The Neveragaine, A Morrowind fanfic Options

[Helena]

Chapter 1: I Don’t Want To Go To Morrowind

It was a weird dream, I tell you that. I mean, I’ve had some strange dreams before, but this one was truly bizarre. Images flashed across my mind in a never-ending reel: fire, storms, a barren landscape, water droplets splashing into a pond... and scrolls covered in Daedric writing, which I don’t even understand. I must have eaten some really bad food the night before.

A woman’s voice was speaking. “They have taken you from the Imperial City’s prison, first by carriage, and now by boat. To the East, to Morrowind.”

“Morrowind?” I squeaked. “I don’t want to go to Morrowind!”

“Fear not,” she reassured me. “For I am watchful. You have been chosen.”

“Chosen for what?” I asked plaintively. “And does it really have to be Morrowind? I mean, how about Valenwood? I always wanted to go to Valenwood.”

I have no idea why I thought I could reason with the mysterious dream-lady, but I guess you don’t tend to think all that rationally when you’re dreaming. It didn’t matter in any case, because at that very moment I was woken up by someone roughly shaking my shoulder.

“Wake up!” It was a hoarse, throaty voice, suggestive of a bad cold. “Wake up! We’re here.”

I opened my eyes to see a male figure, naked from the waist up, staring down at me. He had grey-green skin, red eyes, and huge, sharply-pointed ears – each studded with several earrings – not to mention a vicious-looking scar running down one side of his face. A Dunmer, I thought. Well, that explained the scratchy voice.

He looked concerned. “Why are you shaking? Are you okay?”

“I… guess,” I said weakly, trying to sit up. The back of my head hurt; I must have banged it against a packing crate. “Er… bad dreams.”

He nodded. “Yes, you were dreaming. What’s your name?”

“Um… Ada. Ada Ventura.” I was still half-asleep, my head full of sandstorms and creepy disembodied voices, but I vaguely remembered my companion telling one of the guards that his name was Jiub.

“Even last night’s storm couldn’t wake you.” He leaned a little closer as I swung my legs off the makeshift bunk, rubbing my eyes. “I heard them say we’ve reached Morrowind. I’m sure they’ll let us go.”

My head jerked up. “Morrowind? I don’t want to go to Morrowind!”

“I know,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You were saying.”

It was all right for him, I thought resentfully. He was a Dark Elf; Morrowind was his home. For me, it was different.

It’s not that I have a problem with Dark Elves in general. I’d got on fine with the more cosmopolitan Dunmer I’d met in Cyrodiil, but if there was one thing they’d all made clear to me, it was that Morrowind really didn’t welcome foreign visitors. Or, as one particularly gloomy fellow summed it up: “We don’t like outlanders.” ‘Outlanders’ it transpired, meant anyone born and raised outside of Morrowind – even other Dunmer. In fact, especially other Dunmer.

Why was I being sent to Morrowind, of all places? It wasn’t Imperial policy to deport convicts to the provinces, as far as I knew. Maybe the jails were getting too full?

Footsteps creaked on the ramp leading to the middle deck, and Jiub hastily drew back. “Quiet! Here comes the guard.”

I heard the jangle of keys as the guard, a fellow Imperial, strolled towards us. He gave me a curt nod as he approached, ignoring Jiub completely. “This is where you get off. Come with me.”

I hauled myself to my feet and obediently followed, wishing my legs didn’t ache so much. Several days cooped up a creaky old carriage, followed by the hold of a prison ship, had left me with a rather severe cramp. I couldn’t wait to get out of here and stretch my legs properly for the first time in days.

They hadn’t actually treated me that badly in the prison. I’d had adequate food and exercise, and I hadn’t been beaten or ill-treated (though the third time I tried to escape, the long-suffering guard captain told me that if it ever happened again, he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions). They’d even given me paper and a quill when I begged hard enough, probably hoping that it would keep me out of trouble. I’d used it to start a journal, which was pretty much the only thing that had kept me sane during my long stay in that tiny, windowless cell.

I clutched it against me as we entered the middle deck, praying that it wouldn’t be taken away. Okay, so it contained absolutely nothing of interest (I’d been in prison, for crying out loud), but it was almost the only possession I had, apart from the ratty old clothes I stood up in and a few small trinkets. Luckily, the guard didn’t even seem to notice.

Over by the next set of steps, he turned to me and fixed me with his best “you’re a disgrace to my people” glare. I scowled back at him. “I’m innocent, you know.”

“They all are,” he said with a sigh. “Now, get yourself up on deck, and let’s keep this as civil as possible.”

I couldn’t wait to get up on deck. I practically ran at the trapdoor, shoved it open, and drank in huge gulps of fresh, salty air, blinking in the early morning sunlight. Hauling myself up on to the deck, I squeezed my eyes shut and prepared to look on my new home of Morrowind for the first time ever.

I drew another deep, heady breath, and opened my eyes. And stared.

From the descriptions my Dunmer friends had given me, I had somehow envisioned Morrowind as an endless wasteland of rocks, lava valleys, and ash storms. But the landscape that stretched out before me was lush and green, with gentle waves lapping against a grassy shore. A village of quaint little huts surrounded the docks, and off in the distance I could see some kind of tower – a lighthouse, probably – surrounded by tall plane trees. It was, to my amazement, quite beautiful.

The soldier standing beside me, a Redguard, grinned at the look on my face. “This is where they want you. Head down to the dock and they'll show you to the Census Office.” He sounded a lot more friendly than the other guards on the ship.

I stumbled down the gangplank to be met by another guard, this one in full Imperial uniform. “You finally arrived!” he exclaimed, as if he’d been waiting all his life for this moment. “But our records don’t show from where.”

I gathered my thoughts. “Er, Ada Ventura, of Imperial City. Temple District,” I added, in case it was important. Though in actual fact, I’d barely set foot in the Temple District in several years.

“Great! I’m sure you’ll fit right in.” Wow, this guy was almost scarily friendly. “Follow me up to the office, and they’ll finish your release.”

I entered the census office, where I was met by an elderly-looking man who I presumed to be a clerk. “Ah yes,” he said briskly, “we’ve been expecting you. You’ll have to be officially recorded before you’re released. Now, just a few formalities…” He took up a sheaf of papers from his desk. “Your class, please?”

