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 4: Down To Business

Nileno Dorvayn looked at me with raised eyebrows as I entered the hall. “You’ve certainly smartened up since I last saw you.”

“Came into a bit of money,” I said, shrugging. “So, what about this business, then?”

She frowned suddenly. “Wait a minute, Ada. Say that again.”

“Er, business? You wanted to discuss… business?” She was staring at me with a thoughtful expression on her face.

“What a coincidence!” she exclaimed. “You sound very much like Relmerea Saram, a Redoran who died… recently.”

“Redoran,” I said uncertainly. “That’s the warrior House, right?”

She nodded. “Yes, and our rivals in business. Would you be willing to disguise yourself as Relmerea and get orders from House Redoran, then bring them to me?”

I hesitated. “You want me to impersonate a Redoran spy?”

“That is correct, yes.”

Wow, these Hlaalu certainly threw you in at the deep end. I’d been expecting my first assignment to be more along the lines of “deliver these packages for us” or “make the tea”.

“Okay,” I said cautiously. “I suppose I can do that.”

“Good! Take this helm.” She handed me a closed helmet made of that same yellowish material that Eydis wore as armour. “Speak with Neminda at the Redoran council in Ald’ruhn, and make sure you’re wearing the helmet. When she asks what you want, tell her that you are an ‘orphan of Arnesia’, and she should give you a coded message to deliver. Bring it to me instead. Got it?”

“Orphan… of… Arnesia,” I murmured, scribbling down the instructions in my journal. “All right, that sounds simple enough. But… won’t she wonder why I’m wearing a helmet?”

Nileno shook her head. “Relmerea was disfigured in battle, and was known for always wearing her helmet. That’s the only reason I’d ask you to try and fool Neminda. She’s a Redguard woman, by the way; you can’t miss her.”

I briefly wondered how Relmerea had died, and how Nileno had acquired the codephrase, before deciding that I probably didn’t want to know the answer to either of those questions. Great House politics was clearly a dirtier business than I had imagined.

Rather than take the silt strider to Ald’ruhn, which would have taken several hours, I decided to ask the Mages’ Guild guide to teleport me there. I’d never used a Guild guide before (we don’t have them in Cyrodiil, for some reason), and I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect.

The Balmora guide turned out to be a woman named Masalinie Merian, a Breton (or so I guessed from the name). I paid her a small fee and asked her to transport me to Ald’ruhn. There was a whoosh, a brief sensation of lightness, and suddenly I was standing in front of a completely different mage in a completely different Guild hall – presumably the Ald’ruhn one. Simple as that.

Why didn’t we have anything like that in Cyrodiil, I wondered, as I looked around for the door. This Guild was built in a somewhat different style from the one in Balmora; there were few windows in evidence and it appeared to be mostly sunk into the ground. I’d soon find out why.

I headed up to the top floor and opened the street-level door, only to be hit in the face by a blast of red dust. “Gaaaahh,” I choked, slamming it shut again and rubbing my eyes frantically.

One of the mages patted me gently on the back as I coughed and hacked. “Watch out for the Blight storm, outlander. You can catch diseases from that.”

Muttering to myself, I pulled on the helmet which Nileno had given me and headed out into the storm.

My first impression of Ald’ruhn was that it was quite possibly the ugliest place I had ever seen. The ash storm and the ominous red sky didn’t help, but neither did the crumbling walls and the dry, cracked ground, or the lack of plant life. The buildings were truly bizarre in appearance, resembling nothing less than the giant shells of long-dead creatures dotted around the landscape. When I’d first heard I was coming to Morrowind, this had been the kind of scene I’d pictured.

The guards here all wore full suits of armour and face-concealing helmets – probably to protect themselves from the frequent storms. It was clear that they didn’t have as much contact with outlanders as those in Balmora; they all spoke good Tamrielic, but more formally and with a heavier accent. “Under Skar, outlander,” one of them called over his shoulder, when I tried to ask for directions to the Redoran Council.

“Scar?” I said helplessly, but he was already walking off into the storm.

I stumbled around trying to find someone else to help me, but none of the ordinary citizens scurrying around in the storm would stop to talk. Finally I bumped into another guard, who actually deigned to stop and speak to me for a few seconds. “Skar is the shell of the Emperor crab, outlander.” He gestured towards a flight of steps to the northwest.

So these buildings really are shells, I thought, as I struggled up the steps against the driving wind. Ingenious, but who in their right mind would found a city in a place like this?

