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 10: Moving House

I stayed the night at the Fighters’ Guild in Ald’ruhn, where I confirmed the legitimacy of my latest contract with Percius Mercius, and set off on my first mission for Redoran the next morning. Unfortunately Neminda’s directions were a little inadequate, and I took a wrong turning somewhere and ended up getting thoroughly lost. Then, after nearly an hour spent retracing my steps, I tried a different route and got lost again. By the time I spotted the smoke from Drulene Falen’s hut in the distance, the sun was beginning to set and I was tired, dirty and thoroughly fed up.

It was then that I heard a horrible, ear-splitting shriek like the cry of a banshee. I looked around hurriedly, trying to work out where it was coming from, but I couldn’t see anything unusual – until suddenly a shadow fell over me and I heard the beat of wings overhead.

I looked up in horror as just some kind of huge, winged creature came swooping down on me, aiming straight for my face. With a cry of fear I swung up my shield to protect myself, and the creature slammed into it with a force that almost knocked me backwards. A talon scraped across my cheek as I lashed out wildly with my sword, cleaving the horrible beast in two. It plummeted to the ground in a cloud of bloodstained feathers.

I stood panting over my defeated foe, conscious that I’d only just escaped with both eyes intact. What the hell was that thing, and why had it tried to kill me? In Cyrodiil, birds were cute, fluffy little things that trilled happy songs and flittered shyly away when humans approached. I should have known that the Morrowind variety would be larger, meaner, and about ten times more homicidal.

Having patched myself up, I continued following the rough trail through the hills and finally arrived at Drulene Falen’s farm, just as the last rays of sunlight were fading away. Drulene herself was standing among her guar, which were some of the strangest animals I’d ever seen – large, scaly creatures that looked a little like lizards, but walked on two legs. I’d no idea why mudcrabs would pose any problem to them; by the look of them, they could kill a human without too much trouble.

Drulene waved and called to me when she saw me. “Greetings, outlander! Are you from House Redoran? Did Neminda send you?”

“That’s right.”

She looked a little put out. “I’ve been waiting all day, you know.”

“I’m sorry,” I said wearily. “I got lost. Twice. And then I was attacked by some kind of huge… bird… thing.”

“A cliff racer, you mean?”

“Er… maybe. I’ve never seen one before.”

“Well, you’d best get used to them,” she advised. “You’ll see them often if you spend much time in the Ashlands.” Just what I wanted to hear!

“Anyway, Neminda mentioned you had some trouble with… mudcrabs?”

She nodded. “There’s a pair of them that’s been hunting my guar. Just the other day they killed one and dragged it off. They were very big mudcrabs,” she added a little defensively, seeing the expression on my face.

“They must have been,” I said. “Do you have any idea where they’re coming from?”

“From the coast to the southwest, I think.” She sighed. “If this keeps up, I might have to sell what I’ve still got and move back to Tear.” Good grief, these mudcrabs had to be pretty monstrous if they were causing that much trouble.

I set out to search for the culprits as the twilight crept in, and eventually found them in a nearby swamp, by the carcass of the stolen guar. In fairness to Drulene, those were some impressively large mudcrabs, but still not exactly what I’d call a tough opponent. If some people would just learn the basics of how to handle a weapon, it would save an awful lot of trouble.

I made my way back to Drulene’s farm in semi-darkness, stumbling over rocks and tree roots on the way. When she saw me, she waved excitedly. “Did you find the mudcrabs?”

“Yup, they’re dead.”

Her face flooded with relief. “Oh, thank the Tribunal! I might not have to move back to Tear after all. But you look tired, Ada,” she added in concern. This was something of an understatement. “Can I offer you some Hackle-Lo?”

I didn’t have the faintest idea what Hackle-Lo was, but it didn’t seem polite to refuse. I nodded, and she handed me a pouch full of pungent-smelling leaves. Leaves?

“Here you go, Ada,” she said cheerfully. “After a hard day there's nothing better than chewing some Hackle-Lo.”

I took it that Hackle-Lo was the local equivalent of tobacco. No doubt it had some kind of marvellous alchemical properties, but unfortunately I had the alchemical skills of the common mudcrab. “Er, thanks,” I said to Drulene, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Just what I wanted.”

