was the perfect thing to take her mind off her troubles; for she sensed that indeed there would be some things of concern on her immediate horizon. … Nerevarine, ME? … Bah.

She glanced down at the well-worn tan robes she'd bought earlier in the day. This new attire of hers was preowned, purchased from the pawnbroker here in town for just two drakes. She wondered what would happen if she showed up to this Guild of Fashion, wearing such downtrodden apparel. Wondered what sort of requirements its purveyors might ask of prospective new guildmates. The Fighters Guild, for instance, wanted able-bodied, strong individuals, gifted in the arts of most kinds of weaponry. What would the Fashion Guild seeketh? Hmm. Probably a devotion toward Dibella, if any religion was involved. Probably some sort of background in the arts of sewing and cloth-making. If she were a seamstress for instance, that would be something boast about.

“Greetings, Breton.”

It was at this very moment when Joan realized a woman, a Dunmer wearing green, had seated herself on the chair across from her table.

“I can see your countenance is distraught,” said the woman as she pulled back the veil draped across her face. “Perhaps I can help.”

Distraught? - Joan lifted her mug, surprised (maybe a little saddened) to discover she was all out of shein. “Help? In which way?” Not that she’d planned on getting smashed on the brew like some decadent debauchee slated for the gutter, but the crusader realized it wouldn’t hurt to order at least one more mug.

“I am a seer. An oracle, if you will,” said the Dunmer. “Aradirr is my name. I can portend and predict thy future, Breton.”

“Joan. Of Cyrodiil," Joan Marie answered. "And nay. Am afraid I haven’t got interest in that sort of thing." ...And I do not as of now, she thought, need yet another mysterious savant, come to inform me about the praises of the Red Volcano. Several of these folks, these so-called savants, had approached Joan over the last few weeks, walking toward her from the shadows at times, divulging bits of information which made little sense. Initially she’d been interested in what these shady sorts had to say. But mostly, all they’d spouted so far tended toward nonsense.

“No worries, my dear,” said Aradirr. “You’re probably getting all sorts of strange natives, striving toward you at all hours of the night, eh?” It was as though the woman had just read Joan’s thoughts. “Well I promise I am not one of them. For just seven drakes, I can … enlighten your soon-to-be path. Which I sense contains quite a bit of consternation, as I am skilled toward scrying thy aura with accuracy. Not to brag.”

Joan's head was a tad swimmy from the drink she’d imbibed. Perhaps it was this which caused her to answer the woman's request affirmatively.

“Well, alright. Aye,” Joan replied. "Seven drakes?" Joan currently had several hundred stashed away in a Fighters Guild chest. “Aye. Why not take us a glance, then?”

Aradirr the Oracle appeared to be at ease. Relaxed. Scented of cinnamon, perhaps. It was nice to have someone pleasant to talk to, Joan quickly opined. Over the past few months, she'd been practicing her speaking abilities, gabbing frequently with complete strangers. So why not allow the woman to glean whatever sort of future there was to glean?

To know one's future, one must presuppose knowledge of his or her past, as well. So let us begin there. If Aradirr the Oracle got anything wrong, Joan would certainly call her upon it.

“You may pay me when I’m done,” said the seer. “Here, let us locate to one of the Eight Plates' quieter corners.”


-------------------------------------

Notes: 1). Shein enhances Endurance yet drains Intelligence, hence the effects Joan experienced above. 😊

2). 'Tis true, WellTemperedClavier, about faiths colliding. Good thing Joan is young (she just turned 19 recently, in the month of Morning Star). If she were some older veteran who'd become more set in her ways, keeping an open mind might be much harder.

The main thing about your participation as a reader of The Saga of Joan of Arkay, WTC, is that you've already done Morrowind's Main Quest! So you must be biting your tongue at everything which is to come.

We wait with baited breath to see how this wondrous Vixen of Vogue who Vaunts the Valley of the Odai overcomes the ordeal of Vvardenfell.

