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 11: The Pilgrim’s Progress

In the morning I looked through my copy of The Pilgrim’s Path to check I had everything needed for the Vivec pilgrimages. All the shrines were in the Temple canton, so I was hoping to get all three done at once after speaking to my last informant. Two of the offerings were easy enough to get hold of – 100 gold and a Rising Force potion – but the Shrine of Courtesy in the Puzzle Canal required a silver blade. Sighing, I went to the smith and purchased a silver shortsword, which I hoped would be acceptable.

After that I went back to the Temple canton to see Mehra Milo, smiling nervously at the Ordinators who greeted me along the way (“A fine day to you, Mr. Ordinator! Just minding my own business here, not doing anything heretical!”) The Library of Vivec was in the Hall of Wisdom, a section of the administrative offices on the canalside level of the canton. After wandering around its dark, twisty and confusing passages for a while (ever hear of windows, guys?), I eventually found the right place. I couldn’t ask anyone about Mehra directly, but I did see a Dunmer woman in a dark-blue robe who fit Caius’ description.

I cautiously approached her, wondering how to ascertain who she was without asking her outright. “Er… excuse me, sera? I was wondering if you could help me.”

“What is it you want, outlander?”

I took a deep breath. “I’m… looking for a book. For my friend Caius.”

Her eyes widened, and I knew immediately that I’d got the right person. “I see,” she said carefully. “And what sort of book would your friend be looking for?”

“Well, he’s very interested in Morrowind history and legends,” I said. “Ancient prophecies, secret cults, that sort of thing…”

A smile spread across her face. “Very well, come with me. I’m sure we can find something suitable.”

I couldn’t help feeling rather proud of myself as I followed Mehra to a secluded area in the back of the library. This was genuine spy stuff, just like in novels. Next thing you knew I’d be breaking into vaults to steal secret documents, and getting captured and tortured for – OK, hopefully not that last part.

Once we were out of hearing behind some bookcases, Mehra let down her guard and smiled. “So Caius sent you? I assume that you want information of some kind?”

I explained what I needed to know about the cults, and she nodded. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about a Sixth House cult, but I can tell you about the Nerevarine cult.”

“Okay,” I said, interested to hear about the cult from the perspective of someone connected with the Temple. “Can you tell me why the Temple persecutes the cult? It seems harmless enough to me.”

Mehra sighed. “Well, the Nerevarines say the Tribunal are false gods. To be honest, I’ve never understood why the Temple wastes so much energy on them – the faithful cannot be shaken by such attacks, and the Ashlanders are just ignorant savages. But with the erosion of faith among the Dunmer, the militant wing of the Temple is increasingly fierce in its attacks on heretics.”

“What do you mean about the erosion of faith?”

“Since the Empire, some Dunmer have turned away from the Temple,” she said. “Faith is the source of the divine power that sustains the Tribunal in their battle with Dagoth Ur. Many believe that is why Dagoth Ur grows stronger, and blight storms and monsters threaten the land.”

Maybe it was just natural cynicism, but that sounded like an excuse to me. “Hold on,” I said. “House Redoran are strong supporters of the Temple, right? So why are the blight storms worse in Redoran areas?”

“I cannot say.” Not a very satisfactory answer. “And then, of course, there are the Dissident Priests…”

“Dissident Priests?”

Mehra hesitated for a moment, then lowered her voice almost to a whisper. “The Dissident Priests dispute Temple doctrine on the Nerevarine prophecies. What’s more, they challenge the purity and divinity of the Tribunal. They suggest that their powers are sorcerous, not divine, and perhaps even akin to the powers of Dagoth Ur.”

“Seriously? Wow.” That sounded like some pretty controversial stuff, I had to admit.

“They also condemn the arbitrary power of the Ordinators,” Mehra continued, “and accuse the Temple hierarchy of self-interest and corruption.”

Aha, I thought. I wonder what really bothers the Temple hierarchy most? Religious doctrine, or threats to their own power and influence?

I gave Mehra a hard look. “Are you one of these ‘Dissident Priests’, Mehra? Is that why you’re passing information to Caius?”