There was no way I was walking back to Ald’ruhn in complete darkness – I’d lost my way one too many times already – and I didn’t want to waste my Intervention scrolls. Drulene’s one-room hut didn’t have a bed for me, but she kindly allowed me to sleep on the floor on an old blanket. Let’s just say that was not the most comfortable night I’ve ever spent, but it was better than sleeping outside and choking to death if an ash storm blew up.

On my way back to Ald’ruhn the next morning, I kept a wary eye out for cliff racers. The journey took only half a day this time, since I managed to avoid getting lost again, but once back at the Fighters’ Guild I spent at least another hour trying to get myself clean. I would never have imagined it was possible to get such huge quantities of ash caught up in my hair. Good thing I keep it tied back on missions, or I’d probably still be washing the stuff out.

Neminda greeted me cheerfully inside the Council hall. “You’ve been gone a while,” she observed, oblivious to the pissed-off expression on my face. “I was expecting you back yesterday evening.”

“Things… came up,” I said heavily. “Do I get paid now?”

She looked surprised. “Did Drulene not pay you?”

“Um, well, she gave me some… Hackle-Lo? But I thought…”

“Hackle-Lo is valuable,” she said severely. “You don’t expect anything more, surely?”

“Of course not,” I said, forcing myself to smile. Apparently my wages were to be paid in Hackle-Lo from now on. I supposed I would just have to get very good at bartering with the local alchemists.

I didn’t feel inclined to take another mission right away, but I couldn’t have done in any case, as the next day I found myself trapped in Ald’ruhn by one of those horrible Blight storms. Yet again I found myself wondering what the hell the Redorans had been smoking when they chose to found their capital in a place like this. Either things had got much worse since Ald’ruhn was first built, or they had really drawn the short straw in negotiations over territory. I could just imagine the discussions between them and the other Houses:

Hlaalu: “Okay chaps, let’s talk about land rights. We got here first, so we’re going to grab all the nice fertile lands in the Ascadian Isles. How about you?”

Telvanni: “Well, we’re big on mushrooms, so we’re going to build all our settlements out east on Azura’s Coast.”

Redoran: “We’re going to stick our capital city in the middle of a barren, ashy desert, with no nearby water supply or arable land, on the slopes of an active volcano which spews out poisonous ash clouds every few days or so. It has cool shells!”

Other Houses: “……”

In the end, I decided to face the music and go back to Balmora. I’d been putting off visiting Caius as long as possible, but after wiping out half the city’s Camonna Tong contingent, I couldn’t really go on pretending I needed more time to improve my skills. And I wasn’t looking forward to seeing Nileno again either, but it had to be done.

By this time I was meeting the Guild guide Masalinie on such a regular basis that we were starting to become friends. “I hear some Imperial guy has been asking around about you,” she said, when I teleported into in the Guild building. “Someone named Caius… Cosades? Oh, and Nileno Dorvayn at the Council hall is looking for you as well. She didn’t look too happy.”

Surprise, surprise. Well, it was probably best to go there first.

Nileno was writing at her desk as usual, but not for long. The moment she saw me, she leapt to her feet and pointed an accusing finger in my direction. “Traitor!”

I had already decided that with Nileno the best means of defence was probably offence, but this made me genuinely angry. “I am not a traitor,” I hissed. “You kicked me out, not the other way round!”

She dismissed this with an angry wave of her hand. “You have joined Redoran!”

“So?”

“So? So?” Nileno was almost quaking with rage. “If I were not unarmed, I would kill you on the spot!”

“Oh, really? Just like you killed all those Cammona Tong people at the Council Club?” I took a step towards her. “Oh wait, no: That was me. Think very carefully before you start threatening me, Nileno.”

Inwardly I was trembling, but my little show of bravado must have been convincing, because Nileno’s outraged expression subsided into a sulky pout. “Have you no loyalty? We paid you well!”

“I’ll pay it back,” I snarled. “All of it. With interest.”

“You cannot just – ” Her brows shot up as she suddenly realised what I was actually saying. “With interest?”

A short while later I left the Council manor, having signed an agreement to repay all the money House Hlaalu had paid me – a total of four thousand drakes – plus the five-hundred-drake ‘deposit’ I had just handed over. If my calculations were correct, that made for an interest rate of 12.5 per cent – pretty steep, but worth it to get Nileno Dorvayn off my back. Luckily I’d chosen to save up most of the money rather than going on a spending spree, but it would still take a while to pay all of it back, especially if a handful of Hackle-Lo was the going rate for House Redoran jobs.

