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]

Before I post the next chapter, I'd just like to add a couple of screenshots of 'Young Ada' (actually my first Oblivion character, the one who originally gave me the idea to write an Elder Scrolls fic). Here she is aged roughly 16, in her homeland of Cyrodiil:

Imperial City
Playing soldiers

I also thought I'd mention that I've just posted the first chapter of The Neveragaine Strikes Back - the sequel to The Neveragaine - over at the Bethesda forums. I'd like to post it here as well, for the benefit of people who've already read the first story, but I'm not sure if I'm allowed more than one fanfic at a time. Obviously updates will be a lot slower on this one!

And with that out of the way...


Chapter 9: He Had It Coming

Nileno was all smiles when I went to see her at the Council House, her previous bad mood apparently forgotten. “Ada!” she exclaimed. “I hear you killed Thanelan Velas. Take these 1,000 drakes as a reward for solving this murder.”

“Well, I’m glad he’s dead,” I said, “but I don’t think I should accept the money. I had nothing to do with the attack on the Council Club.”

“Of course not,” she said, not missing a beat. “I meant to say, please take these drakes as a reward for your… exceptional service to House Hlaalu. And while we’re about it, I’m promoting you to the rank of Oathman.”

“Ooh.” Clearly I was going up in the world. “Do I need to do anything else?”

“Well, once you reach the next rank I won’t be able to promote you any further. You’ll have to persuade one of the Councillors to sponsor you.” A mercenary glint came into her eye. “In fact, for a small consideration, I might tell you which one to speak to.”

Sighing, I handed her fifty drakes from the money purse she’d just given me, and then almost dropped it on the floor when she said, “Crassius Curio is the one you should speak with.”

“…Crassius Curio?” My voice came out around an octave higher than usual. “Not the one living in the Hlaalu canton in Vivec?”

“Ah, you’ve heard of him?” she enquired. “Yes, he is the most open-minded of the Councillors, though somewhat… eccentric. He is the one most likely to listen to your requests, whatever they may be.”

Oh, gods. Could I really stand having to work for that guy? On the other hand… he was clearly wealthy and influential, and could probably pull a few strings on my behalf. Surely I could put up with being called ‘pumpkin’ and ‘sweetroll’ for a while if it meant a chance of getting back to Cyrodiil.

“But before that,” she continued, “there is one more item of business.”

“Oh?”

“The East Empire Company threatened to buy ebony from House Redoran unless we lower prices.” I waited for her to continue. “Either convince Canctunian Ponius in Ebonheart to buy ebony from us, or kill Darns Tedalen, the head of mining operations in the Sudanit Mine. If you do both, there might be a bonus in it for you.”

My jaw dropped. I guess I really shouldn’t have been shocked at anything Nileno said by this point, but even so, that last part completely floored me. I knew by now that the Hlaalu were pretty ruthless in defending their business interests, but I’d never imagined they’d go that far.

“Um, sorry, Nileno,” I said weakly. “Did you just say you wanted me to murder the head of mining operations?”

“Of course not!” she exclaimed, clearly horrified. I was just beginning to think I’d misjudged her when she continued, “That would be dreadfully bad for business.”

“But…” I hesitated, trying to get myself into the mindset of someone who thought like that. “Then how am I supposed to kill him? There’ll be guards, surely?”

Nileno shook her head in exasperation. “Oh, Ada. You must provoke him into attacking you first, of course – that way it will be perfectly legal to kill him.” She gave me an indulgent smile. “You really must learn how these things work, my dear.”

My mouth was still hanging open. “Right,” I said at last, recovering the power of speech. “I… think I’ll just speak to this Ponius guy, if it’s all the same to you. Who is he exactly, anyway?”

I nearly fainted when she said, “He is the local Factor of the East Empire Company.”

Great, I thought, as I left the building a short time later. What the heck was I supposed to do now? How was I supposed to convince the head of the East Empire Company that he should continue to buy ebony from Hlaalu? How would I ever even persuade him to see me? It wasn’t as if I was anyone important.

But however impossible that task might seem, the alternative was even worse. There was no way I was going to kill an innocent man just because Nileno asked me to, ‘legal’ or not. Camonna Tong members were one thing; a guy whose only crime was to belong to a different House was quite another.

Why couldn’t we just lower our own prices, I thought, with a sudden flash of anger. Wasn’t that how commerce was supposed to work anyway? People might criticise us Imperials for our mercantile outlook, but at least we understood that!