Next time I’m in Balmora I’m going to have to stop by the Fashion Guild. There are some Daring Divas, Torrid Tarts, and Flaunting Floozies back home that are aching to Strut their stuff in Chic attire.

The Eight Plates is seriously lacking in the libating department. As Homer would say, no TV and no beer make him something something...

Well at least they have Matze and Shein for people who aren't billionaires. It looks like Joanie is getting fortified with some Dutch Dunmer Courage.

The Fashion Guild! Somehow I don't think Joan of Arkay is going to be glowing up with the latest styles, given that she usually goes barefoot.

Oh, its a fortune teller. Let's see where this leads.

Sitting in a tavern with a mug of shein is certainly something different for Joan, and I enjoyed her observations about the foreign experience. Absolutely loved the nod to the Fashion Guild of Balmora! Hmm, a savant to mayhaps discern something about this Nevarian stuff.

You know, if someone had informed me that I was going to be taking the role of a long-prophesied hero for a religion I didn't even believe in, I'd probably get some drinks too. It's a very relatable action on Joan's part. Though yeah, as she finds out, Eight Plates isn't the best place to do it.

I also liked the way you tied in alcohol's in-game effects. Fits very well with the tone of the story.

And great Fashion Guild cameo, here! Still spreading the news on the best things to wear. It was very fun to read that.

Okay, I'm not sure how much I trust Aradirr here. Hope Joan's drinking hasn't fogged her brain too much, since I'm not yet sure Aradirr will be truthful. Though in Morrowind, who is? Hope Aradirr isn't a Sixth House agent...

@Vampire Hunter -- Whoever would've thought you too can enter this torrid world of the Fashion Guild! Just so you know, I derived that segue from WellTemperedClavier's Outlanders story, which has a Fashion Guild being built from the ground up.

Yeah, that's true @Florens, about there being a lack of alcoholic choice from our Earthly point of view. 🍷 Whadoya mean you ain't got no beer?

Although Joan's not joining the Guild of Fashion, I imagine she wouldn't last more than five seconds within their doors. With Morrowind's guilds having strict requirements for joining, and all. Good thing she's already way too busy with guilds and quests as it is.

Thanks much, @Paladin. As I game with her seven years later in Elder Scrolls IV: Cyrodiil, Joan does occasionally drink. Usually Surilies or Tamika's and often the cheaper vintages, as she's often broke (or headed that way) in that game, too. 🍷 But the thing is, Joan never 'drinks 'n' delves'. It's always an after-campaign treat for her, and usually in the comfort of some tavern, or in her home: Battlehorn Castle. 🏰

Yes, the Fashion Guild... couldn't resist throwing Quinn Morgendorffer's brainchild into the story.

Thanks, I appreciate it, @Clavier. Indeed, I considered the effects of each 'libation' offered by the Plates, selecting the one which 1). Wasn't too expensive, and 2). wasn't too complicated to write into the story with its effects, and 3). resulted in whatever she'd need to assist her get through this odd moment Caius and the Emperor (supposedly) have thrust upon her.

Aradirr is purely someone I added in. 🧙 She doesn't exist within the gameworld, although she certainly could. But this is what I meant by "I'm going off the rails". All of this is pure imagination, not backed by any in-game events or quests.

Alright next chapter... gosh I hope I can finish it this morning. It's raining really hard outside right now. I got up at 5:18 AM just when all the birds began chirping in our neighborhood. There was some weird 'bird' making weird sounds which freaked me out (turns out it was a young raccoon, running around our back yard). 🦝 All of this added some magic of what's to come.

Chapter XLIV – Consulting the Cards

—------------------------

Aradirr led Joan to a quiet table, to one of the far corners of the Eight Plates. Which was fine with Joan. Because whatever she had just agreed to, it’d been a hasty, spontaneous decision; partially caused by the fact that she was partially inebriated. If Aradirr had suggested they leave the tavern to go to some hovel over in Labor Town, for instance, that would’ve culled an immediate “sorry, but no,” from the crusader.

“Have you ever heard of Omen cards?” Aradirr asked.