The ‘Skar’ building was easy enough to spot once I got up the steps; it was a massive shell which utterly dwarfed all the other buildings. I hurried towards it, desperate to get out of the storm. The helmet provided pretty good protection against the wind and dust, but it was hot and uncomfortable and made it difficult to see anything.

It didn’t help that the closer I got to the Council hall, the more nervous I was getting about the task I had been asked to perform. By the time I reached the doors to Skar I was sweating profusely, and not just from the exertion. I’d never been half as scared when facing off against bandits or necromancers in some gods-forsaken tomb out in the wilderness. How could anyone possibly have got the idea that I would make a good spy?

Only the sight of the Skar interior was enough to briefly take my mind off my upcoming mission. It was a truly astounding sight: the hollowed-out shell formed a vast chamber, with a huge spike rising up from the centre of the floor. Fanning out from the top of the spike were several wooden walkways, each leading to doors set in the ‘wall’ of the shell. I stepped onto the first walkway with some trepidation, but it seemed solid enough.

I stopped to adjust my clothing before entering the Redoran council hall, ensuring that not a single inch of bare skin was visible. By this point I was utterly paranoid that something – my figure, my walk, my outfit – would tip off Neminda that I wasn’t the real Relmerea, and get me thrown straight into a Redoran jail. Or would the guards just kill me on the spot?

I took a deep breath to calm myself before entering the Council hall. To my surprise, I was immediately struck by the beauty of my surroundings: the walls, ceiling and pillars were intricately patterned and hung with tapestries, while rich woven rugs adorned the floor. Balmora might be prettier on the outside, but Ald’ruhn definitely had the edge in terms of interior décor.

Neminda wasn’t difficult to spot; she was the only Redguard woman in the place. In fact, she was the only human in the place, and the only one I’d seen since arriving in Ald’ruhn (unless you counted the Bretons in the Mages’ Guild).

When I approached, she gave me such a warm and friendly smile that I felt my insides twist with guilt. “Hi there, what can I do for you?”

I lowered my voice slightly, doing my best to sound at least somewhat like a Dark Elf. “I am an Orphan of Arnesia.”

“Oh, certainly, Relmerea,” she said instantly, fishing out a scroll and handing it to me. “Here are your orders – they’re in code, of course. Deliver them to Maar Gan as usual.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled, not wanting to say any more than I absolutely had to.

Her brow furrowed slightly. “Are you okay, Relmerea? You sound a little strange.”

“Fine,” I croaked. “Er… got a cold.”

“Oh, I am sorry,” she said sympathetically. “Well, I hope you feel better soon. Goodbye now.”

“Goodbye,” I murmured and left quickly, now feeling like the worst person in the world. I really wasn’t cut out for this sort of work.

I tried to look calm and nonchalant as I walked back to the Guild, but in truth I was expecting to hear shouts and running feet behind me at any moment. In my paranoia I imagined that every guard was looking at me suspiciously – and to make matters worse, I suddenly realised what looked so familiar about that material they wore as armour. It was bone.

It was at this point that I very nearly panicked and broke into a run. In the event it’s probably a good thing I didn’t, as it would undoubtedly have aroused suspicion. Nevertheless, I didn’t feel at ease again until I was safely back in the Balmora Mages’ Guild, and not completely safe until I was back in the Council Manor and handing the coded orders over to Nileno Dorvayn.

She took a quick look at them and nodded. “Yes, this is exactly what I wanted. Good work, Ada – keep the helm, and take these 500 drakes for a job well done.”

I gaped at her. 500 drakes for my first job? But she was handing me a real purse filled with real money.

“Would you like further orders?” she asked, oblivious to my astonishment.

For 500 septims a throw, the answer to that was ‘hell yes’. Just as long as she didn’t ask me to do any more spying.

“Very well,” she said, when I shrugged and nodded. “I need someone to visit an apothecary in Vivec and... acquire certain alchemical formulas. Go to the shop of Aurane Frernis, find some of her notes or formulas, and bring them back to me.”

I blinked. “You want me to steal them?”

“I want you to… acquire them.”

“By any means necessary?”

“Yes,” she said calmly. “Barring violence, of course.”

I hesitated. Even for five hundred septims, I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of stealing anything. But maybe there was another way…

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

I decided not to keep the helm, even though Nileno had said I could have it. Okay, so presumably it was made of animal bones rather than humanoid ones, but the idea of wearing bone as armour just creeped me out. (A bit strange, since I have no problem wearing leather, but there you go.)