I couldn’t immediately think of any ideas. I even said a quick prayer to Zenithar, our god of commerce (yes, we have a god of commerce – we’re Imperials, for crying out loud), but it didn’t seem to help. It wasn’t until that evening that inspiration finally struck, over yet another glass of ale in the Eight Plates tavern.

In addition to the normal spells you can learn from tutors, each race has certain ‘inherent’ magical powers that we’re pretty much born with. They don’t need any skill or cost any magicka to cast, but the downside is that for some reason they only work once a day (please don’t ask me, I don’t make the rules). One of the powers we Imperials get is a powerful Charm spell known as the ‘Voice of the Emperor’, which can persuade the target to agree to almost anything – for a short time, at least.

If I could just get in to see Ponius and cast the spell on him… I knew it was risky, as he’d probably taken precautions against that kind of thing, but using Illusion magic on people wasn’t actually illegal. The worst he could do was throw me out, and at least I’d be able to tell Nileno that I’d tried.

I spent some time sketching out a rough plan of action in my journal, and on the next morning I travelled to Vivec to put it into practice. My first stop was at a clothier’s in the Foreign Quarter, run by a woman called Agrippina Herennia. Being a fellow Imperial, she was very understanding when I explained what I needed, and even helped me style my hair into something more interesting than its usual neat braids.

“Have you thought of using some Telvanni bug musk?” she asked, as I tried on some of her beautifully-tailored clothes.

“Telvanni bug musk?” I’d never even heard of it.

“It’s a perfume made from the scent glands of Grazelands beetles,” she explained. “The fragrance is attractive to all mortal races and sexes – it can make even a barbarian persuasive. Very expensive, but well worth it.”

So I went to buy a flask of Telvanni bug musk from one of the alchemists in the Lower Waistworks. It was stupidly expensive, at 100 septims a bottle, but if it was as powerful as Agrippina said then that was hardly surprising. I’d soon find out, anyway.

A ship docked near the Foreign Quarter took me to Ebonheart, the Imperial administrative centre of Vvardenfell. It was very much a Western-style settlement, built entirely out of stone, and resembling a large castle. The plaza by the docks was dominated by a huge marble statue of the Dragon God Akatosh, chief of the Nine Divines. Out of long habit, I brushed my hand against it for luck as I went past.

I stood in front of the East Empire Company headquarters, staring up at the imposing building, and I must admit that I almost lost my nerve. I came very close to just saying “sod it”, heading back to the docks, and going back to tell Nileno that I wasn’t up to the task. After all, what was the worst that could happen? She could either accept it or kick me out of the House, and frankly, at this stage I was starting to think that might be a good thing.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a Redguard man smile at me. “You okay there, friend?”

“Fine.” I forced myself to smile back.

“Here from Cyrodiil?”

I nodded. “Just for a little while.”

“Well, I wouldn’t hurry back.” He looked sombre. “I heard about the unrest in Cyrodiil City. Sounds like things are pretty bad there at the moment.”

My heart leapt into my mouth. I hadn’t heard anything about this. “What unrest?”

“Didn’t you know?” I shook my head. “Uriel Septim is sick, and wizards say the young Septims are just doppelgangers placed there when Jagar Tharn was Imperial Battlemage. They say the Guard charged a mob demanding destruction of the false heirs... lots of folks were killed.”

I felt a horrible sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Cyrodiil City – or Imperial City as we call it back there – was my home. My friends were there, and my family. Not that I could ever imagine my parents joining a mob to storm the Palace, but if they happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time…

Suddenly I knew that whatever it took, I had to get back to Cyrodiil. All the time I was running around doing stupid errands for Caius Cosades and Nileno Dorvayn, my friends back in the City were in danger. I’d no idea if I could help or not, but it was my city, and if there was trouble then I ought to be there.

As the Redguard watched in bewilderment, I took my flask of bug musk out of my pack and dabbed a liberal amount onto my wrists and collarbone. Then, taking a deep breath, I marched into the EEC office with my head held high.

“Good day,” I said to the clerk inside, smiling sweetly. His mouth dropped open and he hastily got to his feet, smoothing back his hair. “I’m a representative of House Hlaalu. Would it be possible for me to speak to Mr. Ponius, please?”

“I – of course, my lady. I’ll see what I can do.” Red-faced, he hurried from the room, while I quickly dabbed on a little more of the Telvanni bug musk. It was the first and probably the only time that I would ever provoke that kind of reaction from a man, and I have to admit that it was rather enjoyable.