Mehra didn’t answer the question directly. Instead, after a pause, she said, “Caius is a dear friend. Like me, he admires the best traditions of the Temple – charity for the poor, education for the ignorant, protection for the weak – but like me, he distrusts the Ordinators and he suspects the Temple is hiding something. He serves the Emperor, but he also loves Morrowind, and he sees the failing virtues of the Temple as a threat to Morrowind’s political stability.”

I sank my chin into my hands, thinking all this over. “You should get a copy of the book Progress of Truth for Caius,” Mehra said at last. “It describes the beliefs of the Dissident Priests. As for me, I am bound to come to the attention of the Ordinators sooner or later, and I fear I must go into hiding. When you return to Caius, tell him I am worried, and that if something goes wrong, I will leave a message under the code word ‘amaya’.”

My head was starting to ache as I left the Hall of Wisdom and emerged into the fresh air. Honestly, this was all getting a bit too involved for me, what with rebel priests and religious schisms and accusations of heresy. All I ever wanted to do was run around and hit things with swords.

Luckily, what happened next was enough to take my mind off this secret-agent business for quite a while. I’d promised myself I would do the Pilgrimages, and since it was still quite early in the morning, I didn’t see any reason to put it off. I walked to the Shrine of Daring, on top of the Temple canton, and donated the Potion of Rising Force I’d bought ages ago in the Foreign Quarter (I still hadn’t managed to work out what it was for). Then I recited the ‘Grace of Daring’ written on the shrine.

For a moment, nothing obvious happened except that I suddenly felt quite a bit lighter. At first I thought the shrine had cast another Feather spell on me, but when I started to walk away it occurred to me that I couldn’t actually feel the ground beneath my feet. I looked down in bemusement, to see that I was actually hovering an inch or two above the hard flagstones.

I blinked, convinced that I must be imagining things. It made no difference. Tentatively, I took couple of steps forward and ‘upward’ as if trying to climb an invisible staircase. It worked.

I was flying.

I drew a shaky breath, unable to believe this was happening. Surely it couldn’t be a dream? I leapt upwards, stretching my arms towards the sky, and found myself soaring towards the clouds as if I were lighter than air. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced anything quite equal to the pure joy I felt at that moment.

“Wheeeeee!” I shrieked, suddenly five years old again. I flapped my arms like a bird, and turned a couple of somersaults in the air. “I’m flying! I’m – ” I broke off, suddenly realising that someone might be able to hear me. But the only people in sight were a couple of Ordinators far away on the Ministry of Truth, who either hadn’t seen me or pretended not to.

So that was how they got up there, I thought. And that was what the guard at Tel Branora, the Telvanni tower, had meant about flying. Was this the spell that had been banned by the ‘Levitation Act’ in Cyrodiil? If so, I didn’t blame the mages for kicking up a fuss.

Suddenly it occurred to me that the spell could wear off again at any moment, and I hastily lowered myself until I felt my feet touch the ground. Even so, I could still move at twice my normal speed, and with almost no effort at all. I took a run up the steps of the massive Palace of Vivec, where the next of my three Pilgrimage shrines could be found.

The Shrine of Generosity was easy enough; I just donated 100 septims and it cast another blessing which I couldn’t identify. I paused for a moment to look at the sturdy-looking door of the Palace – was there really a living God inside there? Somehow I doubted I would ever be allowed in to see.

To each side of the steps were five grates leading into the Puzzle Canal, one set into each tier of the Palace. I removed the cuirass I was wearing – I wasn’t going to risk that getting rusty – and floated over the right-hand barrier, wondering which grate to enter. In the end I chose the middle one pretty much at random and waded through into the Puzzle Canal.

Inside I found myself standing in the canal itself, almost chest-deep in water. I swam around for a minute looking for a way out before realising that I could simply fly upwards and onto the bank. There was no shrine to Vivec to be seen, but in a nearby tunnel I found another loose grate leading into a different level of the Canal.