“My… class?” I repeated, slightly confused. “You mean my trade? Well… I don’t really have one as such.” The truth was, I’d never really studied for a trade. I’d just travelled around, learning whatever I thought was useful.

He sighed, and shoved the papers into my hands. “Here. Fill in the forms yourself.”

I sat down at the desk and began to note down everything I could think of that I was any good at. It was a bit of a mixed bag; while most of my skills were combat-related (blades, light and heavy armour, armour repair), I’d also learned to pick locks and disarm traps (useful in a tight spot) and to bargain for a good deal with merchants. Magic was a different matter; to be honest, I’d never really had much of a talent for it. The only discipline I’d studied in any detail was Restoration, and even then, all I could remember after five years was a single healing spell which I couldn’t even cast properly half the time.

“Here,” I said at last, handing him back the forms. I couldn’t really think of a good name for my lack-of-profession, so in the end I’d just put ‘mercenary’, which was pretty much accurate.

“Very good. Now, the letter which preceded you mentioned that you were born under a certain sign… which would be?”

Was this really necessary? I suppressed a sigh. “The Lady. Twenty-first of Heartfire, 3E 404.”

“Interesting,” he murmured. “Now, just make sure this information is correct before I stamp the papers…”

I checked through the information, noting the date on the papers as I did so: 16th of Last Seed. I’d been in prison for over a year.

Once I’d finished, the clerk stamped the papers with the Imperial seal, and it seemed that I was good to go. “Show your papers to the Captain when you go to get your release fee,” he said with a smile.

I walked out into a small hallway, which contained a bookcase and a table with a half-finished meal on it. My stomach rumbled at the sight of the bread and meat – they’d only given us one meal a day on board the ship – but I didn’t want to take anything in case someone caught me. The last thing I needed was to be thrown back in jail for stealing on my first day of freedom.

The door at the end of the hallway led me out through an enclosed courtyard and into another office, where a man in a gleaming suit of Imperial Templar armour was sitting at a desk. This, I presumed, was the Captain I was supposed to report to.

“Er… Captain?” I said, holding out the papers. “I’m Ada, the prisoner who was just released. I was told to give these to you.”

“Ah, yes. Word of your arrival only reached me yesterday.” He looked slightly harassed. “Still, no matter. I’m Sellus Gravius, and I’m here to welcome you to Morrowind.”

“Pleased to meet you.” I wasn’t sure what else to say.

“I don’t know why you’re here,” he continued. “Or why you were released from prison and shipped here. But your authorization comes directly from Emperor Uriel Septim VII himself.”

I stared at him, wondering if I’d heard correctly. “What?”

“From the Emperor,” he repeated.

“The… Emperor?”

“Yes, the Emperor. Uriel Septim is still Emperor.” He gave me a rather strange look. “You do remember that, don’t you?”

Well, naturally I did. Uriel Septim had been Emperor several decades longer than I’d been alive. “Of course I do,” I snapped, then realised that it probably wasn’t a good idea to piss off the guy in charge of my release. “But… why?”

“Damned if I know,” he said bluntly. “But that's the way the Empire works. Silence. Secrecy. Let not the left hand know what the right hand is doing.”

I nodded slowly, still unable to take in what I’d just heard. Why the heck would the Emperor be personally ordering my release? He didn’t concern himself with people like me. Maybe there’d been a mistake, and the guy who was really supposed to be released had been dragged off to a salt mine somewhere.

“Anyway,” Gravius continued, “this package came with news of your arrival.” He handed me a small package. “You are to take it to Caius Cosades, in the town of Balmora. I also have a letter for you, and a disbursal to your name.”

He handed over an official-looking document and an oilskin pouch containing a handful of gold coins – just under a hundred septims’ worth, in my estimation. Suddenly I felt a lot more kindly disposed towards him. I was still thoroughly confused, but I certainly wasn’t about to turn down some desperately-needed cash.

“Right,” I said, pulling myself together. “Just let me write this down… where can I find this Cosades guy, by the way?”

“Take the silt strider to Balmora, then go to the South Wall Cornerclub and ask for Caius Cosades. They'll know where to find him.” He fixed me with a stern glare. “Serve him as you would serve the Emperor himself.”

I nodded and scribbled down the instructions in my journal, wondering what exactly a ‘silt strider’ could be. “Okay, thanks. I’ll do my best.”

“Goodbye,” he said with a faint smile, “and good luck.”

I hesitated for a moment before the door leading out into the village, then pushed it open. Bright sunlight streamed into the room, and I felt a sudden giddy rush of joy. Freedom! OK, so I was alone, friendless and nearly penniless in a foreign country with nowhere to stay and no possessions, but still… freedom! Freeeeeedom!

I looked around me, still struggling to adjust to the bright light after all those months in a dingy cell. Rather to my surprise, the first person I saw was not a Dunmer but a Bosmer – a Wood Elf, as we call them back West. Wood Elves aren’t my favourite people in general, but right now I was so happy to be free that I could almost have hugged him. I settled for a nod and a cheery “Good morning!”

“Greetings, Cyrodiil!” he said, in that high, squeaky voice that grates on your nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard. “Welcome to Seyda Neen! Are you the one the boat dropped off? Hope the Imperials treated you okay. I swear they took my ring.”

“Your ring?” I said, confused.

“I swear one of the Guards has it. I had it last week before their weekly ‘Let's shake down Fargoth’ ritual.” Fargoth, I gathered, was his name. “An engraved healing ring, family heirloom of mine. You haven't seen it, have you?”

“No,” I said. His face fell. “But I could look for it if you like,” I added, yielding to a generous impulse.

“Oh, thank you!” he exclaimed, brightening up. “Of course, you’re an Imperial, they won’t suspect you.”

I wasn’t quite so sure about that, but I turned around and headed back into the office I’d just left. The Captain, still writing at his desk, seemed more than a little surprised to see me back so soon. “Can I help you, citizen?” he asked, with a slight frown.

“Hi there,” I said, trying to sound casual. “I seem to have dropped my, er… comb… somewhere in here. I don’t suppose you’ve seen it, have you?”

He gave me another of those slightly bemused looks. “No, I haven’t seen it.”

“Okay, never mind. I’ll just have a quick look for it, then,” I said, and slipped through the other door before he could ask any more questions.

I returned to the census office where the clerk had taken my details, and had a quick hunt around for Fargoth’s ring. No one interrupted me to ask what I was doing, but it made no difference, as the ring was nowhere to be found. I even checked the cellar downstairs, but all I found were a few barrels of provisions, none of which looked particularly appetising.