A few moments later the clerk returned and ushered me through into Ponius’ office, where the Factor sat at a desk. For a moment he looked a little confused, but as I drew closer and the scent wafted over him, that same stunned expression crossed his face. “Ah, a fellow Imperial!” he said in delight, springing to his feet. “What can I do for you, madam?”

“Good morning, Factor,” I said, with my most charming smile. “I’m very pleased to meet you.” I shook hands with him, and as I did so, I murmured the words to the ‘Voice of the Emperor’ spell under my breath.

What came next… well, let’s just say that it was not my sharply-honed business acumen that persuaded Canctunian Ponius to renew the contract. I flirted shamelessly, I batted my eyelashes, I did everything I’d always dismissed as completely unforgivable in a modern, liberated woman. I don’t think I even did it particularly well, but that hardly mattered – with the combined effect of the spell and the Telvanni bug musk, I could probably have stood there reciting the alphabet and had the same effect.

After securing Ponius’s compliance (poor guy, he never stood a chance), I went down to the docks and enquired about travel to the mainland. As I’d expected, I was told that ships were being turned back due to the Blight, but I did find out that a ship was leaving soon for Tel Branora – the Telvanni settlement where Maurrie Aurmine’s friend lived. I decided now would be as good a time as any to go there (not least because I was keen to put off my next meeting with Crassius Curio for as long as possible).

It was a long journey to Tel Branora, a small and isolated island in the region known as Azura’s Coast, and we didn’t arrive until sunrise the next morning. When I stepped on to the docks, all I could see was a few wooden shacks. It was only after struggling up a hill that I got my first sight of Tel Branora itself – and it literally took my breath away.

The entire village – if you could call it that – seemed to be carved out of one absolutely enormous mushroom. A huge central tower stretched up towards the sky, and around it, houses and shops were built into the mushroom ‘caps’ and connected by winding spiral staircases. Shrouded in mist, glowing faintly in the early morning light, it looked like something from a child’s book of fairytales. Say what you like about the Telvanni, they had style.

I did feel a little nervous as I walked towards the town, remembering the stories I’d been told – but while none of the locals here seemed particularly friendly, none of them made any attempt to kidnap or enslave me. I finally plucked up courage to ask directions from at a small encampment nearby, where a Dunmer woman stood with a group of heavily-armed Bosmer guards.

The woman scowled at me as I approached. Before I even had a chance to speak, she called to me angrily: “Stay out of things that don’t concern you, outlander! This affair is between myself and Therana.”

“Um, I didn’t mean to interfere,” I said meekly, wondering what the ‘affair’ was and for that matter, who Therana was. “I just wondered if you could tell me where to find someone called Barnand Erelie?”

She looked at me with undisguised disgust. “Do I look like a tour guide? Find someone else to give you directions.”

Shrugging, I left her and crossed over a narrow walkway into the settlement itself. The first thing I saw was a trader’s banner fluttering outside one of the mushroom ‘houses’, so I went in to ask the shopkeeper inside about Barnand. The inside of the weird mushroom was even stranger than the outside; an earthy smell pervaded the rooms and the walls looked moist and fleshy, like the insides of an animal. I really didn’t think I’d want to live in a place like this.

Rather to my surprise, the trader seemed relatively friendly and was happy to share information about local services. “Llorayna Sethan runs Sethan’s Tradehouse,” she told me. “That’s probably where you’ll find your friend. Galen Berer is a smith and armorer, Fadase Selvayn is a trader, and Mistress Therana in the tower is our lady sorceress. Oh, and Trerayna Dalen – Mistress Therana’s Telvanni challenger – has a camp just outside the village.”

I was taken aback by her casual attitude. “Does this happen… often?”

“Fairly often, yes,” she said. “It’s the traditional Telvanni way of settling disputes.”

Okay, maybe all those wild stories about the Telvanni weren’t so far-fetched after all.

I found Barnand in the tradehouse, as predicted. I knew immediately that there wasn’t likely to be anything between us; he was a good-looking man, slim and fair-haired, but not really my type. He seemed friendly enough, though.

“Ah...so you’re the one who brought Maurrie and Nelos together!” he exclaimed, when I told him who I was. “Nothing has been seen or heard of them since then, but the bards are singing songs of their love. Please, take these as a token of my gratitude.”

He handed me three extremely high-quality Restore Health potions. Well, I might not be getting a boyfriend out of this, but that was a pretty good substitute.

