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 8: Larrius Varro’s Little Story

Marcel Maurard was delighted when I returned to him with the news about Crassius’s new play. “Then I must go to see the noble patron!” he cried. “Thank you my friend; you will not be forgotten! Yes, yes! The play’s the thing, wherein I’ll catch the purse strings of... that guy!”

The enchanter Miun-Gei seemed equally happy to be rid of the tiresome Breton. “You’ve done it! I admire your persuasiveness, friend. Allow me to give you this as a token of my appreciation.”

To my astonishment, he handed me what appeared to be an enchanted spear. I blinked. “This? Really? Seriously, a couple of free scrolls would be fine...”

“No, no, take it!” he insisted. “It has a Shock enchantment. Very useful.”

I wasn’t entirely sure what to say. The truth was that I had no skill at all with spears, and it was far too large and heavy to just carry around in my pack. I could sell it, since it was obviously valuable, but I didn’t want to do that in Vivec in case Miun-Gei got to hear of it and was offended. So I ended up having to take the damn thing with me on the silt strider to Suran.

Suran was a small coastal town built in the same style as Balmora. It wasn’t too far from Vivec, so I arrived there in time for a late supper, but it was too late to tackle my Fighters’ Guild assignment – or at least, I thought it was. My ‘target’ was a woman named Helviane Desele, who owed some money to a Fighter’s Guild client. For some reason everyone kept sniggering when I asked where she could be found; it wasn’t until the next morning, when I arrived at ‘Desele’s House of Earthly Delights’ and saw the red light outside the building, that I realised it was that kind of establishment.

There weren’t many ‘clients’ inside at that time of day, of course, but somehow that just made it seem even more tawdry. The barmaids were all topless, wearing only skirts and a skimpy undergarment, and the three female dancers – all humans, I noticed – wore almost nothing at all. I wondered just how desperate I would have to get before I’d consider going into that line of work – not that anyone would ever be likely to hire me, of course.

I was surprised to discover that one of the shirtless barmaids was in fact Desele herself. She greeted me politely, while obviously a little confused as to what I was doing there. “Welcome to my house, Imperial. Make yourself at home.”

“I’m not here for pleasure, I’m afraid,” I told her. “Could we talk in private for a few minutes?”

She nodded and led me to an upstairs room, where I got straight down to business: “I’m from the Fighters’ Guild. I’m told you owe money to our client, Manos Othreleth.”

I hadn’t exactly expected a warm welcome, but neither had I expected the look of outright fury that flashed across Desele’s face. “Oh, that’s it, is it?” she snapped. “I try and run a respectable business and the Camonna Tong keeps asking for this money ‘for my safety’. Well, I’m not paying it!”

“Whoa! Hold on!” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Are you telling me this guy is Camonna Tong?”

Desele nodded, grinding her teeth. “ ‘For my safety’, indeed. What is it really for? To keep me safe from Orvas Dren’s thugs, that’s what it’s for!”

I had no idea how to respond. If she was telling the truth – and she certainly seemed genuinely angry – why on Nirn were we taking contracts from the Camonna Tong? I hadn’t joined the Guild to end up working as an enforcer for the local crimelords. Did Eydis know about this? And if so, what the hell was going on?

I remembered what Percius Mercius had said to me about things having ‘gone bad’ in the Guild under the new Guildmaster. Suddenly I was starting to see what he meant. The only option I could think of was to go to him and ask his advice on this contract, as he had suggested.

“Okay,” I said at last. “I’ll go check up on this, and if you’re right… well, I’m sure it’s just some sort of misunderstanding. Sorry to bother you.”

Desele merely huffed and returned to her place behind the bar. Making to leave, I nearly tripped over the legs of a man who sat slumped in a chair, clutching a mug of ale. He was clearly extremely drunk, and from the look of him he’d probably been there all night.

“Well, hey there,” he mumbled, giving me a little wave. “S’fine place this is, huh? Good place for me to jusht forget about my troubles. No use thinking about them. Stupid slaves. Why they gotta run, huh?”

I’d been planning to just ignore him and walk on, but those last few words caught my attention. “What was that about slaves?”