Heading back into the courtyard, I was on the point of giving up when I noticed an ordinary-looking barrel standing close to the door. On impulse, I lifted the lid and peered at the contents. It appeared to function as a refuse bin, and was full of rotten food and broken crockery, but I could see something glinting near the bottom.

I reached into the barrel and pulled out… an engraved ring, enchanted with a minor healing spell. Success!

Damn, and it was a nice ring, as well. I could have done with a ring like that, especially in my current situation. I have to admit, I was sorely tempted to keep it for myself and tell Fargoth that I couldn’t find it.

I went back into the office, where the Captain was waiting. “Found it!” I said cheerfully, holding up my comb (which of course I’d had all along). “I’d just dropped it out there in the yard. Anyway, best be going.”

Fargoth greeted me excitedly as I left the office. “Have you looked for my ring, outlander? Did you find it?”

I looked into his eager little face, and I just couldn’t bring myself to lie to him. Besides, whatever else I might have done, I wasn’t a thief. “Yes, I found it,” I said, suppressing a sigh. “Here it is.”

“Oh, thank you!” he gasped, and before I could react he had flung his arms around me. “Thank you, thank you! You are now my favourite friend!”

“Er, no problem,” I said, a little overwhelmed by this display of gratitude. “I’m Ada, by the way.”

“Ada,” he repeated. “I’ll remember that. I’ll be sure to tell everyone, especially my friend Arrille who runs the tradehouse here. Go see him, he’ll be happy to see you now!”

He scampered off, leaving me feeling slightly stunned. Oh well, if he put in a good word for me with the local trader, that couldn’t hurt.

Right, I thought, time to get some food. And before I went anywhere at all, I needed a weapon and some proper armour. Caius Cosades and his packages could wait.

I took the opportunity to observe Seyda Neen more closely as I walked up to the tradehouse. It was a tiny settlement, more a hamlet than a village, set in what appeared to be the middle of a swamp. Apart from the census office, the tradehouse, and another warehouse of some kind, there didn’t appear to be any buildings of interest.

The population was a mixed bag, which I suppose is unsurprising for a port settlement. Besides the Dunmer and Imperial guards, there were several other humans around the place, and I even spotted a High Elf woman emerging from one of the houses. Several Dark Elf citizens nodded to me as I passed, showing none of the hostility that the Morrowind Dunmer were supposedly famous for. “Good day to you, Cyrodiil.”

I was a little surprised to be so quickly recognised as Imperial, as I don’t really look like a typical Cyrodiil. Women of my race tend towards the short, dark and curvy, whereas I’m above average height, with a build that can only be described as ‘wiry’. My skin is pale, with a tendency to burn when I stay out in the sun too long, and my hair a colour that I like to call ‘bright copper’ and everyone else describes as ‘ginger’. Fellow Imperials often ask if I have Nord blood in me – but I guess that to the Dunmer, our distinguishing features must be as obvious as their ash-grey skin and red eyes are to us.

The trader Arrille, another High Elf, looked me over critically as I entered the inn. I felt the back of my neck itch slightly. I’ve always had a slight inferiority complex around Altmer – deliberately or not, they somehow invariably manage to give the impression that they’re looking down on you. (It doesn’t help that they literally are, as most of them stand six inches taller than your average human.)

“Ah, you must be Fargoth’s friend!” he exclaimed, as I approached. “Welcome to Arrille’s Tradehouse. I’m Arille, publican and proprietor. Would you like to hear about our most popular potions, or our most popular scrolls?”

I leaned over the counter. “Do you have any… weapons?”

I bought an iron longsword and shield at a cost of around seventy drakes (the local term for what we call ‘septims’, apparently), regretfully passing over a rather snazzy green robe. Yes, I admit it: I love fine clothes. I wear armour most of the time, but if it didn’t get in the way of fighting, I’d quite happily run around dressed in silks and satins as the mages do. (No need for practical clothing when you can just blast enemies with a fireball spell from twenty feet.)

After that, I bought a map and a cheap meal and headed upstairs to the bar to eat. By this time I was so hungry that I could quite happily have wolfed down three breakfasts at once, but unfortunately I was already getting low on money. I’d have to make some more somehow or I’d end up being stuck in this place for ever.

The dark-skinned woman behind the bar gave me a friendly smile, which I returned. I rather like Redguards; they’re skilled fighters and they know how to have a good time, with none of the snottiness of elves or Bretons. (So do Nords, come to that – just make sure you never try to outdrink one.)

“Hello there,” she said, as I sat down at the bar with my plate of food. “You’re new here, aren’t you? I’m Elone the Scout. If you need any directions, just ask.”

“Thanks.” We shook hands. “I’m Ada Ventura, of Imperial City. Maybe you could tell me how to get to Balmora?”

She wrote down some directions and marked various places of interest on my map, while I settled down to my meal of bread and crab meat. Seyda Neen was on the south-west coast of Vvardenfell, the large island that made up the bulk of northern Morrowind. Balmora was a medium-sized town to the north, though apparently quite a long walk away. “You’d be better off taking the silt strider,” she advised me.

“This may sound like a stupid question,” I said, “but… what exactly is a silt strider?”

She grinned. “Silt striders are giant insects. A compartment for passengers and cargo is hollowed from the shell, and the driver directs it by manipulating exposed organs and tissues. Pretty clever, don’t you think?”

Wow. Back in Cyrodiil, we just use horses.

“So what brings you to Morrowind, Ada?” she asked eventually. “We don’t see a lot of Imperial tourists here.”

“I’m not a tourist.”

“Business, then?” She looked surprised; it was clear from my outfit that I wasn’t wealthy.

“No.” I lowered my voice. “As a matter of fact, I… was just released from prison.”

Elone’s eyes widened. “Really? What did – ” She checked herself quickly. “Sorry, it’s none of my business.”

“No, that’s OK.” I felt a sudden urge to confide in someone, anyone. “You see, it was like this…”

*****

If I had only listened to my parents, none of this would ever have happened. Not my real parents, of course – I never knew my birth family, as they were kind enough to dump me in a basket outside the Temple of the One on the day I was born. To this day I have no idea who they were, or why they abandoned me. Supposedly I’d been wrapped in good linen, which suggested that they were well-off, but other than that there was nothing I could use to identify them.