After stopping for a bite to eat, I paid another visit to the smith before heading to Vivec. Five hundred drakes would allow me to buy good-quality steel armour rather than the crappy iron stuff I was wearing now. It felt a bit strange to be exchanging armour I’d only bought earlier that day and hadn’t even used, but at least it allowed me to get a better price for it.

Luckily there was a Guild guide in Vivec as well, so the journey there took seconds as opposed to the day or so it would have taken by silt strider. In the Vivec Mages’ Guild I passed an elderly Imperial man who nodded absent-mindedly to me; I would later discover that this was Trebonius Artorius, the head of the Guild.

Emerging from the guild, I found myself at one end of a huge plaza – not open to the elements, as I had expected, but completely covered over with a high domed roof. Several buildings, mostly guilds and shops, were set in a row on either side of a wide central walkway. At either end of the plaza was a huge set of double doors, presumably leading outside.

“Submit to the Three, the Spirits and thy Lords,” a voice hissed in my ear, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I whirled round to see the speaker – a soldier in an impressive-looking uniform of blue and gold. The elaborate golden helmet he wore covered his entire head, and had a sinister-looking face painted onto it; the effect was distinctly unnerving.

“Don’t do that!” I gasped, my fear quickly turning to annoyance. “You made me jump! Who are you, anyway?”

“We are the Ordinators,” he hissed. “The holy guards and soldiers of the Temple.”

“So,” I said carefully, “you’re some kind of religious… police?”

He nodded, and I could almost see the unpleasant smile behind his helmet. “Go about your business, citizen. But remember… we’re watching you.”

I was just going to love Vivec, I could tell.

As I headed for the nearest set of doors, a Redguard man standing nearby shoved a leaflet into my hands. “Take this, friend! It has important information.”

I nodded politely and was about to stuff it into my pack for later, when I spotted the name ‘Aurane Frernis’ written in large capital letters. Surprised by the coincidence, I paused to look over the leaflet, which read as follows:

BEWARE!!!!

HAVE NO DEALINGS with AURANE FRERNIS!!!
She is known to be both UNDERHANDED and UNETHICAL in her dealings!!!
The materials she uses are both SHODDY and DANGEROUS!!!
You could come to GREAT HARM from her products.
Her shop should be AVOIDED AT ALL COSTS!!!

See these testimonials:
"I took potion and got sick. Lost good lunch." - Grugbob G.
"Her materials looked old and stale. Not good for alchemical use." - Daren O.
"She should be disembowelled and fed to nix hounds." - Hlorngar F.

I stared at the leaflet and then at the Redguard, an idea beginning to form in my mind. “Where can I find this Aurane Frernis?”

“She’s in the Lower Waistworks,” he told me. “Just go out through those doors, then back through one of the smaller doors to the left or right, and down the stairs in the centre. But I wouldn’t buy anything from her.”

Out in the open air, I found myself standing on a walled balcony several stories above the ground – or rather, above the water. Looking down, I could see that Vivec had no streets as such, only a series of canals. Through a haze of fog I could dimly perceive several massive square buildings, similar to the one I was standing on, but there didn’t seem to be any way to reach them apart from a single bridge far below. It seemed a terribly impractical way to design a city.

My opinion wasn’t improved when I entered the ‘waistworks’, a series of twisty passages and winding staircases that seemed deliberately designed to get people lost. The narrow passageways and low ceilings, combined with the lack of windows, quickly brought on a feeling of mild claustrophobia. I’d only been in this place five minutes and already I hated it.

At last, more by luck than anything else, I stumbled across a sign saying ‘Aurane Frernis: Apothecary’. Inside the shop I laid the ground by purchasing a few random potions, including some I’d never heard of before – what was a ‘Potion of Rising Force’, for example? I’d no idea, but I spent an amusing couple of minutes trying to imagine.

“By the way,” I said casually, as I handed Aurane her payment. “Did you know that someone up in the plaza is handing out leaflets about you?”

I showed her the leaflet, and her face turned white with shock. “What's this? This is ridiculous! It’s all lies!” She slammed the leaflet down on the counter. “I tell you what, Ada – if you can find out who is behind this slander, I’ll reward you well!”

“All right,” I said casually, trying hard to conceal my glee. This was going exactly as I had hoped. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Back in the plaza, I marched up to the Redguard and dangled the leaflet in front of his face. “These leaflets are all lies. Why are you doing this?”