This room was a massive chamber with a stone ‘island’ in the middle of a deep pool. On top of the island I found a shrine with no Grace to read, only a cryptic message: Breathe the Waters of His Glory and the Way is Made Clear. Was it referring to a Water Breathing spell? But I didn’t know any.

I looked around for something that would give me an idea of what to do next. At the other end of the room I could see a passage through into a second chamber, but it appeared to be blocked by some kind of magical force field. Sighing, I removed my pack, waded back into the water, and ducked down under the surface, holding my breath for as long as I could without suffocating.

Nothing happened. I resurfaced and, suppressing every survival instinct known to humankind, attempted to breathe in water through my nostrils and mouth. All it did was leave me coughing and spluttering, desperate for air.

I tried again. This time I took in so much water that my lungs felt as if they were burning up, but still nothing happened. Surely the Temple didn’t expect pilgrims to drown themselves just to visit a shrine?

Gritting my teeth, I ducked under the surface again for one last attempt. Unfortunately I must somehow have drifted under one of the stone pillars that surrounded the island, because when I tried to resurface, I banged my head against something very hard. I actually blacked out for a few seconds before waking to find myself floating on the surface of the water, face upwards. Rather surprisingly, the Levitation spell was still active.

As I hauled myself out of the pool and chugged a healing potion, I noticed that the force-field blocking off the passage had disappeared. I walked through into the next chamber, which contained only a couple of broken pillars and a large staircase. At the top of the steps was yet another shrine, presumably the Shrine of Courtesy, and – good gods, was that a Dremora?

I took a closer look at it (him?): ebony-black skin, glowing eyes, horns and an impressive set of Daedric armour. Yep, this was either a Dremora or a guy in a very convincing costume. I hadn’t realised the servants of Mehrunes Dagon, Daedric Prince of Destruction, were known for their courtesy; most of the ones I’d met previously had shown more interest in hacking me to pieces than making polite conversation.

Very, very cautiously, I made my way up the steps to the shrine, expecting to be attacked by the fierce-looking Daedra at any moment. “Er, hello?”

“Are you here on the pilgrimage?” he asked. “Read the shrine.”

I read the inscription on the shrine. ‘Here Vivec gave a plain silver longsword to the Daedra Lord Mehrunes Dagon, rather than dishonour himself by fighting an unarmed foe.’

“Ah, yes. The sword.” I took out the silver shortsword I’d bought earlier that morning. “It’s actually a shortsword, not a longsword, but…”

The Dremora was shaking his head. “I can only accept longswords.”

“What? But I thought…” I flicked open my Pilgrim’s Path book at the appropriate page and read it again, more carefully this time. ‘The Dremora Krazzt is found in the centre of the Puzzle Canal, and will accept a plain silver longsword if spoken to with courtesy.’ Oh, drat it all.

“Wouldn’t a shortsword do instead?” I begged. “Please? Maybe if I ask really, really nicely?”

He looked at me through narrowed eyes, unmoved. “I can only accept plain silver longswords. I didn’t make the rules, mortal.”

Gods. I couldn’t believe I was standing here, at the shrine of a god I didn’t even really worship, arguing over the technicalities of a pilgrimage with a bloody Dremora. I was just about to ask the Daedra what the hell I was supposed to do now, when he leaned towards me and said in a low voice, “There is one in the chest over there.”

I walked to the nearby wooden chest, keeping one eye on the Dremora just in case, and opened the lid. Inside were two silver longswords, as promised. I took one of them out of the chest and carried it over to Krazzt, who nodded.

“As you see, I am unarmed. But you are brave and gallant.” Was that a slight eye-roll I saw there? “Will you give me your longsword so that I may stand a chance against your might?”

“Of course, friend Daedra,” I replied politely, fighting a sudden urge to laugh. After all, the whole thing was pretty ridiculous.

Krazzt inclined his head slightly as he took the sword. “Yes, I accept this sword. Thank you, mortal; you have the grace of courtesy. You should read the inscription on the shrine to complete your pilgrimage.”

“That’s all?” I asked, a little surprised. “We don’t actually have to fight?”

He shook his head with a sigh. “Just read the shrine and leave. I tire of your mortal presence.”