I was taken in by a kindly local couple, Marcus and Sybilla Ventura, who raised me as their own child for eighteen years (though I called them ‘Aunt’ and ‘Uncle’). I won’t pretend they weren’t good to me; they brought me up well, bought me fine clothes and jewellery to wear, and pretended for as long as they could that I was going to turn out a beauty. The only thing they asked for in return was a dutiful daughter – which I unfortunately wasn’t.

It wasn’t that they were blinkered enough to deny me a trade, but their idea of a suitable trade didn’t exactly mesh with mine. They’d have preferred me to marry some rich merchant and settle down to the normal Imperial pursuits, namely: making money, making more money, hoarding it all up into a nice little pile, and then using it to make even more money. But I had other ideas: from the day I first visited the Arena, at the tender age of eight, I had known that I wanted to be a fighter. It was to lead to many, many bitter arguments between me and my family.

“I wouldn’t have minded the Legion,” Aunt Sybilla had sniffled, after one of these fights. “At least that’s a respectable profession. But what kind of trade is ‘wandering adventurer’? Messing around in horrible dirty caves and brawling in low taverns.”

I’d laughed at the time, but it was one of those ‘low taverns’ that had done for me in the end. I’d only stopped there for the night on my way to a job in Cheydinhal, near the border with Morrowind. The mead there was cheap, but powerful – the kind that doubles your strength at the expense of shutting down half your brain cells – and, fatally, I’d ended up drinking a few glasses too many.

It was all his fault, really. He shouldn’t have tried to cop a feel, and he certainly shouldn’t have called me that name when I shoved him away and told him to get lost. Besides, he was twice my size; how could I have guessed that my first punch would knock him out, or that he’d smash his head against the stone fireplace as he fell? I really, really didn’t mean to kill him.

There were plenty of witnesses to testify that it had been an accident – I’d even drunkenly tried to use a healing potion on him as he died – and I might have got away with a lighter sentence, had it not been for the guy’s family. He turned out to be the son of a noble family, one of those spoiled brats who like to show how ‘hard’ they are by visiting rough taverns and slumming it with the locals. His parents were hell-bent on charging me with murder, and they’d demanded blood money of five thousand septims – far more than I could possibly afford. I was far too ashamed to ask my adoptive family for help, and in any case, I’d hardly spoken to them since I left home nearly four years earlier.

So I went to prison, just under a month before my twenty-second birthday, with no clear prospect of release and my career (such as it was) in ruins. I’d been there ever since, rotting in a cell, only half a mile away from the fashionable district where I’d grown up.

*****

I didn’t give Elone the whole sob story, of course. I just told her that I’d been imprisoned for murder after accidentally killing a guy in a fight. She seemed sympathetic.

“Well, time to make a fresh start, huh?” she suggested. “Wipe the slate clean. Make a new life for yourself here in Morrowind.”

“Hmph.” I wasn’t too sure about that.

I finished off my meal, while Elone filled me in on the latest gossip. Apparently the local tax collector, Processus Vitellius, had gone missing. “Can’t say I’m surprised,” she said with a wink. “He wasn’t very popular around here.”

I wondered if there had ever been a tax collector in the entire history of the world who was actually popular with the locals. If so, he had to be some kind of saint.

As I left the bar, I was accosted by an off-duty Legionnaire at the top of the stairs. He was a typical Nord, big and beefy, with braided flaxen hair and a heavy beard. “Ho there, outlander!” His voice was slightly slurred, and I could smell alcohol on his breath – not a good sign at this time in the morning.

“Yes?” I said warily, keeping my hand on the hilt of my sword.

He leaned towards me. “You look like you could use a friend. Perhaps I could be your friend… if you help me recover some gold.”

“Go on.”

“You see, I’ve had a run of bad luck,” he confessed. “Lost a bit of money playing Nine-holes. Normally, I’d be fine, what with the money the locals pay us for… protection, but – ”

“Protection,” I said drily. “Right.”

“But I know some of them are holding out on me,” he went on. “That little fetcher Fargoth, for example. He’s come up light the last few times I’ve shaken him down. And I’ve been through his whole house, so I know it’s not there.”

I couldn’t help feeling sorry for Fargoth. The Bosmer are basically the racial equivalent of those scrawny kids who keep getting beaten up for their lunch money.

“So what do you want me to do?” I asked.

He motioned for me to come closer, and spoke in a low voice. “Find out where he’s stashing his gold. If you do it for me, I’ll give you a share of the wealth. You up for it?”

I was about to tell him to go and do his own dirty work, when I suddenly remembered how very short of money I was. I had only around fifteen septims left, which would barely be enough to pay for the silt strider, let alone any more meals (and food was pretty high on my list of priorities right now). Maybe this was not the best time to be a stickler for high moral principles.

“Maybe,” I mumbled. “So how would we share this wealth, exactly?”

He sighed. “I’ll give you a third of the gold, and you can keep any other loot you find. Deal?”

“All right,” I said reluctantly. “What do you want me to do?”

“Just wait until nightfall and then watch where he goes. The top of the lighthouse is a good vantage point – gives you a nice view of all Seyda Neen. Figure out where he goes and then bring the loot back to me, okay?”

It wasn’t really stealing, I told myself as I left the tradehouse. This was a Legion soldier, after all. No doubt he was collecting that money for entirely legitimate purposes of… protection. Absolutely.

Anyway, once I had some more money, it would be time to start figuring out a way to get home. Okay, so Morrowind might not be quite as bad as I had expected – but whatever Elone said, there was no way I would consider actually living here for any length of time. I was a Cyrodiil born and bred, and I belonged there.

I knew that my Uncle Marcus, a silk merchant, traded goods through the East Empire Company in the port of Ebonheart. Maybe I could find a ship there that would take me to the mainland? It would be expensive, no doubt, but perhaps I could find someone who knew my uncle – or perhaps even stow away on board a ship. There had to be some way out of this place.

I definitely did not plan to stay in Morrowind.

[Helena]

Chapter 3: A Warm Welcome

Of course, what with all the fuss over the murder and Foryn Gilnith’s death, I ended up missing the silt strider again and had to spend yet another day in Seyda Neen. Naturally the news was all around the village in about five minutes, and for the rest of the day I had to put up with the other villagers scowling at me and muttering imprecations (from a safe distance, mind you). I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to finally leave a place. It wasn’t all bad, though; I got the reward money, and Thavere gave me some healing potions as thanks for returning Processus’s ring.