As I walked to Caius Cosades’ house, I took stock of my current situation. On the minus side, I’d thrown away a promising career in a moment of self-righteous anger, not to mention pissing off one of the most powerful men in Vvardenfell and destroying my chances of getting back home. On the plus side, I had a new House: a House of honourable humourless bastards who thought nothing of sending me on a day-long expedition to deal with a couple of sodding mudcrabs. Without payment. Ah yes, life was good.

I greeted Caius in his skooma-filled house, and ended up telling him the entire story over a mug of tea. (He still wasn’t wearing a shirt.) I guess I should have known not to expect sympathy, but he didn’t have to laugh quite so heartily at the story of Crassius Curio and my request for ‘sponsorship’.

“Be careful, Ada,” he chortled, wiping the tears from his eyes. “You don’t want to get a reputation for throwing vases at Great House councillors. Might earn you some unwanted attention.”

I glared at him. “Did you actually have some orders, or did you invite me here just to make fun of me?”

“Sorry.” He shook his head, calming down a little. “So you’re a Redoran, now, eh? Well, not to interfere in your affairs, but I’d recommend you stay on your best behaviour from now on. From what I know of the Redorans, they won’t be so easily bought off.”

“I’ll do my best,” I said, with a sigh. “So what did you want me to do next?”

Caius motioned to a scroll of paper lying on the table beside him. “Well, I’ve thought it over,” he said, “and I want you to interview three informants in Vivec City concerning the Nerevarine and the Sixth House. A Khajiit Thieves Guild operative named Addhiranirr, an Argonian called Huleeya, and a Temple priestess named Mehra Milo.” He pushed the scroll across the table towards me. “Here are the details so you don’t forget. By the way, Mehra is a friend of mine, so be careful when you speak to her – I don’t want you getting her into trouble.”

I couldn’t be bothered to ask how he knew that these seemingly random people would have the information he wanted. No doubt he had his sources. “Right,” I said. “By the way… were you planning to tell me what all this is about at some point? All this business with extinct Houses and secret cults?”

He wagged a finger at me. “All will be revealed in good time. You need to learn patience if you want to be a Blade, Ada.”

“Er. Caius.” It was probably time I broke the news to him. “I take it you realise that I’m not going to be staying with the Blades?”

Caius raised his eyebrows slightly. He took a sip from his mug and laid it down on the table, settling back in his chair. “Oh? Planning to flee the Emperor’s service, are you?”

“No,” I said in exasperation. “I’ll find out whatever you and the Emperor want to know about these cults, but after that I’m going back to Cyrodiil, all right? So I wouldn’t start making any plans that involve me staying in Morrowind.”

“Is that so?” he said quietly. “Well, we’ll see.”

I could tell this battle wasn’t over yet, but there wasn’t much I could do for the moment except head for Vivec. At least it would give me the chance to get a few more of my Pilgrimage visits done.

Before leaving for Vivec I went to deal with the outlaw Orc Dura Gra-Bol for the Fighters’ Guild. It was easy enough to find her – she was living openly in a house on the east side of town – but unfortunately she refused to come quietly and attacked me, forcing me to kill her. When I returned to Eydis afterwards, she told me that she didn’t have any more duties for someone of my rank, and I’d have to try the other regional Guild offices. To be honest, I was a little relieved.

I arrived in Vivec early in the afternoon. According to Caius’ notes, the Argonian Huleeya could be found in the Foreign Quarter, so I decided to look for him first. After asking around I learned that he could often be found in the Black Shalk cornerclub in the Lower Waistworks.

When I entered the cornerclub, my heart immediately sank. A worried-looking Argonian, presumably Huleeya, was standing in a corner of the room, surrounded by three very unfriendly and thuggish-looking Dunmer. The only other person in the room, the bartender, was standing well back with an “I’m not getting involved in this” expression on his face. Clearly I had chosen a rather bad moment to drop in.

I approached the man who looked like their leader, and greeted him politely. He scowled at me. “Am I talking to you, fetcher? No. I am talking to the filthy lizard. So push off.”

“Me and the ‘filthy lizard’ have business,” I said, folding my arms.

The Dunmer snorted in disgust. “What, are you some kind of filthy lizard lover? You wanta give your little friend a big kiss?”

I hesitated for a moment, thinking things over. I was only lightly armed right now, and I didn’t really want to start a fight in the middle of a club in Vivec (particularly a three-on-one fight). Besides, if I did there was a chance that Huleeya would get hurt. Maybe it was time to spread some of Caius’ gold around.

