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 12: You’re In The Army Now

I didn’t want to delay my Redoran mission any longer, as I could imagine that whoever needed the Cure Disease potion was feeling pretty miserable right now. I returned to Ald’ruhn and bought passage on that evening’s silt strider to Gnisis, hoping fervently that we wouldn’t run into any ash storms along the way.

Just around dawn we arrived in Gnisis, a large village in the West Gash. It was surrounded by mountains and built in the same style as Ald’ruhn, though I could see the stone towers of an Imperial fortress in the distance. The caravaner told me that many Gnisis citizens were ‘Velothi’, the descendants of Ashlanders who had abandoned their nomadic lifestyles and settled in the area.

Two more of the Temple pilgrimage sites could be found near to Gnisis: the Shrine of Justice in the Gnisis Temple itself, and the Shrine of Valour in the Koal Cave a short way south. I decided to visit the Temple now and the other shrine when I returned from Ald Velothi. The Shrine of Justice required a Cure Common Disease potion as a donation; luckily I always carried a spare one with me on my travels, just in case. After visiting the shrine and stopping by the tradehouse for some breakfast and supplies, I left for Ald Velothi on foot.

I wasn’t too pleased at the thought of yet more walking, but the journey went reasonably smoothly up until I was quite close to Ald Velothi. Then I rounded a corner and came upon an attractive Breton woman (why is it always Bretons?) standing by the side of a small pool and looking vaguely flustered and helpless. Glutton for punishment that I am, I stopped to ask if I could help.

“Why, thank you, m’lady,” she simpered. “You see, I dropped my ring and I just can’t seem to find it. I think it must have rolled down into this pool here.” She pointed down into the murky water.

I suppose I ought to have known something was wrong when she called me ‘m’lady’ rather than the usual ‘miss’ or ‘madam’, but right now I had other things on my mind. “Look, I don’t mean to be unkind,” I said with a sigh, “but I’m on a fairly urgent mission right now. Is there any reason why you can’t go in there and get it yourself?”

She blushed. “I can’t go in to get it because I am expected at the keep shortly. You see, I’m a... dancer...and I can’t very well smell like muckwater now can I?” I raised my eyebrows. “Please could you get it for me? I’d be forever in your debt.”

I was tempted to tell her to speak to me next time she had a real problem, but I was in a relatively good mood that day and kindness won out. “Well, okay,” I said, after a moment’s hesitation. “I can’t stay too long, but I’ll have a look for you.”

I removed my boots, rolled up my sleeves and the legs of my pants and waded into the muddy water. For a minute or so I wandered around the pool, until at last I felt something small and hard touch my foot. I bent down and scrabbled around in the silt, finally managing to retrieve the ring. “Ta-da!” I exclaimed, holding it up high. “Here’s your ring, Miss – ”

She interrupted me with a harsh laugh. “No good deed goes unpunished, outlander!”

Moments later I heard the unmistakeable thwack of an arrow against my helmet – which, luckily, I’d kept on. If I hadn’t, I’d probably have been killed then and there.

I leapt aside, raising my shield to block the arrows as another one whizzed past my head. The Breton rushed at me with her dagger drawn, but I was ready for her and caught her a heavy blow across the ribs. As she staggered back, screaming, I shoved her down into the water before turning to look for the archer. No one was there.

I rushed forward, zigzagging to try and avoid the arrows, and ran straight into an invisible figure standing in front of me in the path. Since I couldn’t see him/her at all, I could only slash around wildly with my sword in the hope of hitting something important. When my opponent finally fell dead, and the enchantment faded to reveal a Dunmer woman in light armour, the results were not pretty.

So much for helping people, I thought with a sigh. I couldn’t see why they’d even bothered with the whole ‘ring’ business if their only intent was to rob me and kill me. As I bent to examine the woman’s body, I noticed that she was wearing an amulet with a very powerful Chameleon enchantment, engraved with the words ‘Amulet of Shadows’. I don’t usually like to steal from my fallen foes, but this was simply too useful to pass up, so I took it and slipped it around my own neck before continuing on my way.

On reaching Ald Velothi, a tiny coastal village that was really no more than a hamlet, I delivered the Cure Disease potion to Theldyn Virith, the local Redoran sheriff. As I left the outpost, I heard a couple of locals discussing some rogue Ashlanders who’d set up camp nearby. “They took Madura Seran!” one of them exclaimed. “She was but a simple pilgrim. Someone needs to rescue her.”