Just before I left, while no one was looking, I picked the lock on Fargoth’s door and slipped inside his house. There I left his healing ring, along with three hundred septims and a short note telling him to be more careful next time. Stupid conscience.

I slept on board the silt strider – a fairly uncomfortable experience, but a lot better than the previous night – and was woken up next morning by the caravaner as we arrived in Balmora. I found myself standing at the top of a huge ramp, high enough to give me a view of the entire city. It was a pretty little town, with a river flowing through the centre and buildings constructed from warm brown stone – a very different style from Imperial cities, but still attractive. I wouldn’t have minded living here, if I hadn’t been so desperate to get back to Cyrodiil.

Directly below us I could see two Dunmer enjoying breakfast on top of one of the buildings. I decided to head down there and ask them the way to the South Wall cornerclub, so that I could get this Caius Cosades business over with. The sign on the building said ‘Council Club’ – it took me a minute to work this out, as the words were in Tamrielic but written in the Daedric script. I would later find out that this was very common in Morrowind.

When I got up to the rooftop, however, I started to think this might not have been such a good idea. The two men – a rough-looking pair, their faces marked with some kind of clan tattoos – looked at me as if I were something that had just crawled out of the river, and once again I got the uncomfortable feeling that I’d intruded somewhere I shouldn’t. Still, it was too late to go back without looking like an idiot, so I plunged ahead.

“Good morning,” I said, trying to sound as friendly and non-threatening as possible. “Sorry to bother you, but I’ve just arrived here and I was wondering if you could help me.”

The pause that followed was far too long for comfort. Finally, with obvious reluctance, one of the men said, “What do you want, outlander?”

“Just some directions,” I said. “I’m looking for the South Wall cornerclub?”

Instantly I realised I’d said something very wrong. The Dunmer glanced sharply at each other, and suddenly their demeanour became a whole lot more threatening. The second of them took a step towards me, a truly unpleasant expression on his face. “What sort of business do you have there, outlander?”

“Er, nothing much,” I said hurriedly, wishing fervently that I’d tried somewhere else first. “I was just told they could help me find a… friend.”

The two Dunmer exchanged another quick glance, and one of them nodded to the other. He took a couple of steps towards me, shoving his face right up against mine, and it took all my self-control not to back away from him.

“Listen, outlander,” he said through clenched teeth. “We are Camonna Tong. And you are a foreigner. And the Camonna Tong doesn’t like foreigners. Understand?” He jabbed a finger into my ribs. “So go and ask someone else for your directions.”

“Ah, traditional Dunmer hospitality,” I said drily, determined not to let them see how nervous I was. The Dunmer’s scowl deepened, and he ground his teeth audibly. “Fine, sorry I asked.”

“Good,” he snarled, still glaring at me. “Now go. N’wah.”

I left the terrace, now in no very good mood myself. If this was the official Balmora Welcoming Committee, they really needed to work on their people skills.

It was still early in the morning and there were few people around to ask for directions. I thought about visiting one of the shops lining the streets, but now I was afraid of meeting with the same reaction from the shopkeepers. I was beginning to think that I’d just have to wander round the place until I stumbled upon South Wall, when suddenly I spotted a wooden sign on one building with a very familiar shield-and-swords logo. The Fighters’ Guild!

A wave of relief swept over me. Surely they wouldn’t turn me away? In fact, it would probably be a good idea to join up with them, presuming they’d have me. I needed the money, and with luck I might get hold of some free equipment.

I pushed open the door and entered. A Breton woman in light leather armour stood on guard at the entrance. “Hello, outlander,” she said with a smile (how the heck did everyone instantly guess that I was an outlander?) “Looking to join the Fighters’ Guild?”

“I was, actually,” I said, smiling back gratefully.

“Then speak to Eydis Fire-Eye upstairs.”

Eydis Fire-Eye was a Nord, as I had guessed from the name. She was a tall, stocky woman with red hair – not a weak gingery colour like mine, but a true, fiery red. The suit of armour she wore was made out of some kind of gold-coloured material which I didn’t recognise, though it looked vaguely familiar.

“Well, speak up, Imperial!” she boomed, when I rather shyly introduced myself. “What do you want? You here to join us?”

“I was hoping to, yes.”

She nodded. “Well, you look like you could take care of yourself. Would you like to hear our creed first?”

“I know it,” I said. “I was in the Cyrodiil guild. Er… Defender,” I added. “Though I’ve… been out of the game for a while.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Defender, eh? Who’d you report to in Cyrodiil?”

“Uh… Modryn Oreyn.” Oreyn was a Dark Elf, the Guildmaster’s deputy. He was a good fighter, but he’d done little to combat the stereotype of Dunmer as moody, foul-tempered and generally obnoxious. I doubt he’d have let me back in the Guild even if I got back to Cyrodiil; he wasn’t the forgiving type.

“Oreyn? I’ve heard of him. If you can handle him, you can handle anything.” She pursed her lips. “Still, I’d better start you off as an Associate for now. Get some missions done, show us your skills, and you should rise back up through the ranks pretty quickly.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’m busy right now, but I’ll come back for orders as soon as I have time. By the way… did I hear that it was possible to join the Imperial Legion?”

She thought for a moment. “Well, I hear the Deathshead Legion up at Fort Darius in Gnisis is hiring. But don’t take on too much at once, Ada.”

Good advice. In retrospect, I really ought to have followed it.

Before I left, I took the opportunity to change my clothes and stock up on equipment from the Guild chest – just a few healing and stamina potions and some armourer’s hammers, but that kind of thing could make all the difference out on a mission. In fact, it suddenly occurred to me that if free supplies were on offer, I might as well join the Mages’ Guild as well. Okay, so I was useless at magic, but I didn’t have to do any duties for them.

I went next door to the Mages’ Guild, where the Guild steward – a woman named Ranis Athrys – took my details and signed me up as an Associate. I was a little nervous that she might ask me to actually perform some magic before letting me join, but in fact the process was as quick and simple as it had been at the Fighters’ Guild. By this time I was getting pretty hungry, so I headed for a tavern called The Eight Plates which one of the other Guild members had recommended to me.