He hesitated. “Slander is a crime,” I reminded him. “You want me to report this to the Ordinators?”

The man’s eyes widened in fear. “No! Listen, friend, times have been tough for me and mine.” He wiped his brow. “So when Belan offered me some gold to hand these out for her, I jumped at the chance. Gotta make ends meet, you know?”

“Belan?”

“Garulo Belan,” he muttered. “She’s an apothecary in the Telvanni canton. She makes the leaflets, I just distribute them.”

I couldn’t be sure he was telling the truth, but it occurred to me that I could go to the Telvanni canton myself and confront Galuro. I asked a passer-by how to get to the canton. “The quickest way is to take a gondola,” he told me. “But be careful if you’re going there – they’re known to kidnap people and take them as slaves, or hold them for ransom.”

…Okay, maybe I wouldn’t go to the Telvanni canton. Not yet, at least.

“I’ve found out who makes the leaflets,” I announced to Aurane on returning. “It’s Galuro Belan, in the Telvanni canton.”

“Galuro Belan? That fetcher!” Aurane looked furious. “I can't believe she'd do this to me! I'm reporting this to the magistrate. Well, thank you for your help – here’s your payment.” She scooped up a handful of coins from her box of change.

“I don’t want payment,” I said quickly, waving it away. “But as it happens… I was wondering if you could possibly give me the recipe for some of your potions. That wonderful ‘Rising Force’ potion, for example.” I gave her my sweetest smile. “We don’t have anything like that in Cyrodiil.”

Aurane shook her head. “I am grateful to you, Ada, but I can’t reveal my secrets. Other alchemists are constantly trying to steal my formulas.” Her eyes narrowed. “Particularly those in House Hlaalu.”

Uh-oh. “Hlaalu? Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, with a nervous laugh. “I’m not a Hlaalu, I’m House… Redoran. Just joined up the other day, in fact.”

She looked skeptical. “Really? Who signed you up?”

“Neminda,” I said promptly. Aurane still looked uncertain. “Well, never mind,” I said, shrugging. “I guess I’ll just be going, then. I hope your business prospers, Aurane.”

“No, wait! I…” She hesitated. “I suppose you have helped my business. Oh, very well.” She scribbled down some notes on a sheet of paper and handed it to me. “Just don’t give it to anyone else in House Redoran.”

“I certainly won’t,” I assured her, with perfect truth.

Once again I felt more than a little uncomfortable with myself as I returned to Balmora. I hadn’t done anything technically illegal – yet – but all this lying and cheating was not really my cup of tea. The Fighter’s Guild had a strict code of honour, and I doubted they would approve of what I was doing on the side.

After collecting another 500 gold from Nileno, I decided not to accept any more ‘business’ from House Hlaalu for the moment. Besides, it was getting late. I chose to stay at the Fighters’ Guild that night, as it was free (the Mages’ Guild would have done as well, but somehow I felt more comfortable among fellow warriors). Caius Cosades’ house was not even worth considering.

The next morning, after breakfast, I decided it was time to do some jobs for the Guild. I went to see Eydis Fire-Eye and asked if she had any duties for me.

“Well, I have a very simple contract to end an infestation of cave rats.” She winked at me. “You might be able to handle it.”

Ah yes, the traditional ‘rat-catching’ assignment given to new recruits. I remembered that all too well from my early days in the Guild. I agreed to the job, but I had to struggle to conceal my humiliation; it was a little like being sent back to the nursery class with the children who couldn’t read.

The client, a woman named Drarayne Thelas, lived in a small house on the east side of the river. “Are you Fighters’ Guild?” she snapped, the minute she saw me on her doorstep. “Well, it’s about time!”

I’d met with this attitude plenty of times before, so I just smiled politely. “Ada Ventura at your service, ma’am – er, sera. I’m here about the cave rats?”

She nodded. “These rats are such a nuisance! I'm worried they'll eat all of my pillows. You like pillows, don't you, Ada?”

“Er… yes,” I said. “Very much.”

“Oh, good!” she exclaimed, clearly delighted to have found another pillow enthusiast. “Anyway, I’ve got one trapped in my bedroom here, and the other two are in my storage area upstairs. Rats, that is... not pillows.” She handed me a small key. “Here’s the key for that door. Oh, I do hope they haven’t gotten into my good pillows...”

I tackled the rat in the bedroom first, before moving onto the storeroom upstairs. She certainly did have quite an impressive collection of pillows, I had to admit. Some had been scattered around a bit, but luckily none of them seemed to have come to any serious harm.