“Hmm.” Omen cards. The term was familiar to Joan. Probably something she’d read in one of her scholarly tomes as a student. But to keep her answer simple she said, “Cannot say I’ve heard of Omen cards, no.”

“So, here we are. Here is my deck.” The oracle opened a book-sized ornate box made of wood, reached into it and brought out a dark-colored cloth. And inside the cloth was indeed a deck of cards. “Well, these are not Omen cards, but they are similar, I suppose. Both sorts of decks can be used as tools of divination."

“I see.” Joan had ordered a second mugful of shein a couple minutes earlier, which was delivered to their table by a young knave.

Aradirr fanned the cards, placing them face up upon the table’s surface so Joan could take them in for a moment. “Have a quick glance upon these.”

Joan could see each card had what looked to be its very own picture, each one painted with striking colors and images. But there were a lot of cards, and at the moment, each one partially covered the next. At the very end of the fanned-out pile lay a card called THE WORLD, which featured a disrobed woman bearing what looked to be a wand in each hand. The woman was centered within what looked to be a circular bough, a wreath made of green leaves.

Joan was fascinated. Out of curiosity, her hand moved towards Aradirr’s deck.

“Oh heh heh, sorry. You may not touch them until I say.”

“Mm. Right.” Joan looked cautiously around at other patrons across the floor. Sitting at tables, conversing amongst themselves. Nobody seemed to be watching Joan and Aradirr. Nobody seemed to notice the veiled, green-frocked Dunmer at Table Twelve, or the Breton wearing shoddy robes sitting across from her. Joan took a sip from her new mug of shein.

“Now, focus on something within your mind, whether this is a question, or a notion, a fixation, or an ideal. Do not reveal to me what it is you are pondering, Joan.”

“Sure. Fair enough, I suppose.” According to Caius, she was not supposed to blab any of this Nerevarine fodder to anyone, anyhow.

“Aye. Keep whatever it is you are considering to yourself. I needn’t know your thoughts.”

This was an easy endeavor for Joan of Arkay, since her mind had been centered upon one exact thing over the past hour or so, until being sidetracked by that silly Fashion Guild pamphlet. “Alright.”

“Now, pick up the cards, and shuffle them.” – When Joan balked at these instructions (she’d apparently never shuffled a deck of cards before) Aradirr the Oracle quickly taught Joan the Crusader how to handle them. “As you shuffle the cards back and forth from hand to hand, keep whatever thoughts you’ve pondered in mind. Focus upon them, dear.”

Joan did exactly this, while clumsily shuffling Aradirr’s deck.

“Splendid. Place the cards upon the table, when you feel thy query has been resolved.”

This caused Joan to stop the awkward, arrhythmic motions of her fingers and hands. “How shall it be known, this .. resolve, as you put it?”

“That, I cannot answer,” Aradirr’s face went momentarily grim. “This is something, well … you just sort of ‘know’, as the moment commences.”

Fine. “Fair enough.” Joan gave the deck another couple of clumsy shufflings before placing the full deck face-down upon the table.

“Now, with thy recessive hand, that is, the hand which is not the one chosen for scribing, cut the deck twice and to thy left.”

Again, the phrase ‘cut the deck’ was a new one for Joan, which meant the oracle had to attempt to physically show the woman wearing the tattered, two-drake-costing robes what she meant. Thing is, she had to do so without actually touching the deck. Apparently, whoever touched the cards last imbued them with whatever personal essence was unseen throughout his or her persona.

Joan cut the deck of cards with her left hand, twice, and to her left.

“Splendid!” Aradirr smiled broadly, her blue cheeks dimpled with satisfaction. She picked up the deck and selected its very top card, which she placed face-down upon the table. She followed this card with six more, all of which were placed face-down.

“This is called the Horseshoe spread, Joan. As you may notice, the cards have been arranged in the shape of a horse's shoe.”

Indeed, the cards had been spaced upon the table like an upside-down U from Joan’s perspective, with the U’s zenith pointing away from her.

“And now, I shall reveal the very first card, which represents past events.”