“Very courteous”, I mumbled, as I approached the shrine to recite the Grace of Courtesy. It cast another enchantment which I didn’t recognise and I was finally ready to leave, not a moment too soon. All I wanted was to get myself into a hot bath and some clean, dry clothes as soon as possible.

I blinked as I emerged into the hot midday sun outside the Palace. Was it really only lunchtime? After all the hassle of dealing with the Puzzle Canal I felt almost ready for bed already.

I ate my midday meal in Vivec, then went to look for a copy of Progress of Truth in the bookstore belonging to the Khajiit Jobasha. He had a copy, but at a very expensive 150 drakes – then again, it was technically a banned book. And I could always sell that silver shortsword to get some cash. After haggling a little to bring down the price, I reluctantly paid over the money, and then returned to Balmora through the Mages’ Guild guide.

“So,” said Masalinie Merian, when I teleported into the Balmora guild. “This Caius Cosades.”

I frowned. “What about him?”

“People are…” She coughed delicately. “People are saying that you’ve been seen visiting his house quite a few times recently.”

“And?”

“Well, there are rumours that you’re, um… seeing each other.”

“What?” I barked, so loudly that several other mages looked round to see what was going on. “Are you joking?”

“So you’re not, then?”

Sheogorath, I couldn’t believe this. “Of course not!” I gasped. “That skooma-sucking old coot? Are you crazy?”

“Well, I must say that he didn’t seem like your type,” she admitted. “But if you’re not, er… what do you do when you visit his house, then?”

“Well, we… we talk.” To my utter horror, I realised that I was blushing. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ajira and Estirdalin, two of the other mages, exchange knowing glances.

“What about?”

I couldn’t exactly tell her, could I? “Just… stuff.”

“Stuff,” she said, with a nod and a wink. “I see.” Aaaargh!

As if things couldn’t get bad enough, I thought, as I walked to Caius’ house. Not only was I forced to work for this guy on pain of execution, but now the local gossips had started rumours that we were ‘seeing each other’. All too much of each other, no doubt. What had I ever done to deserve this?

Shirtless Wonder greeted me at his door with that smug expression on his face. “Caius,” I snapped, as soon as I was over the threshold. “Did you know that people think we’re sleeping together?”

I saw his lips twitch slightly. “I had heard a few rumours to that effect, yes.”

“And you didn’t say anything?” I was going to kill him.

“Well, what should I have told them?” he asked mildly. “That I’m the Imperial Spymaster for Morrowind and you’re one of my agents?”

“Oh, it’s all right for you, isn’t it?” I huffed. “You come out of this pretty well, don’t you? People think you’re shagging a girl young enough to be your granddaughter. I’m the one everyone thinks is completely insane – ”

“Ada.” He held up a hand. “Did you speak to the informants in Vivec?”

I wrenched out the Progress of Truth book, Huleeya’s notes, and the journal notes I’d made during my conversations with Mehra and Addhiranirr, and flung them down on the table in front of him. “Here’s everything you need. And now I’m leaving, before people can start any more rumours about us!”

“Ada, wait!” he said sharply, as I made for the door.

I swung round, fixing him with a malevolent glare. “What?”

“Thank you for the notes,” he said. “I’m promoting you to Journeyman. You’re doing good work. And here are 200 drakes.” He lobbed me a money pouch, which I caught.

“Oh,” I said. “Well. Thanks.”

“Go out and treat yourself to a new pair of shoes.” He smiled. “And go do some more jobs for the guilds, just to keep your cover story current, then come back in a little while and I’ll have new orders for you.”

Very foolishly, I left the house while still holding the money pouch in my hand. It was just my luck that my old friend Sottilde from the Thieves’ Guild happened to be passing by at that moment.

“Hello, Ada,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Visiting Caius again?” She’d clearly heard the rumours. I tried to conceal the small bag in my hand, but she’d already spotted it, and her mouth dropped open. “He pays you to…?”

“NO! Merciful Gods, no!” This was getting out of hand. I looked around desperately, hoping no one else could hear us. “Look, I’m working for him, all right?”