“Would you like to try a kwama egg?” the barkeeper asked me when I sat down at the bar. “It’s a Vvardenfell delicacy.”

I’d never had a kwama egg before – in fact, I wasn’t even sure what a kwama was – but I decided to live dangerously and order one. While I was waiting for it to arrive, I took out the letter I’d been given by Sellus Gravius and read through it. It began as follows:

Ada Ventura

You have been given these directions and a package of documents. Do not show them to anyone. Do not attempt to read the documents in the package. The package has been sealed, and your tampering will be discovered and punished.

There followed instructions to take the package to Caius Cosades, and a warning in case I was thinking of absconding:

Remember. You owe your life and freedom to the Emperor. Serve him well, and you will be rewarded. Betray him, and you will suffer the fate of all traitors.

It was signed by ‘Glabrio Bellienus, Personal Secretary to the Emperor’. Hmph. Whatever.

The kwama egg arrived. It was at least four times the size of any other egg I had seen, and I wasn’t entirely sure how I was supposed to eat it. I tapped cautiously at the shell with my spoon, trying to crack it open without spilling the contents everywhere.

The Dunmer man seated next to me laughed, but not unkindly. “Like this, outlander.” He showed me how to cut the shell open with a knife and scoop out the soft centre.

“Thanks.” I tried a small spoonful. It tasted a little strange, but I’d definitely had worse.

“So you are new here?” my neighbour asked me as we tucked into our eggs. “What do you think of our city?”

“Well, some of the people here could be a little more friendly,” I said sourly, thinking back to the Balmora Welcoming Committee.

He looked shocked, and a little upset. “I am sorry to hear that, sera.”

Suddenly I felt rather guilty. It wasn’t this guy’s fault that other people had been unfriendly to me; maybe I’d just been unlucky. “Sorry,” I said hastily. “It’s just that those people at the Council Club practically bit my head off when I spoke to them.”

He practically choked on a mouthful of egg. “The Council Club? You went in there, outlander?”

“Er... yes,” I said. “Shouldn’t I have done? It was right next to the silt strider.”

He shook his head vigorously, then leaned towards me and lowered his voice. “That is the headquarters of the Camonna Tong.”

“Who are they, exactly?”

“The old criminal syndicate here in Morrowind.” His voice fell to a whisper. “I didn’t tell you this, but everyone knows that their leader is Orvas Dren, the Duke’s brother. And they loathe outlanders.”

“Okay, I’ll keep out of their way,” I promised. “Maybe you could tell me where the South Wall cornerclub is?”

Again he spluttered on a mouthful of food. “You went to the Council Club and asked about South Wall?”

I threw up my hands. “Look, maybe you could explain to me exactly what’s going on here? So that I don’t end up getting myself killed just by talking to the wrong person?”

“Very well.” He glanced around to ensure that nobody was listening. “You’re an Imperial, so I think it is safe to tell you this. The South Wall club is the hideout of the Imperial Thieves’ Guild – they’re in a gang war with the Camonna Tong.”

Well, that explained a lot. I was quite interested to hear that the Thieves’ Guild operated openly in Morrowind; back in Cyrodiil, the official line is that they don’t exist (though of course, everyone knows they do).

“Okay,” I said with a sigh. “I’ll be more careful who I speak to in future. So… are most people here this hostile towards outlanders?”

He shook his head. “No, most of us are loyal citizens of the Empire… well, in Balmora, at least. We’re a House Hlaalu town.”
`
I’d heard of House Hlaalu, a little. They were supposed to be the most forward-thinking and pro-Imperial of the Dunmer Great Houses; my uncle traded with them through his agent in the East Empire Company. He was forever complaining about how they’d swindled him on some deal or other, but then he said that about everyone. At the very least he seemed to respect them as good traders – worthy opponents, if you will.

“So do any of the Houses accept outlanders as members?” I asked.

He nodded. “Technically all of them do. It’s hard for an outlander to rise in their ranks, but some do – there’s even a Nord on the Hlaalu Council.”

I was impressed. The Dunmer and the Nords are ancient enemies; they’ve been fighting along the Morrowind-Skyrim border since time immemorial. The Hlaalu must be pretty open-minded to allow a Nord into a high-ranking position.

“Imperials like you usually do best in Hlaalu,” he told me. “Not as friendly to outsiders up north in Redoran country… and definitely not as friendly out east with the Telvanni wizards. If you want to join, go to the Council Manor in the High Town.”

Well, maybe I would check it out. It couldn’t hurt to have some friends in high places.

After obtaining directions from my new Dunmer friend, I set out to find the Council hall. The ‘High Town’ turned out to be a part of town that was literally raised above the rest, up a flight of steps in the north-west of the city. It was easy to see that this was where the wealthy people lived; the houses were larger and in better repair, and the shops looked a lot more up-market.

The Hlaalu council manor was easy to spot; it was by far the largest building around, and hung with banners. The first person I encountered on entering was a well-dressed Dunmer woman, who looked at me searchingly before saying anything. I was glad now that I’d taken the time to freshen up at the Guild; my outfit wasn’t exactly the height of fashion, but at least I looked clean and presentable. Having apparently decided that I measured up to her standards, she gave me a nod and a cautious smile.

“Greetings,” she said pleasantly. “I am Nileno Dorvayn. I keep business going here in Balmora while the Hlaalu Councillors are away… which is most of the time. How may I help you?”

“About House Hlaalu…”

“The Hlaalu councillors have conferred upon me the great honour of interviewing those who wish to become members of our illustrious House.” She sounded like she’d made this speech a thousand times. “Do you want to join House Hlaalu? You seem like a worthy candidate.”

I wasn’t entirely sure how she could tell that based on twenty seconds’ acquaintance. “I’m not sure,” I said cautiously. “I’d like to, but I’m not planning to stay in Vvardenfell for much longer.”

She frowned. “But outlander, haven’t you heard?”

“Heard about what?”

“They’ve restricted travel to the mainland because of the Blight. It’s a serious disease caused by ash storms,” she added, seeing my blank face.

I felt my heart sink like a stone. “Aren’t they letting any ships through?”

Nileno shook her head. “All ships from Vvardenfell are being turned back until further notice. Apart from a few Imperial shipments, but they have special permission.”

Damn! Damn, damn and damn! Well, that was Morrowind Escape Plan A shot to hell. I’d have to pull some serious strings to get out of Vvardenfell now, and I didn’t have any strings to pull.