Aradirr turned the card which was on Joan’s bottom-left so that it was face-up. “This is the Six of Coins. As mentioned, it portrays whatever happened within the past, which has led to whatever current situation has commenced, Joan. As can be seen, we've got what looks to be somebody who is well-endowed with money, a well-dressed merchant or a land baron perhaps, who is giving away to those in need. In the giver's left hand are a set of scales, which represent fair-mindedness. Weighing of options and such.

"Now, one might assume that it is you who has been in need, judging by the robes you're currently donned within." Aradirr seemed to select these final words carefully, not wanting to possibly offend. "However, your accent is cultured, Joan. I have gathered you are a Heartlander. And obviously educated, by the words you choose and the sentence structures you use. And my feeling is that you are not currently destitute. And not truly in need. That is is you who has in fact been both the giver and the receiver of material possessions. The scales in the merchant's left hand clearly portray this--that you have settled upon fair-minded approach. Considering, and thoughtful behavior. Not rash. Not impulsive or greedy. In any event, a solid background of philanthropy. Alms dispensed most fairly, resulting in a series of material needs met."

Joan, unsure what to say, said exactly nothing. Her new mugful of shein had barely been sipped. But what struck were some of the words Aradirr had chosen: not currently destitute, and a solid background of philanthropy. Though she did not reveal anything of her past to the Dunmer, Joan's upbringing as an orphan who'd been raised under the tutelage of Cheydinhal's Chapel of Arkay was certainly telling. She certainly had been in need at some point, long ago in her past, when whomever her mother was had abandoned her on the chapel's steps.

Still, the Cyrodiilian had doubts. Where exactly was all of this going?

"Next we have Queen of Cups, which represents thy immediate present, current situation. As can be seen, here we have a queen in flowing robes, sitting upon her throne, staring intently into what looks to be quite a decorative cup. More like a chalice than a cup, in fact.

"Seems this woman could be you, Joan of Cyrodiil. As cups signify the vessels which often contain water, and water is the symbol for emotion, here we have you, a queen of her domain, who is presently immersed with emotional concerns." Aradirr paused. "Not that you are a queen yourself, per se. Rather, when queens show during a reading, they signify someone who is confidently an adult. Who has outgrown her girlish pursuits, and is now focusing upon what it means to be in command of her life."

"Alright." Hmm.

"Next card represents your immediate future," Aradirr continued. "And here we have The World." It was the very first card Joan had glanced when the elf fanned the deck face-up minutes ago. "Frankly, I can tell you upfront that here we have one of the most positive cards in the deck.

"When it shows, The World signifies some sort of completion, some sort of outcome which is grand, and final. That, in fact, you shall enter what is to become, in fact, a brand-new world for you. Not that you are about to embark toward Akavir or Black Marsh; The World, as all the Major Arcana cards, is more concerned with an inner state of mind. A new cognitive phase of life. Those who have seen The World as a future card have often returned to me with news of great things, great changes in their lives, usually for the better."

"Well, I must admit this is a good omen," Joan observed. "At least it is not seen that I am about to perish as I journey about..."

"Oh no," Aradirr interrupted. "That is one thing these cards cannot do, Joan. In fact, that is quite a fallacy some irresponsible seers burden their consultees with. They cannot predict whether one shall die, or not die. Rather, the cards can only predict if what shall occur if he or she continues upon his or her present path. Understand?"

Not really, Joan of Cyrodiil thought. But then, "surely," she answered.

"Would you like to continue to see what the next four cards reveal?"

Despite her doubts, Joan decided she would.


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I did a real-life Tarot reading to write this chapter. I understand not everyone believes in this sort of stuff. My experience has been that we divine whatever it is we believe can assist us through life.

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Notes: 1). Though Tarot cards are not canon, Elder Scrolls lore does support what are known as Omen Cards, as stated in the article just linked.