“Ohhhh,” she said, her eyes widening in sudden understanding. “Is this about the skooma, then?”

Well, it wasn’t a great excuse, but it was better than nothing. I nodded reluctantly, trying my best to look like someone who’d had the truth dragged out of them against their will. “Just keep quiet about it, okay?”

“Well, that explains a lot,” she said, and walked on.

Okay, I thought, something had to be done. There was nothing for it but to leave Balmora until these insane rumours died down. I decided that now might be a good time to throw myself wholeheartedly into my duties for House Redoran.

Neminda greeted me with her usual cheerful smile when I entered the Council Hall in Ald’ruhn. “Hello, Ada. Are you looking for more duties?”

“I was, as a matter of fact.”

She thought for a moment. “Well, I do need someone to deliver a Cure Disease potion to a Redoran outpost.”

Ah, the tried-and-true courier mission. Delivering packages halfway across the country never gets old, I tell you. “Where shall I take it?”

“To Theldyn Virith in Ald Velothi.” I gave her my map so that she could mark the location of the village… right up on the north coast, miles from anywhere. “You can take the silt strider as far as Gnisis, but you’ll have to walk the rest of the way, I’m afraid.”

I suppressed a sigh, hoping I’d at least get some money at the end of this. Neminda either guessed what I was thinking or remembered the mudcrab mission, because she added, “You will not be paid for this, by the way.”

“Oh.”

“If you wish to advance in Redoran, you must be willing to perform tasks for the good of the House, not just for personal gain.”

“All right, I get the – ”

“The warm glow of satisfaction from a job well done should be payment enough.” Okay, now she was just taking the piss.

“Absolutely,” I said with a sigh, as she struggled to hide a smile. “Since I’m not getting paid, would it be alright for me to go on doing jobs for the Fighters’ Guild, and maybe the Legion? I do have to eat, you know.” (Actually I could get free bed and board at the Guilds, but you know what I mean.)

She shrugged. “As long as it doesn’t interfere with your duties to Redoran. The Fighters’ Guild are honourable enough, and I’ve no objection to the Legion – my father was a Legionnaire, actually.”

“Really?” I asked with interest. “Are your family from Cyrodiil, then?”

“No, Hammerfell.”

“Crowns or Forebears?”

“Forebears, of course. My father would hardly have joined the Legion otherwise.” She handed me the Cure Disease potion. “Off you go, then. Good luck.”

I left the Skar building as darkness was falling. As I walked back to the Fighters’ Guild I saw a female Dunmer striding purposefully towards me, and my heart sank as I saw the expression on her face – a distant, glassy stare that was all too familiar. “I am a Sleeper, one among thousands,” she droned, grasping me firmly by the shoulder. “Dagoth Ur calls you, Ada, and you cannot – ”

Oh no, not again! “GET OFF ME!” I shouted, so loudly that several passers-by turned to see what was going on.

A Redoran guard strode up. “Is this woman bothering you, outlander?”

“Just a little,” I said through clenched teeth, trying my best to detach myself from the Sleeper’s grasp. She was still mumbling on as if she hadn’t heard me.

With the help of a couple of passers-by, the guard managed to pull the woman away from me. I glared at her as she stood there, those horrible glassy eyes still fixed unblinkingly on mine. “How does Dagoth Ur know my name? What does he want from me?”

“He is the Lord, and Father of the Mountain,” she said calmly. “He sleeps, but when he wakes, we shall rise from our dreams, shall sweep our land clean of the n’wah. Why have you denied him? As Lord Dagoth has said. ‘All shall greet him as flesh, or as dust.’”

I felt a shudder run down my spine at that last sentence. “Get lost, you crazy b***h.”

Without another word she turned and walked away. I turned back to the guard. “What the hell is going on with these ‘Sleepers’? I’ve seen them in Balmora as well.”

He nodded sombrely. “Some are locals seemingly gone mad, others are strangers we can’t trace. Some of them have been attacking non-Dunmer with clubs. Those we capture alive have complete amnesia, with no idea where they are or what’s going on.”

“What did she mean about ‘sweep our land clean of the n’wah’?