Ah, now this sounded a bit more like it. When I asked if I could help, they directed me to the Ashlander camp on top of the hill. I walked to the camp, where a man and a woman in rather bizarre clothing were standing outside a large tent. “Excuse me,” I said to the woman, hoping she understood Tamrielic. “Would you be Ashlanders, by any chance?”

She gave me a distinctly unfriendly look. “Yes, I am Rawia Ashirbibi, wise-woman of my Ashlander tribe.”

“Would you happen to know anything about a kidnapped pilgrim?”

She pointed towards the tent. “You will have to talk to Abassel. He’s inside.”

I entered the yurt, where a frightened-looking Dunmer woman was sitting on a bedroll, guarded by a male Ashlander. “Are you Madura Seran?” I asked her.

She nodded, too afraid to speak. I turned to the man. “Why have you kidnapped her? What do you want?”

“So, this pilgrim has value?” he said with a grin. “I will give her to you for 500 drakes.”

I didn’t want to start a fight, but I don’t approve of paying ransoms to kidnappers – it only encourages them. “Give me some time to think about it,” I told him, and left the camp.

We Imperials like to say that we always prefer to handle things non-violently if possible (though I must admit that our massive continent-spanning army makes this slightly suspect). Regardless, one of our inborn ‘racial powers’ – in addition to the Charm spell I’d used for my final Hlaalu mission – is the ‘Star of the West’, a handy stamina-draining spell that can be used to knock someone out quickly and cleanly. After a few minutes’ thought I slipped on the Amulet of Shadows and cast the enchantment, then returned to the camp and re-entered the tent I’d just left. Inside, I quickly cast the Star of the West spell on Abassel and watched him slide to the ground before Madura’s astonished eyes.

“Shhh,” I whispered, as she shrank back in fear. “It’s only me. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I slipped back out through the tent flap and crept up behind the male Ashlander warrior, then raised my sword and struck him as hard as I could on the head with the flat of the blade. He fell to the ground unconscious with no more than a grunt. Unfortunately this alerted the wise-woman, whom I probably ought to have attacked first, as the ‘wise’ part turned out to be all too accurate. After staring at her companion’s body for a couple of seconds, she realised what was going on, and instantly flung a bolt of magicka in my direction.

I didn’t have time to dodge the blast, and a moment later I felt my knees buckle under the crushing weight of a Burden spell. It wouldn’t incapacitate me completely, but it would keep me rooted to the spot. I tried not to panic as I realised that the Chameleon spell would wear off within seconds, leaving me exposed and helpless. Since I wasn’t close enough to the woman to attack her with my sword, my only option was to quickly take down the bow I carried and fire off an arrow.

I’m not that great a shot at the best of times, and my hastily-fired arrow only managed to hit her in the arm. She let out a cry of agony and stumbled back a few steps, clutching her arm, until my second poorly-aimed shot whizzed past her ear. Finally realising that she didn’t have much chance against an invisible archer, she turned and fled.

Once the Ashlander woman was out of sight, I dashed into the tent and grabbed Madura by the arm. “Come on, let’s get of here. Follow me.”

We ran back to the village together, only stopping for breath when we were inside the Redoran outpost. “Thank you, outlander,” Madura wheezed, as I handed her my water canteen. “I’m very grateful to you.”

Theldyn Virith was quite impressed as well. “I believe the Imperial Legion was planning to send agents to rescue Madura,” he told me. “I will write a message for you to take to General Darius, the fort commander, telling him that it’s no longer necessary. Perhaps he may reward you.”

There was no inn in Ald Velothi, but one of the locals very kindly offered to put me up for the night after hearing how I rescued Madura. Unfortunately, whilst staying there I must somehow have contracted the disease that had been troubling people in the village – because next morning, as I was walking back to Gnisis, I started to feel seriously ill.

It began with a mild headache and sore throat, both of which grew steadily worse. An hour or so later, when I stopped to rest and eat, I found myself coughing and feeling unusually chilly. Another hour and the chills had turned to a raging heat, which had me gulping water from my canteen as if I’d just run a mile. I fumbled in my pack for a Cure Disease potion, and realised to my horror that I’d forgotten to buy another one after the Gnisis pilgrimage.