“Bah! I hate ’em all.” He took a long swig from his tankard. “ ’Specially the ones I can’t find, know what I mean? Been looking for this one, Haj-Ei, for months now. Can’t find him, though. Always running and hiding. Running and hiding.”

From this rather confused narrative, I gathered that he was a hunter of escaped slaves, and that he hadn’t had any luck tracking down the one he was currently looking for. Needless to say, I didn’t have a lot of sympathy for him. I was about to walk away in disgust when I suddenly realised that if I could find this slave ‘Haj-Ei’ myself, I might be able to help him escape.

“Poor you,” I said, trying my best to sound sympathetic. “Do tell me all about it.”

“How’s a man supposed to earn his keep? I’ll tell you how! Running and looking, that’s how.” He took another swig. “Even got myself a guide, I did – good ol’ Hides His Eyes. Kind of a stupid name if you ask me. Anyway, he’s been showing me around here for a couple of weeks – fat load of good that’s done me!”

Hang on. This guy was hunting an Argonian slave, and he was being helped by another Argonian? It was possible, I guess – it’s astonishing what people will do for money – but something about it didn’t sound right. “And where is this ‘Hides-His-Eyes’ now?” I asked, as casually as possible.

“Seems to like the tradehouse in town,” he said, shrugging. “I’m happier in this place. Another drink here!”

I left him to his ale and went to the general store opposite the House of Delights, where I bought a light chitin bow in exchange for my unwanted spear. (If I hadn’t been able to sell it, I guess I could always have donated it to Crassius Curio as a prop for his new play). After that I wandered around Suran for a while in search of the tradehouse, past groups of chatting housewives and giggling teenagers, and a wild-eyed shirtless guy mumbling something about ‘Red Mountain’ and ‘the Incarnate’. The town was built on the lower slopes of a mountain, so when I mounted the last of several long flights of steps, I could turn and look out over the whole town to the bay below.

I found Hides-His-Eyes in an upper room of the tradehouse, but he couldn’t give me any more information about Haj-Ei than my ‘friend’ the drunken slave-hunter. When I mentioned the name, he just shrugged. “Yes, the escaped slave. Hunted for many weeks, we did. Took the bounty hunter all around this area looking for him. Never caught him, though.” He shook his head thoughtfully. “No, never caught him.”

I looked hard at him. It can be difficult to for humans to interpret Argonians’ expressions, since their facial structure is so different, but I could swear I saw his lips curve up slightly at that last sentence. By now I had a strong suspicion as to where Haj-Ei might be, but I had no proof.

On one of the lower floors, one of the patrons directed me the slave trader Dranas Sarathram, who was apparently an expert on Argonians and their language. I hadn’t realised Suran had a slave market, and was a little shocked to find something like that in such a pleasant, cosmopolitan little town. Nevertheless, I made my way there in search of Dranas.

When I entered the building it appeared to be empty, but off to the side I could see several doors with small, barred windows in them, like the door of a prison cell. I walked to the centre of the room in order to see inside them, and immediately wished I hadn’t.

The two rooms I could see from here reminded me strongly of the prison cell where I’d served out my jail sentence, only smaller, dirtier and more cramped – closer to animal pens than cells. Inside each one, a thin, listless-looking and nearly naked Argonian sat slumped in a corner. Hearing my footsteps, one of them raised his eyes to look at me for a moment and then quickly lowered them again, obviously taking me for a potential buyer. I felt sick.

Quickly I turned away, and found myself face to face with a male Dark Elf. It was a real struggle to conceal the disgust I was feeling and force myself to smile pleasantly.

“I am Dranas Sarathram, the slave trader here,” he said, returning the smile. “Can I help you, sera?”

The next few minutes felt more than a little surreal to me. I had honestly never imagined having a polite conversation with a slave trader. I’d always considered them the scum of the mortal plane, right up there with torturers and child-killers. Finding this one to be a friendly, courteous man, who clearly thought he was just doing a job like any other, was almost as disconcerting as the sight of the slave pens.

We chatted about this and that for a minute or two, and then I casually asked him whether he knew someone called ‘Hides-His-Eyes’. “Don’t know him,” he said. “Argonian, right? Sounds like an Argonian name. Not his real name, of course, but that’s the way of things.”

“Really?” I asked innocently. “Not his real name?”