“Good news, Drarayne,” I announced, returning to the ground floor. “All targets neutralised; the pillows are safe.”

“Safe? Oh, thank you, Ada!” For a moment I half-expected to get a pillow as a reward, but instead she handed me some money. “Here, take these 100 septims. It’s what I agreed to pay the Guild.”

I thanked her and left the house, shaking my head. At least with Operation Pillow Protection I’d proved I could handle a sword without dropping it or cutting myself; maybe I could get a real job next time.

Eydis agreed, and promoted me to the rank of Apprentice. “Okay, want more orders? I need someone to return a codebook that belongs to our client.”

“Who has it?”

“A woman named Sottilde.” I was just trying to think where I’d heard the name before, when she added, “You can find her at the South Wall here in Balmora.”

Ah yes, I remembered Sottilde: she was the first person I’d spoken to when I’d entered the cornerclub the day before. She was a Nord, and since she hung out at South Wall, that presumably meant she was Thieves’ Guild. This could be slightly tricky.

In the event, however, Sottilde proved to be a bit of a pushover. The minute I mentioned the codebook to her, she stiffened and became visibly nervous. “What codebook?”

I didn’t want to resort to threats immediately, since as far as I knew she’d done nothing wrong (apart from being a thief, of course). Instead, I offered her some coins. “Look, here’s fifty septims. Now just hand over the codebook and we can forget this ever happened, all right?”

“Eydis sent you, did she?” She sighed. “Okay, I have the codebook. But I want more than that for it.”

I looked at her through narrowed eyes. “I just gave you fifty, how much more do you want?”

“It’s valuable. Two hundred drakes.”

“Two hundred? You’re joking.” I took a step towards her. “Fifty is all you’re getting. Don’t make me get nasty about this.”

It felt a bit strange to be threatening someone who stood half a head taller than me, but I’d learned long ago that you could get away with all sorts if you looked like you meant it. Sottilde hesitated for a moment, doing her best to look defiant, but quickly abandoned the attempt.

“Oh, all right,” she muttered. “I don't want any trouble with you, so take it. Just don't tell anyone I gave it to you.”

I thanked her politely and made to leave the building. Just as I reached the door, she called after me: “Oh, outlander?”

I looked back over my shoulder, my hand on the doorknob. “What is it?”

“If you’ve just joined the Fighters’ Guild, watch out for yourself.” She folded her arms. “There’s lot more going on there than you know about.”

“Such as?”

She gave me a tight little smile. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

I went back to the Guild hall, wondering what she meant, and what the Thieves’ Guild had wanted with the codebook in the first place. I did sneak a quick look at it, but it was all gibberish.

Eydis seemed pleased to receive the book, praising my ‘obedience’ and ‘efficiency’ and promoting me to the rank of Journeyman. She also paid me a grand total of fifty septims, perfectly balancing out the fifty I’d given Sottilde for the codebook. It was a good thing I was actually making money on the jobs I’d done for House Hlaalu.

Since I had plenty of spare cash for now, I decided that it was time I went and got some training. Rescuing defenceless pillows and purloining people’s alchemical formulas might be fun, but it wasn’t going to get me in shape for whatever Caius had in store for me. Not that I particularly wanted to do any missions for him, but getting dragged off and jailed for treason was something I wanted even less.

In the afternoon I looked up one of the Blades trainers in Balmora, a Redguard warrior named Rithleen, and asked for tuition in swordfighting and blocking techniques. The first time we fought she beat me soundly, so we tried a second time and she beat me again. And a third time. By the end of the day I was exhausted, but at least I was starting to recover some of the technique I’d lost during my year in jail.

“You’re not bad,” she told me approvingly, following what seemed to me like yet another humiliating defeat. “You just need to keep up the practice.”

After another day of training, I decided I was just about ready to handle a mission from Caius – it couldn’t be that difficult to start with, after all. So I went over to his house bright and early the next morning.

Caius looked pleased to see me back so soon. His house was exactly as I remembered it – messy, grubby and reeking of skooma fumes – and so was he. He still wasn’t wearing a shirt; in fact, I was sorely tempted to offer to go out and buy one for him. I actually found myself wondering how I could introduce the subject without causing offence: “You know, I think you’d look really nice in yellow…”

“So, Ada, back already?” he asked, looking pleased. “Are you ready for orders now?”