I struggled on for half a mile or so, but it was useless; soon I was feeling so fevered and weak that I simply couldn’t go any further. I sank to the ground, coughing heavily and violently cursing my own idiocy. I’m going to die here, I thought. Five years of battling monsters, bandits, necromancers and even Daedra, and I’m going to die of a common disease – just a few miles from the nearest town – because I was too stupid to keep myself properly supplied with potions.

I don’t remember much of what I thought after that. I’m not even sure how long I lay there, drifting in and out of consciousness and hawking up various unpleasant bodily fluids. Someone must have been watching over me, though, because no storms blew up, and I wasn’t robbed by bandits or attacked by wild animals.

In the early evening I woke to find myself lying in a pool of muddy water, drizzly rain pattering down on my face. I still felt like utter crap, but the fever had broken and I was just about able to stand and walk. After refilling my water canteen at a dirty stream, I tried to eat some food, but only managed to swallow a few mouthfuls before throwing up.

I was just wondering how the hell I was going to get back to Gnisis when I remembered what I’d been too ill to think of earlier in the day: my Almsivi Intervention scrolls. It says a lot about how rotten I was feeling that I didn’t even have the energy to be annoyed with myself.

When I re-materialised in the Gnisis temple courtyard, one of my heavy coughing fits attracted the attention of a passer-by, who looked at me in horror. “Please kill me,” I croaked.

She shook her head impatiently. “Don’t be foolish, outlander. You have a common disease, that’s all. Go and find a healer before you infect others.”

I staggered into the Temple, where the resident healer took one look at me and immediately backed away. “Oh, dear.” He cast a Cure Disease spell from a safe distance, and I instantly felt all the symptoms vanish like – well, magic.

“Thank you so much,” I said gratefully. “You have no idea what it was like trying to walk back from Ald Velothi in that state.”

He frowned. “You walked back from Ald Velothi? Why did you not go to Khuul?”

“Cool?” I mumbled, searching for a piece of rag to wipe my nose on.

“Here, I will show you on your map.” He placed a small dot to mark the location of Khuul, a short way up the coast from Ald Velothi. “There is a silt strider there that could have carried you to Gnisis.”

I don’t think I actually have words to express what I was feeling at that moment. In the event it’s probably a good thing I didn’t, as it would almost certainly have got me arrested.

By this point I was so utterly filthy that I didn’t even want to enter the tradehouse, in case I was mistaken for a tramp and thrown out. Instead, I went straight down to the river and simply stripped off my armour and waded in. The water wasn’t particularly clean, but at least it would wash away some of the grime – and the smell.

It wasn’t until I heard a voice calling to me that I saw the man standing a short way upstream. He was waist-deep in the water and shivering. “You okay?” I asked, wading towards him.

He shook his head angrily. “Hainab stole my pants!”

“What?”

“I said, he stole my pants!” The man scowled. “My name is Hentus Yansurnummu. I was just taking a bath and Hainab Lasamsi came along and stole my pants. I can’t come out of the water until I have them back!”

Young men, eh? I sighed. “Well, I guess I could talk to him, but first I need to go to the tradehouse and change, and have a bath. Or possibly three.”

“Could you not go to him first, outlander? I am freezing!”

“I am not going to wander around the village looking like this,” I told him, hands on hips.

Hentus glared at me, muttering something about ‘Imperials’ under his breath. I was rapidly losing patience with this guy. “Do you want those pants, or not? Because I’m having a really bad day, and frankly, you can stand here in the river all night for all I care.”

I waited for him to mumble an apology and then, after squeezing the water out of my clothes as best I could, left for the tradehouse. I really, really wanted to get myself properly clean, but out of kindness to Hentus I held off taking a bath for the moment. After changing into clean, dry clothes and tidying myself up a bit, I went to one of the open-air stalls just outside the inn and bought some cheap cotton pants that were roughly his size. I wasn’t about waste time searching the village for this Hainab person.

Was Hentus grateful? Was he hell. “Those aren’t my pants,” he said, when I offered them to him. “Hainab Lasamsi has my pants.”

“They are now,” I told him, trying to keep my patience. “I am donating them to you out of the kindness of my heart.”

“I want my own pants back.”

I don’t think anyone has ever come so close to being strangled with a pair of pants. “Go and get them yourself then!”

“I can’t. I am naked below the waist.”

“Okay,” I said slowly and clearly, as if addressing a very stupid child. “But if you put on these pants which I have brought you, you will no longer be naked below the waist, and you will then be able to go to Hainab and ask him to return your pants. Correct?”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” I roared.