I spent some time exploring the rest of Tel Branora, marvelling at its intricate construction. No one back home would ever believe me when I told them about this. It made me wish I had some kind of magical device that could capture an image of the tower, exactly as it was, to show to my friends.

As I wandered up a spiral walkway, looking for a way into the tower, I found my way blocked by a very tall Telvanni guard. He was so swathed in heavy armour that I couldn’t even tell what race he was; only his height and ungloved hands indicated that he was an Altmer.

I was just about to turn back when he strode up to me. “Outlander. Would you like to earn some gold?”

“Maybe,” I said cautiously. “Who are you?”

“I am Mollimo of Cloudrest, Mistress Therana’s guard captain.” He pointed into the distance where Trerayna Dalen had her camp. “I want you to take care of Trerayna Dalen for me. She’s a petty annoyance, but Mistress Therana won’t let me leave the tower to deal with her. Kill her, and I’ll pay you 1,000 gold.”

Gods, did I look like someone who’d kill random strangers for money? “I’m not an assassin for hire,” I said coldly. “And I don’t want to get mixed up in Telvanni disputes.”

He shrugged. “If you change your mind, the offer still stands.”

“Could I see Mistress Therana?”

“You’ll find her in her chamber in the Upper Tower,” he said. “Easiest way is to enter through north-facing entrance to the Tower. You’ll have to fly, of course.”

I looked blankly at him. “Fly?”

“Yes, fly. You’ll have to fly, either way you go.” He paused. “In any case, I wouldn’t recommend approaching her. Mistress Therana is old and somewhat… eccentric. Her behaviour can be unpredictable.”

I wasn’t really listening. I was still trying to work out if he was just having me on, or if he was actually serious when he spoke about flying. Sure, I knew plenty of Alteration spells (or knew of them, at least), but I’d never even realised flying was possible. Surely it couldn’t be that only the Telvanni knew how to do it?

Anyway, it didn’t look like I’d be meeting Therana – and to be honest, there wasn’t really a lot else to do in Tel Branora. I’d have loved to see the tower lit up at night, but I didn’t want to hang around all day just waiting for sundown. Rather than spend another day or so travelling back by ship, I tried casting a Divine Intervention scroll, and was somewhat surprised to find myself right back in Ebonheart outside an Imperial chapel. Apparently this kind of scroll teleported you to the nearest Imperial Cult shrine, the same way Almsivi Intervention scrolls took you to the nearest Temple.

As I boarded the silt strider for Balmora, it occurred to me that I hadn’t made any progress in my pilgrimage for quite a long while. I’d joined the Temple a few days after arriving in Vvardenfell, yet so far I’d only visited one of the seven shrines on the list. I really ought to be putting more effort into it, or they’d start thinking I lacked faith (heaven forbid).

I got out my book to check the sites of the other pilgrimage shrines. Three of them were in Vivec, which was fairly convenient, but my heart sank when I saw that two others were in the town of Gnisis and the Koal Cave – both up in the far north-west, near the coast. Even if I could come up with a reason to visit that part of the country, it would still take days to get there and back. The last shrine – described by the book as one of the most difficult to reach – was at a place called ‘Ghostgate’ near the crater of Red Mountain, the large volcano in the centre of the island.

I decided I’d try to get the Vivec pilgrimages done next time I visited the city, but in the meantime I had to tell Nileno about the ebony contract. Before that, though, I went to the Eight Plates and composed a letter to my parents – my first in several years.

When I left home at the age of eighteen, I’d left a letter for them, explaining what I’d done and that I could be reached through the Fighters’ Guild. On receiving a tear-stained reply, begging me to give up this ‘silly nonsense’ and come home, I’d written back explaining gently but firmly that it wasn’t going to happen. I hadn’t heard from them since, even though I’d written several more letters, so I eventually stopped bothering – but now it was different. I wasn’t too hopeful that this letter would even reach them, what with the travel bans and the unrest in Cyrodiil, but I had to try.

I was still a little distracted when I went back to the Balmora Council Hall after handing in the letter for delivery, but Nileno didn’t seem to notice. “So you convinced Canctunian Ponius,” she said, when I told her about the meeting. “Good work, Ada - please take these 1,000 drakes as a gift from House Hlaalu. And I believe this merits a promotion to Lawman.”

I knew I ought to be pleased about this, but somehow I couldn’t work up any enthusiasm. “Does this mean you don’t have any more duties for me?”