I shrugged. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

“Good. Now,” he leaned forward, “I want you to talk to Hasphat Antabolis at the Balmora Fighters Guild. Ask him what he knows about the secret cults of the Sixth House and the Nerevarine.”

I took out my journal so I could make some notes. “What was that word? The… Neveragaine?”

“Nerevarine.”

“…Neverarine?”

“Ne-re-var-ine.”

“Ne-re-var-ine,” I repeated, feeling like an idiot. “What is a… Nerevarine?”

“Not what,” he corrected me, “but who. Some Dunmer believe that an orphan and outcast, a youth born on a certain day to uncertain parents, will one day unite all the tribes of the Dunmer, drive out the invaders of Morrowind, and reestablish the ancient laws and customs of the Dark Elven nations. They call this orphan and outcast the ‘Nerevarine’, and say the Nerevarine will be a reincarnation of the long-dead Dunmer General and First Councillor, Lord Indoril Nerevar.”

I was struggling to keep up. “Okay. And there’s some sort of cult around this Nerevarine guy? You think they’re a threat to the Empire?”

“I’m not sure… yet.” His expression was serious. “I don’t know much about it; that’s why I’m sending you to find out.”

“All right. And the Sixth House? I thought there were only three?”

Caius shook his head. “No, there are two more – Indoril and Dres. But they have no holdings on Vvardenfell.”

“So what is the Sixth House, then?”

“A trusted informant says they're a secret cult associated with some strange events recently,” he explained. “And that these are related in some way to the Nerevarine Prophecies. But Hasphat will be able to tell you more.”

I’d seen Hasphat a few times at the Guild, where he was a drillmaster, but not yet had occasion to speak to him. He was a very ordinary-looking middle-aged Imperial, not someone I’d thought would be involved with the Blades – but then, it seemed that half of Balmora was mixed up with them in some way. You could barely turn around in that place without bumping into a member of the Emperor’s super-secret intelligence service. How they managed to maintain their cover was beyond me; I was beginning to wonder if the entire town was in on the secret.

“You’ll have to do him a favour first,” Caius warned me. “Probably an ugly favour. But do it, then get the information and report back to me.”

I went over to the Guild, where Hasphat was training down in the basement – alone, luckily enough. “Mr Antabolis?” I said, when he broke off to greet me. “I’m Ada Ventura. Caius Cosades sent me to you.”

“Ah.” He looked at me with an expression of faint amusement. “So you’re the latest hero, are you?”

Seeing the confusion in my face, he motioned me to sit down on one of the benches. “Caius says he’s fed up with heroes,” he said, sitting down beside me and resting his hands on his knees. “The Empire keeps sending them out here to the provinces to ‘civilise’ things. The fools don't seem to realize that their ‘destinies’ are being created by historical processes.”

“What do you mean?”

“Caius and I always argue over the role of the individual in history. Tiber Septim, for instance.” He paused. “I say Tiber Septim changed the world. Caius says he was a product of his time, and if he hadn’t lived, some other person would have served his function. What do you think?”

I’d never really thought about it at all, to be honest. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “And in all honesty, I don’t really care. What’s the point of arguing about something that happened centuries ago?”

His eyes twinkled. “And you? Are you going to change the world, do you think?”

“Not if I can help it,” I said bluntly. “Right now, all I want to do is find a way to get back to Cyrodiil as soon as possible. But don’t tell Caius that.”

“Poor Caius,” he said, with a faint smile. “So many disappointments. Anyway, how can I help you?”

I explained to him that I needed to know about the Sixth House and Nerevarine cults, and he nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard of the Sixth House. But before I tell you anything, I need you to do a favour for me.”

Oh, big surprise. “Which is?”

“Have you ever been in a Dwemer ruin?” he asked.

I’d heard many fantastic tales of Dwarven ruins in Morrowind, filled with strange contraptions and ancient machinery, but I’d hardly even believed them – let alone had the chance to visit them myself. “No, never.”

“Well, there are Dwemer ruins nearby called Arkngthand. I need you to run over there and find me a Dwemer puzzle box. It’s a little cube, about the size of a fist, with a circular design and some symbols on one side.”

I stared at him. “What do you want with something like that?”

“That,” he said, tapping his nose, “is my business”.

Sighing, I noted the details down in my journal and then stood up. “Could you just explain one thing to me, Hasphat?”

“Go on.”

“You must be a more experienced fighter than I am,” I said. “So why do you want me to get this box for you?”

“Because,” he said calmly, “I have the information you want, so you have no choice.”

He just grinned at the dirty look I gave him.