“Well, of course – it’s just a translation from the Argonian.” He thought for a moment. “That would translate to something like Hajeekius… Hajesheeus… maybe Haj-Ei. Most folks don’t bother to learn the language of these savages, but for me it makes business a little bit easier.”

I nodded understandingly and then told him that I had to be going. After promising to ‘think about it’ when he asked if I’d like to buy a slave, I left the building as quickly as possible, highly relieved to be getting out of there at last. I didn’t think I’d forget the sight of those slave pens for a long time.

I hurried back to the tradehouse and Hides-His-Eyes, who looked a little suspicious to see me back again. “What do you want?”

“I need to speak to you in private.” He followed me into a back room and shut the door behind us, now looking even more suspicious.

“Well, what are you here for?”

“I’m here to tell you that you’re an idiot… Haj-Ei.” I threw up my hands. “What the hell did you think you were doing, pulling a stunt like that?”

Hides-His-Eyes raised his eyebrows, clearly realising that the game was up. “You found my secret, you did? I’ll not try to hide it from you. Yes, I am the one the bounty hunter seeks.” He fixed me with a defiant glare. “He would take me back to the slavers. That is not for me. So I dragged him around the wilderness for a while... what of it? Does he not deserve it, the drunken fool?”

“He may be a fool,” I whispered, “but the local slave-trader isn’t. Did you know that he speaks your language?” His eyes widened. “If he ever gets to hear the name ‘Haj-Ei’, you can bet he’ll put two and two together. It’s a miracle you’ve got away with this for so long!”

Hides-His-Eyes looked somewhat shaken. “No, I did not know this.” He paused. “So, now you know my secret, what will you do with it? You… will not tell, will you?”

“No, I won’t tell. But you need to get out of town now.” Suddenly I realised that he might not have anywhere to go. “Is there anyone who might help you?”

“If I can reach the Argonian mission in Ebonheart, they will help me.” He nodded slowly. “You are a good friend – I thank you.”

“No problem,” I said, shaking my head in exasperation. “Just be more careful in future, okay?”

He nodded. “I will let others know what you have done for me today. Have you seen the Twin Lamps?”

I blinked, confused by this sudden turn in the conversation. “Twin… Lamps?”

“They light the way to freedom,” he whispered, and hurried off.

Okay, I was still confused. But at least I’d managed to help a slave escape, and hopefully in a way that wasn’t likely to get me into trouble. The silt strider would take him straight to Ebonheart, so why he hadn’t just hopped on it straight away was beyond me; maybe he was one of these people who enjoyed living on the edge.

I left the town myself early in the afternoon, not keen to spend any more time there. As the silt strider ambled away from the port, I couldn’t help glancing back a little guiltily at the building housing the slave market. Locked in a vault in Vivec somewhere, I probably had enough money to buy and free at least some of those slaves – but I needed that money in order to get back to Cyrodiil. I knew it sounded horribly selfish, but I’d never get back home if I set out to free every slave in Vvardenfell.

When I arrived back in Balmora, it was getting dark and I was tired and frustrated. I’d gone all the way to Suran and back without accomplishing my Fighter’s Guild mission, and what was more, I still didn’t have any idea how to deal with Ralen Hlaalo’s murderer. So I set off to do what any bold adventurer would do in this situation: drown my sorrows in a tavern.

The Eight Plates was full of well-dressed young Dunmer; clearly this was where the children of the local nobs hung out. I ordered a Cyrodiilic brandy and settled down in a corner, letting the conversation float over me. Although most people there were Dark Elves, there were a few outlanders present as well, so much of the discussion took place in Tamrielic. All the Dunmer there seemed to speak it fluently, and I envied them their ability to switch easily between their own language and the common Imperial tongue (I never was much good at languages myself).

One particular discussion caught my attention, apparently concerning the local magistrate. “Everyone knows Nolus Atrius is on the take,” one man was saying. “Thieves, thugs, and murderers are getting ridiculous sentences, or paying a drake and walking free. But he’s got fatcats and family back in the City to cover him.”

“Well, I hear the Legion Champion over at Moonmoth Fort has sworn an oath to stop corruption.”

There was a general roar of laughter at this. “Larrius Varro?” spluttered the first man. “If so, he should start with his own soldiers first. Honestly, that’s like the Camonna Tong swearing an oath to wipe out organised crime.”