She nodded. “You must find a sponsor among the Hlaalu Councillors. Since you are a foreigner, you should speak with Crassius Curio – I doubt any of the others would agree to sponsor you.”

I really wasn’t looking forward to a second meeting with ‘Uncle Crassius’, but I supposed I might as well get it over with. So I went to Vivec, to Curio Manor in the Hlaalu canton, and spent some time explaining my situation to Curio. I’d been expecting him to ask some kind of mildly sleazy favour in return for his sponsorship, but what happened next was beyond anything I had imagined.

“You want me to be your sponsor in House Hlaalu?” he exclaimed. “I thought you’d never ask. But first, I want to see who I’m dealing with.” He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair, smiling. “So, Ada, show Uncle Crassius what you have to offer.”

I know this is going to sound stupid, but for a moment I honestly didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. “Excuse me?”

“Come on, dumpling, don’t be shy,” he wheedled. “Just do this one little favour for Uncle Crassius.”

Was he asking for a bribe? I’d been in House Hlaalu long enough to know that the answer was probably ‘yes’, no matter how pathetically greedy it seemed. I heaved an exasperated sigh, fumbling for my purse. “All right, how much?”

But Crassius waved it away. “Now come on, sweetie, I’m sure we understand each other. No need to be coy. After all, that armour looks so hot and uncomfortable…”

And it finally hit me. For a second I just goggled at him, unable to believe he was actually asking what I thought he was asking, but the lecherous grin on his face made it all too plain that he was. What the hell? Who the hell did he think he was?

The lovely ceramic vase on the nearby table never stood a chance. With a gasp of fury I snatched it up and hurled it at Crassius, hitting him square on the nose and shattering the vase into pieces. “How dare you!”

Crassius leapt to his feet with a cry of pain. “What are you doing? GUARDS! I’m being attacked!”

Two Ordinators came running at the sound of his voice. One of them seized me and pinned my arms behind my back, while the other surveyed the broken pottery and Crassius’ angry face. “What’s going on here, Ser Curio?”

“She threw that vase at me!” Crassius was quivering with indignation. Blood was trickling from a small cut on his forehead where a sharp piece of pottery had struck him.

The other Ordinator twisted me around to face him, ignoring my furious struggles. “Why did you do this, outlander?”

“He tried to make me strip off in front of him! Pervert!” I snarled over my shoulder at Crassius. “Isn’t harassing women a crime here? He’s the one you should be arresting!”

The Ordinator regarded me coldly from behind his golden facemask. “Are you saying he actually attacked you?”

“Well, not as such, but…” I looked at him in helpless rage. “He insulted me!”

“That’s not an excuse, outlander.” The Ordinator released my arms. “You must pay for the damage you caused. How much did this vase cost, Ser Curio?”

“Eight hundred septims.”

“Eight hundred!” I squeaked.

The second Ordinator folded his arms impassively. “And a fine of three hundred drakes for assault. Pay it, outlander, or go to jail.”

“Grrrrrnnngh.” I couldn’t believe this was happening. “All right. Just take me to the bank and I’ll get the money.”

Crassius glowered at me from beneath the handkerchief pressed to his temple. “I’ll see you are expelled from House Hlaalu for this, Oathman.”

“Good riddance!” I spat, still fuming. “And if you dare go around telling people I attacked you for no reason, I’ll make sure everyone knows exactly what you need to do to get ‘sponsored’ in your House. Have a nice day, ‘Uncle Crassius’.”

I swept out of the room, followed closely by the Ordinators. Some part of me realised that there was going to be hell to pay when Nileno found out about this, and that I’d just comprehensively screwed up my chances of getting off Vvardenfell any time soon, but right now I was too angry to care. I wanted revenge, and I knew how to get it.

After paying off the fines (with a very bad grace), and being released, I went straight back to the Mages’ Guild to take the Guild Guide – not to Balmora, but to Ald’ruhn. There, I went directly to the Skar crabshell and into the Redoran Council Hall, where I’d first met Neminda to intercept those orders.

As I’d hoped, Neminda was still there and she recognised me immediately. “Hello there… Ada, isn’t it? Can I help you?”

“Yes. I want to join House Redoran.”

She looked at me in astonishment. “But you are Hlaalu!”

“Not any more,” I said grimly. “They kicked me out.”

“What? Why?”

Ah, here came the hard part. “I, er, threw a vase at one of their Councillors.”