“How about I give you a big bag of gold instead?” I suggested, keeping my voice calm and steady. “And then maybe you’ll leave me and my friend to talk in peace. Deal?”

The three men exchanged glances. Finally, the leader shrugged. “Fine. You wanta take the lizard out of here, I’m not stopping you.”

I handed over a hundred septims from my pouch, and motioned to Huleeya to follow me. We left the club in silence, the thugs’ gazes boring into our backs. When the door clicked shut behind us, Huleeya breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank you for persuading those troublesome fools to leave me alone,” he said. “I would have slain them, but it would tarnish my honour, and I did not want to trouble my friend Saralis Golmis by fighting in his club.”

Yeah, right, I thought, but I didn’t say it. “What happened?”

He shrugged. “They simply wanted to fight. They hate my race, and the sight of a free Argonian offends them. It saddens and angers me.”

I nodded gloomily. It always saddens me to see prejudice and racism directed at the so-called ‘beast-folk’, though I can kind of understand how they might seem scary if you haven’t grown up amongst them like I did. The Argonians are basically giant walking lizards, and the feline Khajiit have a somewhat disturbing habit of referring to non-Khajiit as ‘prey’. They don’t mean anything by it, though (well, usually).

Anyway, time to get down to business. “You’re Huleeya, right?”

“Yes. You said you had business to discuss with me?”

I lowered my voice, knowing that Ordinators tended to lurk round every corner in Vivec. “Caius Cosades sent me. He wants information about the Nerevarine cult.”

“Ah.” Huleeya nodded slowly. “Very well. Come with me to my friend Jobasha’s bookstore, where we can talk in peace.”

We walked to a bookstore on the other side of the waistworks. Once inside, Huleeya drew me into a secluded corner and we sat down.

“Yes, thank you very much. We should be free from distraction here.” He took a sheaf of folded notes from his pocket. “What is it you wish to know about the Nerevarine cult?”

I sighed, wondering where to begin. “Well, to start with, perhaps you could tell me a little more about how the cult got started?”

“You have heard of Lord Nerevar, of course.” I nodded. “Well, to understand the Nerevarine cult, you must understand the history of the Ashlanders. Nerevar means something very different to them from what he means to Dunmer of the Great Houses.”

“In what way?”

“In the First Era, the nomadic Ashlanders and the settled Dunmer clans were much alike,” he explained, “but after the First Council and the formation of the Great Houses, Ashlanders have been steadily forced into the poorest and most hostile lands. Now they look to the prophesied return of Nerevar for a restoration of their ancient rights and traditions. They say that when they joined Nerevar in the Battle of Red Mountain, he swore on his great Ring, One-Clan-Under-Moon-and-Star, to honour the ways of the Spirits and rights of the Land.”

“So they believe that one day he’ll be reborn, and…”

“…fulfil his promises to the Tribes, yes.”

Ah, yes, this all sounded very familiar. A mistreated and downtrodden people, harking back to an imagined Golden Age to escape the harsh realities of their lives, dreaming of the day when some ancient hero would return and magically make things right again. It was all rather sad, really.

“And the Houses, what do they believe?”

Huleeya sighed. “Well, the Houses follow the Temple, and the Temple treats the Nerevarine prophecies as heresy. And the punishment for heresy is imprisonment and execution.”

I sat bolt upright. “What? I thought Morrowind’s treaty with the Empire was supposed to guarantee religious freedom?”

“In theory, yes,” he said, smiling rather sourly. “But the Nerevarine cult is hostile to the Empire, so the Empire does not interfere when the Temple persecutes the cult. Ashlanders hate the Temple, and particularly the Ordinators, for their ruthless treatment of Nerevarine cultists.”

I sat back in my chair, trying to take this in. As if things weren’t bad enough already, it would seem that I’d got myself involved with a bunch of fanatical religious extremists. It almost made me have second thoughts about doing any more pilgrimages for them – though on the other hand, maybe it was all the more reason to get them done as soon as possible. I certainly didn’t want anyone suspecting me of heresy.

“Er.” I swallowed nervously. “Just what, exactly, would you have to do for the Temple to declare you a heretic?”