“The Legion is the worst of the lot,” said one of the women.

“No, they’re all as bad as each other.”

The others nodded in agreement. “How do you think it was that bloated Imperial plutocrats got the charter to exploit the Caldera ebony deposits, and not a native Great House or local colonist? Big fat bribes, I tell you. And friends in high places.”

I squirmed a little in my seat, feeling the back of my neck grow hot. Okay, so a lot of what they were saying was probably true, but we weren’t all corrupt. Seriously. And given that most of these guys probably belonged to House Hlaalu, the words ‘pot’ and ‘kettle’ sprang to mind.

At that moment one of the Dunmer happened to glance in my direction, and saw me listening intently with arms folded. A look of horror crossed his face, and he nudged his friend sharply in the ribs. “Hey, Meril! Keep it down!”

Everyone looked round at me. “Carry on,” I said, giving them a little wave. “Don’t mind me.”

The man who had just spoken gave a rather embarrassed cough, and turned back to his friends. “Well, anyway, he’ll never get anywhere working through the system. The syndicates have got their people covered coming and going.”

“Then he’s going to have to go around the system,” said someone else. “Or through the system. Like, straight and hard through the system.”

There were murmurs of agreement, and the conversation gradually drifted on to other topics – but the talk about Larrius Varro and going ‘through the system’ had given me an idea. Granted, the kind of mildly crazy idea you tend to get after downing several glasses of brandy, but still an idea.

The next day I took a quick trip to Ald’ruhn to talk to Percius Mercius. By now it was becoming second nature to use the Guild Guides, despite how nervous I’d been at first, and yet again I found myself wondering why such a great idea hadn’t made it to Cyrodiil. In general, we Imperials are past masters at stealing other people’s ideas, incorporating them seamlessly into our own culture, and pretending we thought of them all along. Maybe it was one of those petty regulations that the Mages’ Council dreams up every few years, just to remind everyone that they still exist.

Percius looked grave when I told him about Desele and the Camonna Tong. “Yes, Manos Othreleth works for Orvas Dren, so I suspect this may not be a legitimate contract.”

“So what should I do?”

“Well, if you don’t want to get the money from her, I guess you’ll have to pay it yourself.” He saw the expression on my face, and shrugged. “Sorry, but that’s all I can think of.”

I really wasn’t happy with the idea of my own money going to fund the Camonna Tong, but it was better than having to bully Desele into paying them protection money. I returned to Balmora with a heavy heart and went to the Fighters’ Guild, where I handed over two hundred drakes to Eydis (without telling her that it was my own money, of course).

“Good work, Ada. Here’s your share.” She gave me back half of the money. I still wasn’t happy, but hopefully this would head off any more threats to Desele’s ‘respectable business’ (snort).

“Now,” Eydis continued, “I have a bounty contract for the Orc Dura Gra-Bol. She’s an outlaw, living openly in a house here in Balmora. I have a contract here that says 250 septims are yours if you bring her to justice.”

I agreed to the contract – making a mental note to check it with Percius first – but instead of going straight off to deal with Gra-Bol, I left town and headed for Fort Moonmoth. Inside I met Radd Hard-Heart, the Nord soldier who’d taken my Dwemer coins after my visit to Arkngthand. “I’d like to speak to Larrius Varro,” I told him.

He looked rather surprised, but waved his hand towards one of the staircases. “Down the stairs and to the right.”

Larrius Varro was dressed like a typical Imperial guard, but I could tell immediately that he was more than that. When I introduced myself, his brows shot up and he gave me a hard, appraising look. “Greetings,” he said at last. “I’m Larrius Varro, Legion Champion of Fort Moonmoth. I may have some work for you, if you’re interested.”

“That’s what I’m here about, actually.”

“Really?” He nodded slowly. “Well, Ada, the truth is that I’d been hoping you might come by. Through various channels, I’ve learned a bit about your situation.”

“You have?” It was my turn to be surprised. Was Larrius involved with the Blades somehow?

“I’d like to tell you a little story,” he continued. “When I’m done, you can ask me some questions – and then, maybe, you might decide to go out and do some things. Or you might not. That’s your affair.”