Neminda was staring at me open-mouthed. “Why would you do a thing like that?”

“Because he ordered me to undress in front of him, that’s why,” I snapped. “Wouldn’t you have done the same?”

Her expression cleared suddenly. “Wait a second. Would this be Crassius Curio you’re talking about?”

“Yes, actually,” I said in surprise. “How did you guess?”

By now her eyes were twinkling with amusement. “But Ada, didn’t you know? He does that to all the retainers who ask him for sponsorship.”

“What, all?” I asked in disbelief. “Even the men?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, with a wink. “Especially the men.”

Good gods. Well, at least he was an equal-opportunity lech.

Neminda composed her features into a severe expression, suddenly remembering who she was speaking to. “Anyway, why should I believe any of this? The Hlaalu might have sent you as a spy.”

“I’m not a spy,” I said promptly. “But I’ll tell you who is: Bivale Teneran, the clothier. Oh, and… you might want to change your codes. All of them.”

“Hmph.” She hesitated. “Well, we would not usually accept outcasts from other Houses, but…”

“Please,” I begged. “Give me a chance. I’m a good fighter. I’ve been in the Guild for years, and I’m thinking of joining the Legion when I go up to Gnisis for my pilgrimage – ”

Her frown softened slightly. “Oh, you’re Temple?”

“Yes! Look.” I pulled out my now slightly dog-eared copy of The Pilgrim’s Path. “I’ve already started the pilgrimages.”

“Well, that is something. House Redoran values piety.” She thought for a moment. “Perhaps I should give you a chance. But – ” she frowned at me sternly – “you’re on probation, do you understand? And you will have to start all over again as a Hireling, whatever rank you had reached in Hlaalu.”

“That’s absolutely fine,” I said gratefully. So the Redorans were religious types, were they? Well, I could handle that, as long as they didn’t preach at me all the time like that ghastly Alessia Ottus woman back in Imperial City. (I hated her, but she and her husband were ‘friends’ of my parents, so as a child I’d been forced to play with her equally horrible daughter. We’d never got on, even as five-year-olds.)

“Perhaps you would like to hear the rules of the House first?” Neminda suggested.

Actually, that did sound like a good idea. If I’d only done the same for Hlaalu, perhaps I could have avoided this whole mess.

I nodded, and she quickly reeled off the list from memory. “Steal from your kin, strike your kin unprovoked, or murder your kin, and you shall be cast out from us and called our enemy. Do not break your word of honour. Know your place, serve your superiors, and do your duty to your House. Respect the teachings of the Tribunal. Defend your House, your People, and your Honour.”

“One at a time!” I gasped, scrabbling for my journal. “What was the third one again? Okay, that all sounds pretty reasonable.”

“This book may help you.” She handed me a book called The True Noble’s Code, by one Serjo Athyn Sarethi.

I opened the book and read a random paragraph. “A Redoran must show piety to the Aedra and Daedra, our creators and ancestors. For without the divine, we would not have the chance to serve. And without divine law, we would not know right from wrong. And without giving thanks for these things, we would forget out place and our purpose.” I skimmed up the page. “A Redoran noble must know the virtue of gravity. It is not the Redoran way to laugh at serious matters, for it shows disrespect. It is not the Redoran way to spread rumours, for they fester and breed dissention.”

Boy. These guys were a barrel of laughs, weren’t they?

“Fine,” I said with a sigh. “I think I can manage that. Is there anything you’d like me to do right now?”

Neminda thought for a moment. “Well, Drulene Falen has asked for our help. She says her guar herds have been having trouble with hostile mudcrabs.”

“Okay, well, I’m sure I can – ” I paused. “Hang on, mudcrabs?”

“That’s right.” She looked slightly puzzled. “Don’t you have those in Cyrodiil?”

“Yes, but… never mind.” I heaved a small sigh. Clearly this was going to be the Fighter’s Guild ‘rat infestation’ assignment all over again.

“Anyway, Drulene’s guar herd is due west of here, just over the hills. There’s no easy way to get there, I’m afraid,” she added helpfully. “You’ll have to walk.”

I copied down her directions, my heart sinking as I realised it would take hours to walk out there. On the other hand… at least it would give me an excuse to stay out of Balmora for a day or two. I couldn’t help smiling at the thought of Nileno Dorvayn’s face when she found out what had happened, but for all that, I didn’t want to risk seeing her again until she’d had time to cool down a bit. I was brave, but not that brave.