I heaved a weary sigh. “I see. All right, in that case I guess I might as well join House Hlaalu.”

“Very well,” she said briskly. “You are now a member of House Hlaalu. When you are ready, we can discuss business and advancement in the House.”

“Whoa!” I’d thought there’d be a little more to it than that. “Isn’t there anything you should tell me first? Any… rules I should know?”

A faint smile played around her lips. “The rules of House Hlaalu are simple: Never interfere with the business of House Hlaalu. Or if you do,” she said with a wink, “be sure you are not caught.”

Fair enough, I suppose. Not exactly what I’d expected, but…

I promised to come back later in the day to discuss ‘business’ with Nileno, then left the hall to resume my hunt for Caius Cosades. I was about to head for the South Wall club when I spotted a strange-looking building off in the distance, set a little apart from the town on top of a hill. It was built in a different style from most of Balmora: flat, roundish, with some kind of glass dome on top. I decided to take a closer look.

The sign outside the building had more Daedric writing on it, but it didn’t seem to spell out anything sensible. There were just three letters of the Daedric alphabet: ayem (a), seht (s) and vehk (v). At the bottom of the sign, in Tamrielic, it said ‘Tribunal Temple’.

So this is a Temple, I thought, looking at the simple, squat building constructed from packed mud. It was certainly very different from the beautiful chapels of the Nine in Cyrodiil, with their soaring ceilings and stained-glass windows. On impulse, I decided to go in and take a look around.

I’d never been particularly religious, myself. Oh, obviously I believe in the gods – it’s hard not to when you can walk into any chapel and get free healing and blessings just by saying a quick prayer – but as far as I was concerned, we had a simple arrangement: I didn’t bother them and they didn’t bother me. I knew very little about the so-called ‘Tribunal’, except that the priests in Cyrodiil sniffily referred to them as “the false gods of the heathen Dunmer”. Well, now I had the chance to find out.

At first sight, the interior of the Temple looked more like a boarding house than a place of worship – several beds and bunks were visible in rooms just off the entrance hall. Through another door was a room with two shrines and a gravel pit, surrounded with candles and scattered with what I was shocked to realise were human bones. Or possibly Elven bones, which wasn’t much better.

A woman in a priestess’s robe approached me. “Welcome, my child. Can I help you?”

I inclined my head somewhat nervously towards the pit. “What are the… er… bones for?”

“We Dunmer venerate our ancestors, child.” She must have guessed the direction of my thoughts from the expression on my face. “No, we do not sacrifice people! What kind of savages do you take us for, outlander?”

“Oh, I wasn’t thinking that,” I assured her, hastily and untruthfully. “Er… whydontyoutellmeallaboutyourreligion?”

The strained expression on her face relaxed a little. “Well, the Tribunal Temple is the native religion of civilised Morrowind. We worship ALMSIVI.”

“Almsivi?”

“Our gods, sera. Almalexia, Sotha Sil, and Vivec, also known as the Tribunal.”

“Oh, I get it,” I said suddenly. “Ayem, seht, and vehk, right? The letters on the sign outside.”

She beamed. “Exactly! Would you like to hear more of our Temple, outlander?”

“OK, go ahead,” I heard myself saying.

Her eyes lit up. I got the impression she didn’t get asked to do this very often, especially not by outlanders. “Well, Almalexia is our Healing Mother, protector of the poor and weak. Sotha Sil the Magus is the patron of Artificers and Wizards. And Lord Vivec is a master of weapons and poetry, the most gallant knight and subtle rogue of the First Council. He lives in His palace in Vivec City here on Vvardenfell.”

I blinked. “Hold on… you said he lives there? You can see him?”

The priestess gave me a rather pitying smile. “Our gods are not like your Divines, outlander. They live, and breathe, and walk among us.”

“How… nice,” I murmured. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of bumping into God down the local tavern. I mean, what if you forgot yourself and swore on their name or something? No wonder the Dunmer had such a reputation for religious fanaticism.

“Would you like to join the Temple, my child?” she continued. “Or would you like to hear our doctrine first?”

“Well, er…”

“You will receive discounts on Temple services,” she coaxed me. “Such as blessings at shrines, for example.”

Actually, that didn’t sound like a bad idea. I’d benefited from Divine healing more than once in my own country, and if these were the local gods, it might be a good plan to get on side with them.

“I’ll hear the doctrine first,” I said cautiously, one eye still on the ancestor pit.

She nodded. “Your fourfold duties are to: Faith, Family, Masters, and all that is good. Perform holy quests and bring lustre to the Temple. Never transgress against your brothers or sisters – in thought or deed – as we are all one body. If you somehow fail to uphold these ideals, you must speak with a Master or the Patriarch to be cleansed of your wrongdoings.”

I felt a slight twinge of guilt at the ‘family’ part – maybe I ought to write and tell them where I was… But anyway, the rest didn’t sound too bad. I just hoped that my own gods, the Nine Divines, wouldn’t be too pissed off by this – not that I’d ever properly worshipped them in any case.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll join.”

A few minutes later I was walking down the steps to the river, now clutching a copy of a book called The Pilgrim’s Path. Apparently I had to complete a pilgrimage to seven holy shrines – all in different parts of Morrowind – before I could progress any further in the Temple. Given that I’d just joined four different factions in one morning, that sounded like it could take some considerable time.

I walked over the bridge to the east side of the river Odai, where the commoners and the poor people lived. As I crossed the river, I saw a large group of children fishing on the opposite bank – mostly Dunmer, but also some humans and even a Khajiit. Nice, I thought, to see them all playing together like that.

I finally managed to find the South Wall – right at the other end of town, surprise, surprise – and the owner, Bacola Closcius, directed me to Caius Cosades’ house. Turned out I’d walked right past it on my way to the club. Sighing, I made my way back up to the north edge of town and found what appeared to be the right house. I knocked cautiously.

The door creaked open and Caius Cosades stood before me. He was in his early sixties, with greying hair and an intelligent-looking face, but what struck me most forcibly was that he was wearing nothing but a grubby pair of pants. I had to fight the urge to avert my eyes, and not just out of feminine modesty. He wasn’t in bad shape for a sixty-year-old, but honestly, a half-naked old man was not a sight I wanted to see this early in the morning.

“Uh… Caius Cosades? I mumbled, trying not to look at the hairy chest. Couldn’t he at least get dressed properly before opening the door to visitors? And him an Imperial, too. It was a disgrace.