“Well, for example, some in the past have claimed to be the reincarnated Nerevar,” he said. “The most recent is an Ashlander girl named Peakstar, a figure of legend among the Wastes tribes for the last 30 years. The Temple says these ‘false Incarnates’ disprove the prophecies, but the cult cites their appearance as proof of Nerevar’s coming rebirth.”

“And what happened to Peakstar?”

He shrugged. “Nobody knows. She disappeared, and has not been seen in more than twenty years now. The Temple claims she is dead, but no body was ever found.”

“Well, thanks for your time, Huleeya,” I said as I got to my feet, taking the notes he’d prepared for Caius. “You’ve been very helpful.” He’d certainly told me plenty, including some things which I’d really have preferred not to know. I’d be even more nervous of the Ordinators now.

Addhiranirr, the Khajiit thief, was the next person on my list. I was told that she lived somewhere in the St. Olms canton, which was quite a long walk away, so I went to the Foreign Quarter gondolier to ask if he could take me to St. Olms.

“No,” he said.

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

“I can take you as far as the Arena,” he said, “and you can cross the bridge from there. Or take another gondola, if you like. But I don’t go as far as St. Olms.”

I looked at him in disbelief. “Couldn’t I just pay you a little bit extra to go to St. Olms?”

“No.”

Grinding my teeth, I handed over the fare for the Arena. Luckily the St. Olms canton was the next one over, so it was just a short walk over the bridge when I arrived. I made my way up to the Waistworks, where I was surprised to be greeted by a well-dressed Imperial holding some papers.

“Good afternoon, sister,” he said with a pleasant smile. “I’m looking for a friend of mine, a female Khajiit named Addhiranirr. Do you know where I can find her?”

Addhiranirr? What a bizarre coincidence. “Er, no,” I said truthfully. “I don’t know where to find her.”

“I see,” he said, nodding. “Well, perhaps some other good citizen can tell me where to find her.”

Well, that was weird, I thought as he walked away. Was he after her for the same reason I was? Surely not.

Once the Imperial was safely out of sight, I approached a Dark Elf resident and asked about Addhiranirr. “Hmm,” he said thoughtfully. “Maybe that name does sound a little familiar. For some reason, I just can’t seem to remember.”

Sighing, I handed him some more of Caius’ coins, and he grinned. “Okay, I know Addhiranirr. And if I know Addhiranirr, she’ll be staying out of sight as long as that Census and Excise agent is lurking about.” Ah, I thought. “Probably down in the underworks. Look for trapdoors down from the canalworks level.”

“The sewers?” I asked in horror.

“Yeah, that’s right. Not scared of a little dirt, are you, Cyrodiil?”

Oh, Talos, why me? I hated sewers more than almost anything else in existence. I’d had to go down into the Imperial City’s sewers a couple of times before, and it had taken me days to get the smell out.

I prepared myself thoroughly before braving the underworks, changing into my oldest, shabbiest clothes and buying some perfumed oils from the canton’s alchemist. After that I went down to the next level of the canton, the canalworks, and managed to locate a trapdoor into the sewer. One of the Divines must have been with me, as I found Addhiranirr almost straight away.

“Great,” she said, when I explained who I was and what I wanted. “So Caius says to you, ‘Speak with Addhiranirr,’ and you have done this thing. But Addhiranirr will not talk to you about the Nerevarine or the Sixth House cult, and because why?”

“Why?”

She scowled. “Because Addhiranirr is, at this moment, very distracted by a nice Census and Excise agent, who also wants to speak with her.”

“What about?” I asked, though I’d already guessed the answer.

“You do not know this?” she said scornfully. “They are the collectors of the Emperor’s taxes and tariffs. And the Emperor has outlawed trade in many things, like Dwemer artifacts and ebony, and a Census and Excise agent will enjoy being a pest about such things. If you want Addhiranirr to help you, make the bad agent go away – then she will tell you things.”

I went back to the Waistworks and changed my clothes again, wondering what I could say to the agent to make him go away. All I could think of was to say that she’d been seen leaving the canton, and hope he believed me.

When I found the tax agent again, still wandering around the waistworks, he smiled at me. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Well, I’ve been asking around about your Khajiit friend,” I said as innocently as possible, “and I heard she just took a gondola to the mainland. Seems you missed her, I’m afraid.”

“What a disappointment,” he sighed. “But thank you for your time. I was just heading back to the mainland myself, anyway, and maybe I’ll run into her there.”