“Go ahead.”

Larrius glanced around, making sure we were alone, then laid an arm around my shoulders in a confiding manner. “Very well, here is the story: Once upon a time, there was a bad magistrate who took gold from criminal organisations to reduce the sentences and fines of criminals. Everybody knew he was doing this, but nobody could prove it – because even if it could be proved, the bad magistrate had important friends, and proof is not as powerful as important friends.”

“Quite,” I said.

“At the same time, there was a good officer who enforced the laws because he thought laws made people happy and safe. And it bothered the good officer that enforcing the laws did no good, because the bad magistrate let the criminals go as quick as the officer caught them.”

“But then, the good officer said, ‘Say. Wait a minute. What about the bad people who are bribing the bad magistrate? They haven’t got important friends. And if they aren’t around, then the bad magistrate can’t get any more bribes.”

By this time I was trying not to smile. “So what happened?”

“Well, the good officer suspected that the bad people who were bribing the bad magistrate were probably criminals themselves. So he made a little special prayer that there would be a little bloodbath to wash the bad people away.” He smiled. “There, isn’t that a nice little story? But maybe it isn’t over yet…”

“It’s a great story,” I said, still battling to keep a straight face. “Tell me, where could one find these ‘bad people’?”

“Oh.” He looked surprised. “The bad people are the Camonna Tong – I thought everybody knew that. Well, all I know is that they are a scout, a pawnbroker, a savant, a thief, and a smith, and they are in Balmora.”

“Would one of them be named Thanelan Velas, by any chance?”

Larrius shook his head. “I can’t give you any names. It’s against the Code to tell officers things. But I bet if you asked the Thieves Guild, they would cheerfully tell you who the bad people are and where to find them.” He thought for a moment, frowning. “I warn you, though, these bad people are very tough. Tougher than you, I’m afraid.”

Unfortunately, this was probably true. I’d improved quite a bit since my release from prison, but even at my peak there was no way I could have taken on five Camonna Tong thugs at once. Still, if I could find another way…

“Tell me,” I said carefully. “Suppose, just suppose there were to be a bloodbath… what would happen to me?”

“Well, Ada, I love the law. I love the Empire. But sometimes, no matter how hard we try to keep the peace, there is going to be blood.” He lowered his voice. “If there are any problems of a legal nature, I will speak to some of my friends, and take care of it. Oh, and I believe there a nice present the Emperor wants you to have… after you do the work.”

He patted me on the shoulder in a friendly manner. I assured him that I was looking forward to receiving the Emperor’s ‘nice present’, and left.

I needed a plan, I thought, as I walked back to Balmora. It was no use just barging in there and waving a sword around; I’d be cut to ribbons within seconds. What was the name of that spell I never thought I’d have any use for? Ah yes: frenzy.

For the next couple of days I was very busy. I paid a visit to the Thieves’ Guild, visited enchanters in several different cities in search of spell scrolls, and spent the rest of the time practising my combat skills with the Blades trainers (just in case). I sent a note to Nileno saying that I was working on a plan to deal with Ralen’s murderer, and received a terse reply: “Then get on with it.” I was starting to contemplate a spot of murder myself at this point.

Finally I had everything I needed: a couple of Frenzy Humanoid scrolls and a very powerful Chameleon spell. I’d had to pay extra to have the scroll written up by the enchanter, who had no doubt wondered what I could possibly need it for. Late in the evening, when the streets were beginning to empty of people and no guards were passing by, I ducked into the doorway of the Council Club and cast the Chameleon spell.

Almost immediately my outstretched hands vanished in front of my face. I could just see the outline there if I looked very carefully, but to all intents and purposes I was invisible. I didn’t have any time to waste, so I quickly opened the door and slipped inside the building.

I walked right past Thanelan Velas on the stairs leading down to the bar area, but he gave no sign of having seen or heard me; clearly the enchanter had done his work well. Taking a deep breath, I strode towards the centre of the room – where three other Cammona Tong members sat drinking and talking – and cast off the two Frenzy scrolls in rapid succession.

The scene that followed was not pretty. The two Tong members struck by the spells immediately leapt to their feet with cries of anger, drawing their weapons and waving them around wildly. The other one leapt to her feet and drew her own weapon, shouting “What the hell are you doing?” Seconds later the three of them were engaged in a pitched battle, swinging frantically at each other with swords and hand-axes.