A smile hovered around his lips. “Me? I’m just an old man with a skooma problem.”

“Right,” I said uncertainly. “Because if you are Caius, I was told to deliver this package to you.”

“I see.” He took the package out of my hand and scrutinised it closely, then glanced at the letter I’d been given by Sellus Gravius. “Well, you’d better come in.”

I entered the tiny, one-room house, wondering just what I’d got myself into. Was this really Caius, or had the Thieves’ Guild people pulled a fast one on me and sent me over to the local lunatic?

The interior of the house was messy and not too clean, a little like its owner. Dirty bottles and overturned chairs littered the floor, and a strong smell of skooma pervaded the room. On the other hand, looking around, I saw several books – with titles like On Morrowind, the Imperial Province and The War of the First Council – which didn’t really fit in with the overall image of dinginess and squalor. Caius ripped open the package I had given him, took out the sheets of paper it contained, and flung the wrapping into a corner of the room.

“Why don’t you sit down.” He directed me to a bench in the corner. “Just wait here a minute while I look over these instructions you gave me…”

He sat down on the bed and began to read through the papers, nodding occasionally and saying things like “Hmph,” and “Mmm.” At one point his brow furrowed and I saw his eyes dart back and forth several times, as if he were re-reading a passage to make sure he’d understood it correctly. Finally he flung down the papers with a sigh, looked up at me, and smiled.

“Well, my friend,” he said. “It appears that the Emperor wants me to make you a novice in the Blades.”

For the second time in three days, I felt as if I had been hit over the head with a large mallet. “What?” I squeaked. “Me, a Blade?”

“Ah, then you’ve heard of us?” he said, with another smile.

I closed my eyes briefly, wondering if I’d somehow gone completely mad. Of course I’d heard of the Blades; they were the Emperor’s personal bodyguard and secret service, the elite of the elite. And now I was being asked to join, just like that?

“I have, yes,” I said. “But… look, it can’t possibly be me they’re talking about. There must be some mistake.”

“No, I don’t think so. This is the Emperor’s seal.” He looked closely at me. “You are Ada Ventura, aren’t you? Born on the twenty-first of – ”

“Yes, yes,” I assured him. “I’m Ada. But… I’m sorry, I just can’t get my head around this. Does the Emperor really think I’m Blades material?”

“Apparently so,” he said, shrugging. “Wouldn’t have thought so, to look at you. But orders are orders.”

I would have been insulted, but the truth was that I wouldn’t have thought so to look at me either. I was a nobody, and I knew it. So what could possibly have caused the Emperor to take notice of me? I cast my mind back over my past adventures, searching vainly for something that might have marked me out as a candidate for the Blades. I was a reasonably competent fighter, but…

“So does this mean you’re a Blade as well?” I gazed in disbelief at the scruffy old man sitting cross-legged on the bed in front of me. At the stained walls, the dirty floor…

Caius’s face broke into a sudden grin. “No one would ever suspect it, would they?”

“I see your point,” I conceded. But gods, how could he stand to live like this? If he was expecting me to do the same, he could forget it.

Caius stood up. “So, Ada. Are you ready to follow my orders?”

“I… suppose so,” I said, still too bewildered to think of refusing. “But – ”

“Good! Welcome to the service, Novice Ada.” He grasped my hand and shook it heartily. “Now you belong to the Blades. You can use my bed if you need to rest, but leave my personal stuff alone unless I say otherwise. Now, would you like orders straight away, or would you like to get some skill practice in first?”

Absolutely no way was I sleeping in this guy’s bed, with or without him in it. “Um, I guess I could do with some practice,” I mumbled. “But I –”

“Okay, I’ll give you a list of the Blades trainers here in town. Now, first thing, pilgrim – ” He reached into a pocket and pulled out some coins. “You’re new, and you look it. Here’s 200 drakes. Go get yourself some decent weapons and armour, or a spell.”

My mouth snapped shut. If he was offering me 200 drakes before I’d even done any work for him, I wasn’t about to complain. I’d do whatever tasks he wanted me to do, and later I’d explain my plans to return to Cyrodiil. After all, I could do with the extra money.

“Second thing,” he went on, “you’ll need a cover identity. Sign on with the Mages’ Guild, or the Fighters’ Guild, or the Imperial Legion. Or you could even try one of the Dunmer Great Houses, if you’re inclined that way.”

“Already done,” I said proudly. “I’ve joined the Fighters’ Guild, the Mages’ Guild, House Hlaalu… and I’m thinking about joining the Legion if I ever get up to Gnisis. Oh, and, er… the Tribunal Temple.”

He looked a little surprised. “The Temple? That’s an… unusual choice. Why not the Imperial Cult?”

“They asked first,” I said with a shrug. “There isn’t anything wrong with the Temple, is there?”

“No, not as such – they’re narrow-minded and superstitious, but I admire their concern for the poor. But few outlanders join.” He paused. “House Hlaalu, though… they’re very open to outsiders. Greedy and ambitious in the best Imperial tradition.”

“What are the other Houses like?” I asked, suddenly interested.

“House Redoran are warriors, a very serious and honourable bunch. But the Telvanni… ah.” He screwed up his face. “Their nobles are thousand-year-old wizards. Powerful mages, but arrogant and elitist.” Just like mages everywhere, then.

I would have asked more, but it was almost midday and I’d promised to speak to Nileno. “Well, I guess I’d better be going,” I said, standing up. “Thanks for the money and everything. Er, when shall I come back?”

“When you’re ready,” he said with a smile. “Take your time; practice your skills, and then come back when you feel ready for orders. No need to rush.”

As I turned to leave, I noticed something lying on the floor by the bed: a skooma pipe of good quality, half-filled with liquid. Was he really a skooma addict, I wondered, or was it all just part of his cover story?

I left the house and headed back over the bridge into western Balmora, glad to be able to breathe fresh air again. The skooma vapours in Caius Cosades’ house had been so powerful that I was half inclined to think I might have hallucinated the entire conversation, but the 200 drakes he had given me were certainly not a hallucination. I managed to find a clothier’s shop where I purchased some reasonable-but-not-too-expensive clothes, then went to the Fighters’ Guild smith to buy some armour. Then, decked out in my new outfit, I went back to the Hlaalu council hall in the High Town.