Hentus lowered his eyes. “I am afraid of him.”

Oh, for Mara’s sake. I stomped out of the water and back into the village, where one of the traders told me where to find Hainab Lasamsi. I didn’t waste any time trying to sweeten him up; I just marched straight up to him and grabbed him by the shoulder.

“You stole my friend Hentus’ pants,” I said. “I have just been through the most hellish day of my entire life, and I am not a happy mudcrab. Give them back now or I will kill you.”

I didn’t mean it, of course, but Hainab seemed sufficiently unnerved by the crazy Imperial woman to hand over the pants straight away. I took them back to Hentus, who was, surprisingly, quite grateful. He even gave me some Hackle-Lo as a reward (I was beginning to wonder if this was what they used as the local currency before the Empire came along).

It was getting dark by now, and I was far too tired to think about trying to join the Legion that evening. Instead, following a bath, a hot meal and several glasses of ale, I went straight to bed. I hadn’t had any more dreams about mask-wearing, loincloth-sporting madmen the previous night, and I hoped that they were gone for good.

After breakfast the next day I found the local Legion commander, General Darius – he had his offices in the tradehouse, as it happened – and handed him the note from Theldyn Virith. He read it through and gave a pleased grunt. “Sounds like you got what we need here at the Legion, young lady. You ever thought of joining up?”

“I’ve thought about it,” I said hesitantly, “but I don’t have the time to be a full-time Legionnaire. I already work for the Fighters’ Guild and House Redoran, you see.”

Darius rubbed his chin. “Well, maybe we can find you some other work. You up for it? Or do you want to hear what we’re all about first?”

I was pretty sure I knew what the Legion was ‘all about’, having grown up in the heart of the Empire, but I nodded anyway. “Your duties are to the Empire and to your commanding officers - in that order,” he told me. “Carry yourself with dignity and uphold the law; you are the face of the Empire to the common man. Respect all members of the Imperial Legion. Do you swear to adhere to what I have stated?”

I took the oath, refraining for once from making any sarcastic comments. I knew that discipline in the Legion was a lot stricter than in any of the Guilds. Seconds later, Darius announced that I was now a Recruit in the Imperial Legion.

“You’ll have to stay in uniform, so take this,” he said, handing me a chain cuirass with Imperial insignia. “You better be wearing a Legion cuirass of some kind in the presence of a higher ranking member.”

My heart immediately sank, not because I minded being in uniform, but because I didn’t really like chainmail armour. It was a lot lighter and more mobile than iron or steel, but not nearly as good in terms of protection. Still, it wasn’t like I had much choice.

“Ready for orders, Recruit?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Well, first off, let’s see if you truly are loyal to our cause here in Morrowind. There’s a little issue of a land deed here in Gnisis I need you to take care of.”

“Sir?” This wasn’t exactly what I’d been expecting.

“Mansilamat Vabdas is a miner who died recently,” Darius continued. “He was survived by his wife, who now owns a parcel of land we could use for another dock. Talk to the Widow Vabdas and get the deed to her land. Don’t take ‘no’ for an answer – get me that land deed!”

Such tact and sensitivity, I thought. No wonder the Empire’s provinces welcomed the conquering Legions with open arms, singing hymns of praise and strewing rose petals beneath our feet.

After selling my own steel cuirass to the local smith – I didn’t have much use for it now, after all – I set out on my rather unpleasant errand, finding the Widow Vabdas’ hut a short distance from the village. As I had rather expected, she was anything but pleased to see me – but what I really hadn’t expected was the reason why.

The moment I mentioned the land deed, her ashy skin turned pale with rage. “My husband was murdered by a Legionnaire, and now you come asking for his land? You will never get his land. I will fight you, and all of Gnisis will fight you, until all you foreigners leave us in peace. Now get out of my house!”

“Hey, wait a minute!” Darius hadn’t mentioned anything about a murder. “You think a Legionnaire killed your husband?”

She nodded angrily. “My husband went to the eggmine and never came home. He – ”

“Eggmine?”

“Yes, the eggmine! The one on the hill on the east side of town!” She looked at me as if I were an idiot. “He knew the mine was closed by you foreigners and guarded by the Legions, but we had no fresh kwama eggs. If you want to help me, go the mines and find out the truth!”