“N’wah is a Dunmer word meaning ‘foreigner’ or ‘slave’,” he said, after a brief hesitation. Ah, so that was what it meant! “It seems these ‘Sleepers’ seek to drive all foreigners out of Morrowind. Be careful around them, outlander.”

“Damn right I will,” I muttered, still a little shaken. Three ‘Sleeper’ encounters within a couple of weeks, in two different cities? This was getting really disturbing. If I didn’t manage to get out of Morrowind soon, I was going to have to start watching my back.

I went to bed that night with a headache, and slept very badly. Yet again I had one of those creepy dreams – or perhaps ‘nightmares’ was a better word – this one even more vivid and frightening than the last. Golden Mask Guy was there again, speaking to me, though I couldn’t understand a word he was saying. His tone seemed pleasant enough, but I got the distinct feeling that he was trying to cast a spell on me.

In the morning I couldn’t remember how the dream ended. I sighed, remembering the dream I’d had on the prison ship while travelling to Morrowind. Why couldn’t I have Mysterious Female Voice back again? I still had no idea who she was, but at least she didn’t scare me the way Golden Mask Guy did.

I was disturbed enough by last night’s Sleeper encounter to go and report it to Caius before starting my Redoran mission – being very careful not to be seen entering his house, of course. He nodded grimly when I described what had happened. “Yes, I’ve heard about these ‘Sleepers’ – there’ve been several attacks recently, and a few foreigners have been killed by them already. Watch yourself, Ada.”

“Do you think they could be something to do with the Sixth House Cult?” I asked.

“Could well be,” he said, nodding. “I’ll try to find out more. Was there anything else?”

I opened my mouth to say “no”, then hesitated. “Well. This is going to sound strange, but… I’ve been having some rather bad dreams.”

Caius looked at me as if I were mad. “Would you like a comfort blanket?”

“No, seriously,” I said. “Really vivid dreams. More like… visions, in fact.”

“Visions?” he said with a sudden frown. “Tell me about it.”

I described the dreams to Caius, and was actually surprised by how much it seemed to worry him. “Not going loopy on me, are you Ada?” he said abruptly. “A word of advice. In Morrowind, if you have disturbing dreams, the Temple says you’re crazy and want to lock you up. And if you have disturbing dreams and think they mean something, then they think you’re a prophet or a witch, and – ”

“…want to lock you up?”

“Exactly. So take my advice, and keep a lid on it.”

“They’re just dreams,” I muttered, a little defensively. “It’s not like I think they’re real or anything. I just wish I could find a way to make them stop.”

“Try a sleeping potion,” he suggested. “When did these dreams start, by the way?”

I paused. “Well… actually I had one on the ship over from the mainland, but it was different to the others. Just some woman talking about how I’d ‘been chosen’ for something or other.”

“‘Chosen’, eh?” he said, looking hard at me. “Interesting. Very interesting.”

I couldn’t be bothered to ask what he meant, since I knew by now that I wouldn’t get a satisfactory answer. I was just about to leave when I thought of something else. “Oh, Caius? One more thing. Have you heard anything more about the… unrest… in the Imperial City?”

He shook his head, looking grave. “Nothing much. There haven’t been any more riots, but things are still tense. I’ve heard mutterings about recalling the Legions if things get much worse.”

Recalling the Legions? Good Gods, things had to be really bad if they were considering something as drastic as that. Caius looked closely at me, seeing the concern in my face. “You got family back in the City?”

“Yeah,” I said, trying not to look as upset as I actually felt.

“So have I,” he said quietly.

Both of us were silent for a moment. “I am going back, you know,” I said at last, glaring at him.

Caius shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll decide you like Morrowind better.”

“What?” I let out a snort of laughter, almost forgetting about the Imperial City riots for a moment. “Yeah, right.”

“You never know,” he said with a wink. “Now get working on that cover story.” I threw him one last dirty look and stalked out of the house, shaking my head. Decide of my own free will to stay in Morrowind, land of ash storms and kamikaze birds and evil immortal beings living inside volcanoes? He had to be joking.