I felt a little guilty as I watched him go. I’m not the kind who enjoys ratting people out to tax agents (and they do exist), but I don’t particularly approve of smuggling either, even if the law is unfair. But hey, if Caius chose to associate with Thieves’ Guild people, there wasn’t much I could do about it.

Addhiranirr smiled gleefully when I told her I’d dealt with the Census and Excise agent. “Really? This is a good trick. And Addhiranirr does not ask you how you do this trick, because Addhiranirr does not want to know. But now Addhiranirr is feeling quite good, and happy to talk to you about the cults.”

“Do you know about the Sixth House cult?”

She nodded. “This Addhiranirr knows about, because it is about smuggling. Some smart smugglers are suddenly too busy for their old clients, because they have a new employer, the Sixth House, who pays very well.”

“What are they smuggling?”

“Addhiranirr doesn’t know, because they are very secret. And this is odd, because these smugglers are always loud and bragging, and now they hush up like fat-bellied kitties full of sweet-meats.”

Hmm, interesting. “You don’t know any more than this? Nothing about people called ‘Sleepers’, for instance?” She shook her head. “What about the Nerevarine cult?”

Addhiranirr let out a mocking laugh. “Yes, Addhiranirr knows this Nerevarine cult is just silly superstition. So you tell Caius this: Nobody in her right mind pays any attention to this moon-yeowling, prophecies and ancient heroes reborn and other silliness. Fuzzy tales for little kitties.”

Well, it was good to find someone else who saw this Nerevarine nonsense for what it was. From what I’d heard so far, there didn’t seem to be anything in it except wishful thinking on the part of the Ashlanders – certainly nothing that could pose a real threat to the Empire. Why Caius took such an interest in it was beyond me.

I took a vigorous bath and smeared myself in perfume before setting off to find Caius’ final informant, Mehra Milo, in the Temple canton. In his notes, Caius had warned me not to ask anyone about Mehra, as he didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that she was speaking to an outlander. He’d described her as ‘the priestess with the copper hair and copper eyes’, so that was all I had to go on.

As I walked to the bridge which joined the two cantons, enjoying the cool evening air, I spotted something which froze me in my tracks. High in the air above the magnificent Temple building was a massive – and I do mean massive – piece of rock, vaguely oval in shape and easily the size of a small moon. It seemed to be floating in the air of its own accord, and looking carefully I could see doors carved into it and balconies attached to the surface. It was like nothing I’d ever seen before in my entire life.

“Excuse me,” I said to a nearby gondolier, pointing. “What is that?”

“That is the Ministry of Truth, outlander.”

“How does it…?” I made an upwards gesture with my hands.

“It is a celestial body suspended there by the mighty power of Vivec,” he said with an entirely straight face. “Legend says that should the populace cease to worship Vivec, it will fall and raze the city.”

Okay, it sounded ridiculous, but I couldn’t think of a better explanation. “And what are those doors in it?”

He smiled grimly. “The Ministry of Truth was hollowed out to provide a prison and re-education centre operated by the Temple Ordinators for the correction of heretics.”

‘Correction of heretics’? Okay, that was it: the Temple were officially a bunch of utter lunatics. ‘Re-education centre’? ‘Ministry of Truth’? Why didn’t they just call it the ‘Inquisition’, for crying out loud?

Suddenly I began to feel a little dizzy. I hadn’t eaten dinner, but I didn’t think that was the reason; it was more that I was having trouble absorbing all this new information in a single day. The relative normality of life in Morrowind so far had lulled me into a false sense of security; it was only at times like this that I was reminded of what an incredibly weird place it really was.

Perhaps I ought to go back to the Foreign Quarter to eat and rest, then speak to Mehra the next morning. Then I could complete my next three Pilgrimages, instruct my bank on how much to pay to House Hlaalu, and hopefully get back to Balmora in time for afternoon tea with Caius. I’d achieved plenty for one day, after all.

I don’t know if it was just due to nervousness, but that night I had another strange dream about the man in the loincloth and golden mask. This one was even more vivid and disturbing, as this time I could actually hear him speak: “There are many rooms in the house of the Master. Be easy, for from the hands of your enemies I have delivered you.”

He stood aside, revealing a body lying on a table lit by candles, and to my horror I realised that it was me. I appeared to be dead, but when I touched the body – cringing, and trying not to shudder – I saw it draw breath, open its eyes, and rise from the table. The next moment I was lying in bed awake, gasping for breath and swearing yet again not to eat rich food so late in the evening.