I didn’t know what to say. I knew perfectly well that not all Legionnaires – or perhaps even most – always lived up to the code of conduct that Darius had recited to me, but I couldn’t believe they would kill an innocent miner just for trying to feed his family. Or perhaps I just didn’t want to believe it.

“Okay, I’ll help you,” I said softly, hoping to calm her down a little. “I… can’t believe a Legionnaire would murder your husband. There must be some other explanation.”

The widow just snorted and turned her back to me. I decided I’d better inform the General of her accusations against the Legion, as he didn’t seem to know anything about it. Of course, I had to face a much more unpleasant possibility – that he did know about it, and didn’t care.

“Well, Recruit?” barked Darius, when I entered his office in the tradehouse. “Did you speak to the Widow Vabdas?”

“Yes, sir!”

“And do you have the land deed?”

“No, sir!”

“What part of ‘Bring me the land deed’ did you not understand, soldier?”

I took a deep breath. “She thinks the Legion murdered her husband, sir.”

Darius seemed slightly rattled by this. “Murdered? She said that, did she?” He paused. “Well, you’d better go and investigate. Search the mine, and if you find evidence he was murdered, don’t come back until you can bring me proof.”

“Sir.” I was relieved that he seemed to be taking the matter seriously, rather than dismissing it out of hand. That said, I was still confused – not least by the very idea of an eggmine. How could you mine eggs?

The entrance to the mine was half-way up a cliffside, and only reachable by means of a narrow mountain pass. It was guarded by a single very bored-looking Dunmer Legionnaire, who stepped in front of the door as I drew closer. “Halt! The mine is closed, Recruit.”

“I’m here to investigate a murder,” I said. “General Darius’ orders.”

“A murder?” He looked skeptical, but finally relented. “Well, since you’re in the Legion, I’ll let you in. But be careful – the queen is blighted.”

Was that some kind of code? “Um… the queen is blighted?”

“The kwama queen, I mean.” He smiled at the look of bewilderment on my face. “Never been in an eggmine before, have you?”

“I haven’t,” I admitted. “I hate to sound ignorant, but… what the heck is an eggmine?”

“The kwama live inside the mines,” he explained. “The queen lays eggs, and the miners harvest the eggs and protect the colony from poachers and predators. You’d better be careful when you go in there – the kwama workers won’t harm you, but the foragers and warriors may attack you if they don’t recognise your scent.”

“How do I tell the difference?”

“You’ll know when they start trying to kill you,” he said with a grin. Oh, very helpful.

I took the key from the guard and cautiously entered the mine. It was well-lit by torches, but only a few miners and guards patrolled the upper level; I noticed that most of the guards were Orcs, like those in the village. As I made my way through the mine, I was attacked by several creatures resembling very large worms, which hurled themselves against my legs and squirted a nasty green substance at me. Luckily my armour protected me, and they were easy enough to kill.

At last I found a door leading to the lower level of the mine, which was closed due to the kwama queen’s sickness. The moment I entered, a hefty-looking Orc guard strode towards me with a distinctly threatening gait.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he growled. “I’m gonna count to ten. And if you’re still here when I’m done, you’re gonna be in big trouble.”

“Hold on a minute,” I said. “I was sent here by General Darius. He’s asked me to investigate a mur- ”

The guard didn’t wait for me to finish; the moment he heard the word ‘murder’ he lunged at me, brandishing an axe. I dodged his clumsy swing and grabbed my sword, preparing for a fight – but as it turned out, it wasn’t him I needed to worry about.

Suddenly I heard a loud growl from further down the cavern, and heavy footsteps pounding towards us. The Orc lowered his axe and swung round, cursing loudly. “Damn kwama warriors! Now look what you’ve – ”

His voice was cut off as two huge beasts bounded out of the passageway behind him, barrelling into him and sending him sprawling to the ground. I shrieked as one of them leapt at me, butting its head into my stomach with such force that I was almost knocked backwards myself. As I lashed at its tough hide with my blade, the horrible thing blasted me with shock magicka, and I felt its huge talons rip through the mail on my chest. The pain was so hideous that I nearly dropped my sword.

For the second time in the past two days, I honestly thought for a few moments that I was going to die. If the second kwama warrior hadn’t been too busy mauling the Orc to worry about me, I might not have made it. As it was, a well-placed blow from my sword managed to take off the first warrior’s head before it could do any more damage, and I was able to lop off the second one’s head from behind before it spotted me. With the mental focus that comes from pure terror, I cast the only healing spell I knew, and sagged with relief as I felt my wounds close up and the pain fade away.