A woman rushed up from a downstairs area, yelling something in Dunmeris, and I ran her through from behind before she could even reach the others. Moments later, Thanelan Velas came running down the upper staircase. I stuck out my foot to trip him over and brought my own blade down on his neck as he fell.

By this time two of the first three Dunmer lay dead on the ground, and the survivor was howling in pain, seriously wounded. It was a truly horrible sight, but this was no time to be squeamish. Gritting my teeth, I seized the unfortunate man from behind and drew my blade across his throat before he had time to react.

As I stood back to survey the grisly scene, I realised that I had become visible again. The only other person left in the room was the bartender, who was curled up in a ball, whimpering in terror. I didn’t think he’d seen me, and I didn’t particularly want to kill him, so I hurried upstairs and out of the building. Hidden behind some crates in an alleyway, I wiped off my armour and changed my blood-spattered clothes for some clean ones.

Just as I emerged from the alleyway, thinking I’d made it without being spotted, a heavy hand clamped down on my arm. The shock was so great that I let out a squeak of terror and very nearly lashed out with my sword. A moment later I found myself staring into the face of a male Dunmer – not a guard, but a roughly-dressed commoner with a torch in his hand. The glazed, vacant look in his eyes was all too familiar, as were his subsequent words: “I am a Sleeper, one among thousands…”

“Leave me alone!” I yelped, looking around frantically. In the distance I could see a guard beginning to walk in our direction.

“I bring you a message,” he continued, unmoved. “Dagoth Ur calls you, Ada, and you cannot deny your Lord. The Sixth House is risen, and Dagoth is its glory.”

“All right! All right! Now get lost!” I shoved him away, as hard as I could, and made a dash for the gates. I didn’t stop until I’d made it across the bridge outside Balmora and was sure that neither guards nor the ‘Sleeper’ were following me.

Okay, this was getting downright scary. One crazy guy mumbling about Dagoth Ur I could take, but two? Who the heck were these ‘Sleepers’, anyway – something to do with the Sixth House cult that Hasphat Antabolis had told me about? Had to be.

I lost no time in going to Larrius Varro to tell him about the ‘bloodbath’. Obviously I hadn’t had time to check that I’d got all the right people, but as far as I could tell they’d matched the descriptions given by the Thieves’ Guild. As I explained what had happened, a slow smile spread over his face.

“So everything’s been taken care of,” he said. “And, remarkably enough, without creating any problems of a legal nature. You are far more discreet than I had hoped, Ada.”

“Don’t mention it,” I said. “Er, you said something about a ‘nice present’…?”

“Ah, yes! Here.” He extracted something from the leather pouch on his belt. “It seems to be a ring. A very nice ring. There was no note with it, I’m afraid, but I’ll let the Emperor know you've received it – I’m sure he’ll be pleased.”

I took the ring, which had a Chameleon enchantment on it. It was a very nice ring, and would have been incredibly useful… about two hours ago, before I’d wiped out half of the Council Club. Sheesh.

Varro wasn’t quite finished, though. “And also, because of your exceptional discretion, take this special volume from my own library, with my compliments.”

He handed me the book Biography of the Wolf Queen. I’d read it already, back when I was a good little schoolgirl in Cyrodiil, but I knew it was valuable. “Thanks.”

“It might be best for you to stay at the fort tonight,” he advised. “You can use one of the bunks. If anyone asks… you’ve been here all evening, yes?” I agreed.

When I arrived back in Balmora the next morning, there was a small crowd milling around outside the Council Club. Several Hlaalu guards were there, blocking the door and trying to keep order. “What’s going on?” I asked a random onlooker, trying my very best to look puzzled and innocent.

The woman grinned. “Looks like someone hit the Camonna Tong at the Council Club. Hard.”

“Goodness,” I said. “Do they know who it was?”

She shook her head. “Nobody seems to know what happened. Probably the Thieves’ Guild.”

I turned away, suppressing a smile. Apparently I’d managed to kill two birds with one stone; no doubt Nileno would be pleased. I just hoped the Tong never found out who was responsible, or I’d probably end up next on their hit list.