Supposedly one of the methods of summoning Omens used by the Supernal Dreamers involved the usage of the Omen Cards. The ornate set of cards was believed to provide aid in calling forth those Daedric spirits.[2]

It’s not too much of a stretch to imagine something similar to our Tarot could possibly exist in Tamriel.

2). I use the Rider-Waite deck, which is the most generic Tarot deck of cards, I suppose. Rider-Waite is (or was) immensely popular. It was originally drawn up during the 1800s, when seances and mysticsm and other such occult phenomena were suddenly in vogue. Aleister Crowley, the Golden Dawn, and so on. I've got several other decks, including a native American deck and so on. But Rider's got the symbolism I can really glean answers and draw inspirations from.

This post has been edited by Renee: Jul 1 2023, 06:39 PM

Whew! I thought the Queen of Cups card coming up meant that Joan was going to become a shein lush.
Okay, just kidding.

Knowing nothing about such readings, I found this episode really interesting. So far things look good for Joan, and I look forward to learning what the remaining cards reveal.

Cool, some Tarot. Deal me in!

Now I am wondering, will this reading be about Joan being the Neveraraine, or about the Fashion Club?

Now I am imagining someone telling Conan to cut the deck, and him pulling out his sword and actually slicing the cards in half!

Neat card reading so far, and quite appropriate to Joan,though possibly the Fashion Club as well. I don't know this layout. I am more familiar with the Celtic Cross. But the Hermit kind of makes me think of Caius. The Three of Swords does not look good. Neither does Temperance reversed. Looks like heartbreak and a bender, as if Joan is about to become a Country music song. Though the Hanged Man does imply that she will indeed hang in there, in spite of her suffering, and perhaps even make it all look easy.

Given how grounded in the game this story is, it would make sense to think about the specific effects of the various drinks. It's a lot to keep track of, but adds to the vibe of the story.

Funny how rain is so good at conjuring a magical feeling. It certainly fits with this chapter. Funnily enough, I actually got my very first Tarot reading from a friend a few months ago (the advice boiled down to "trust your judgment"), so it's nice to see these Omen cards as well.

And yes, Joan is going to be entering a whole new world. She already has, really; Morrowind's a universe unto itself, practically. But she'll soon be going even deeper than the Dunmer will normally go, and completely change everything about the place. It's going to be wild ride. But I think she's just about ready.

Ha ha ha!

She does drink wine in Oblivion. Not the best (no Year 399 vintages) and not the Cheapest Wine, but somewhere in between. 🍷 Like, whatever current Tamika's or Surilies is on the shelves, the inexpensive stuff. Never while delving, she only drinks if she's been in safe civilization for a while. So it's nice to know where this habit began.



Awesome! Yeah, the cards tell an interesting story, for sure.




Ha ha ha! Fashion Club, of course. She needs some Devious Duds to become a Vogueing Vixen.



The Horseshoe is a beginner's layout, sometimes I'll do the Celtic Cross as well. Back in the day I'd usually start with the Horseshoe, and if the reading required more info I'd do the Celtic Cross. ✝ There's also the Three Faces of Time, which lives up to its name because it takes a lot of time.


Ah, hadn't thought of Caius. Well, I'm doing this card reading but then filtering it through what Aradirr might say. So therefore she's not going to know of Caius. She came up with a different interpretation.

Yeah... Three of Swords... thing is, it's in reverse (upside-down). Some card readers don't consider upside-down cards but I always have. Anyway, getting ahead of myself here, but since 3 of Swords is reversed, it's not quite as heartbreaking.









Wow, really! That's really great! See, now I'm curious.

I began reading cards in high school probably, maybe college. Back in the day I even worked at the Tarot Card Hotline (this was a 1-800 number, pre-internet, of couse. People would call from all over the country). Didn't work there for long, though. Too impersonal doing that sort of thing over the phone.



You are very right, my piano-playing buddy. I'm currently 3 stories ahead of what you're about to read, the "even deeper" part is especially hitting home. Because the thing is, I've been sort of questioning how a Breton could get involved with such a serious foretelling. But it's actually playing out just perfectly, and unexpectedly.

Let's see what happens next.