I checked the Orc’s mangled body for a pulse, but he was already dead. Looks like I’ve probably found our murderer, I thought, remembering how he’d reacted when mentioned the word to him. But how was I going to find any proof now?

Down the passageway I could see a huge, bloated insect-like creature surrounded by egg sacs, presumably the kwama queen. It was buzzing angrily, so I decided to leave it well alone. I searched the guardsman’s body and the bedroll where he slept, but they were annoyingly devoid of helpful clues such as a note saying “Yes, I killed the miner. May the Divines have mercy on my soul.” My only chance now was to find Vabdas’ body and hope that it had some axe-marks on it.

I made my way through a second door into a dimly-lit passage, close to an underground stream. As I rounded a corner, I found myself standing by a deep pool and – to my horror – a ghost similar to the one I’d seen while robbing that enchanter’s tomb, hovering by the waterside. I hastily backed away, conscious that my steel blade couldn’t do anything to harm a ghost, but it didn’t seem to want to attack me.

“Do not fear me, Imperial,” it said in a quavering, echoey voice. “Listen, and I will tell you how I was murdered by Lugrub gro-Ogdum.”

“Okay,” I said nervously. “Whatever you say.”

“I came to the mines to get fresh kwama eggs for my family,” he whispered. “Lugrub gro-Ogdum was sleeping, and I snuck past him. When I came back he was awake, and he murdered me so that no one would know he failed his duty. He dropped the broken axe he used next to my body in the water behind me.”

I edged my way over to the pool and peered down into the water. It was still and clear, and I could see a body lying at the bottom – presumably Vabdas’. “Take the axe from the water behind me as proof of Lugrub’s crimes,” the ghost whispered in my ear. “Do not let them take my lands. Avenge my death and let my wife live in peace.”

I didn’t know if I could trust him, but I wasn’t in any mood to argue with a ghost. I removed my armour – noticing that the mail was ripped and my shirt soaked in blood – and dived into the pool, wishing I knew a Water Breathing spell. The head of Lugrub’s axe was lying on the bottom by Vabdas’ body. It took me a few tries to reach it, but I finally managed to grab hold of it and make my way back to the surface just as I felt my lungs were about to burst.

The ghost had vanished. I left the mine as quickly as possible and made my way back to the tradehouse, hoping the axe-head and Vabdas’ dead body would be evidence enough for Darius. “I saw a ghost” probably wasn’t going to cut it.

“What the hell happened to you, Recruit?” Darius snapped when he saw my dripping-wet clothes and hair. “Fall into the river?”

“No, sir,” I said. “I found out who murdered the widow’s husband, sir – it was an Orc named Lugrub gro-Odgum.”

“And do you have any proof?”

“Well, I spoke with the ghost of Vabdas – ”

“I don’t care if you saw the ghost of Tiber Septim!” he exclaimed. “I can’t tell the Legion officers in Cyrodiil that I condemned a soldier to death because you talked to a ghost!”

I decided to get straight to the point. “He’s already dead, sir. He attacked me as soon as I saw him.”

I explained what had happened, and showed Darius the axe-head. “Hmph. Yes, this is Lugrub’s axe,” he said. “And I can see how it’s been damaged from hitting bone here and here. You say he’s already dead?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Then justice has been served,” he said with a sigh. “Let’s hope this doesn’t do too much damage to the reputation of the Legion.”

“Ah, sir,” I said hesitantly. “About the land deed…?”

He shook his head. “I won’t try and get her land. Not after what happened.”

Relieved, I went to my room to change and eat and then went out to Widow Vabdas’ hut to tell her the news. When I returned, I found that the story had spread around the village and some of the other Legionnaires were making a fund for the widow. “Would you like to contribute?” one of them asked me.

I gladly handed over 50 septims, feeling for the first time that I truly belonged in the Legion after all. Maybe this would show the people of Gnisis that we weren’t all bad. Unfortunately, it was too late for the Widow Vabdas; no amount of money would ever bring her husband back to her.

There’s someone who’ll never be saluting the Dragon banner, I thought with a sigh. Since coming to Morrowind, I was gradually starting to comprehend what I’d never really understood growing up in Cyrodiil – why the people of the Empire’s provinces resented the Legions so much. After all, we were just there to keep the peace and uphold the law. Weren’t we?