Rashelle At Solstheim, bloodmoon fanfic Options

[blockhead]

This story contains spoilers for the Bloodmoon Expansion for Morrowind. As it has been some time since that was released I expect that this is no longer concern but I thought I would mention it here anyway.


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Rashelle At Solstheim

by blockhead aka pcc



Chapter 1. Arrival



I think I was the only one on board the boat who was not grumbling. Apparently the Solstheim posting was viewed as a punishment or an exile by the soldiers of the Imperial Legion.

This ship had been chartered by the Legion to send a group of soldiers to Fort Frostmoth in Solstheim. I was the only civilian passenger.

I felt a sense of anticipation, there was something in the air.

For one thing, I was cool, nicely cool. The air had been slowly lowering in temperature over the course of the voyage. It was now cooler than the coolest cave I had ever been in.

For another, I was going to a strange new land. I love to explore. I had heard of Solstheim and its "snow". I had been told what snow was but I frankly felt it too incredible to believe. It sounded more like a crazed skooma dream ... but I wanted to see it.

Over the past half hour or so, the sky had been becoming more overcast. It was now a solid-looking gray.

The air became cooler still, and I felt like I had never felt before. Around me the men were beginning to shiver and complain and don fur cloaks. I had been forewarned so I had a fur from a creature called a "bear" in my pack, but I had no urge to wear it. I was fine ... feeling better than ever.

The air got cooler still, cooler than I ever thought it could get. A gentle cold breeze blew against my face and on my bare arms and it was ... wonderful.

"Brrr, woman, you must have some Nord in you! They like the cold."

This was logical. My tolerance ... no ... my *affinity* for cold made me suspect that my father had been a Nord. Since I was an orphan, I would never know.

I was pacing on the deck, sometimes stopping to stare off towards the horizon, when it happened.

"It" was millions of tiny white particles that floated gently down from the sky. They were the purest white imaginable. They could not be ashes.

I caught some in my hand. they faded away. I caught some more. they ... melted?

"Is ... is this snow?"

"Well of course, haven't you seen snow before?" replied one of the men.

"No."

"Oh. Sera, I am sorry."

"It's OK."

I smiled. So *this* was snow. I was enchanted.

"You won't like it so much when you have to dig out from it in the morning, or when you have to walk through it."

"You've been here before?"

"Yes, I'm returning from a month-long furlough. I've been stationed at Fort Frostmoth for almost a year now."

He fell into a discourse on the problems and dangers of Solstheim. From horkers to snow bears to spriggans to the semi-intelligent rieklings, there were many new dangers and problems for the hapless adventurer.

I sensed he was going to segue into the "protect the helpless female" monolog so I discreetly adjusted the sheath of the claymore that I wore on my back. It clanked against my ebony cuirass. The Breton spell-sword in the armor can take care of herself, sera.

"Erm, yes, well keep your wits about you and don't slip on the ice and you should be OK."

Ahead, a gray and white mass resolved itself: land.

The ship approached and I could make out a stone dock. The ground behind it, covered with short green grass of a sort not found in Vvardenfell, rose up until it met, further back, the mass of a stone Imperial fort.

To either side were ... trees, but of a sort I had never seen before. These must be the "pines" and "fir trees" that I had heard existed in colder climates.

The men were busy calling the role or standing in formation or some other such military thing so I was was the first one off the ship.

"Brrrr, so ... cold." said an Argonian dock worker. I pondered the wisdom of a creature used to the warm swamps working here in Solstheim.

I looked at the fort, then I glanced to the west. The snow covered wilderness beckoned, a lure I could not resist. I ran west: I could explore the fort some other time.

It was not long before a creature attacked me: some things never change, no matter where you go. I identified this one as a wolf. I knew of these from before. They were almost everywhere in the empire but Vvardenfell. It took almost no time to dispatch it.

It wasn't too much longer before I was attacked again, this time by a large bulky brown creature. It walked on four legs but stood up to attack. It growled, had wicked claws and was larger that I was. Still, Chrysamere was up to the task and in short time I had slain it.

There was something familiar about this creature. Then I realized why: its thick fur reminded me of the fur I had in my pack. This brown creature was therefore a "bear".

I continued along, wandering and exploring. I was heading north as well as west now. I reached an area where the ground was covered with snow. The snow in the air began to get thicker: there was more of it. The wind began to pick up, driving the snow into an intense mass of bright white opacity.

I was having trouble seeing. This was what they meant by "snow blind", a situation where daylight and whiteness were as effective as Stygian darkness at blinding one. The blizzard raged on and I stumbled in snow that was already over a foot high, with drifts almost as high as I was. I loved it!

At some point I crossed a small river that was covered with ice. I could walk on this ice, though I fell twice before I got the hang of it. I was amazed: the only ice I had ever seen before this was the stuff created by frost spells. Here was natural ice, strong enough to hold my weight.

Eventually, in a region with far less foliage, I reached the ocean. I was now somewhere on the west coast of Solstheim.

Most of the coastline of Solstheim is littered with impressive standing stones. They are huge and carved and placed, via means unknown, by ancient Nords. This was my first sight of them.

On a rock outcrop, I saw silhouetted the shape of a man. He stood and looked outward, towards the sea. Since the blizzard continued to blow, I found this behavior unusual. I carefully ascended the outcrop, which was slippery with spray and snow.

Now I could see the man clearly. he was a Nord clad all in a dark, almost black, armor that appeared to be made of wolf skins.

He turned to me, unconcerned at a stranger with a big sword and said "The sea, never has there been a maiden so beautiful or so unforgiving."

I raised an eyebrow.

"I am Thormoor Gray-Wave and I have been cursed. Six months ago I was at the rudder of the ship, not far from here. I fell asleep and we crashed against some rocks. Almost all on board were killed.

"A seer who survived the wreck cursed me with eternal wakefulness as punishment. I have not been able to sleep since that day, not a wink, not even a cat nap. I have tried potions, spells, and other things. Nothing worked."

The wind and the waves crashing on the shore were the only sounds.

"If only I could get the seer, Geilir the Mumbling, to rescind this curse."

"Maybe I could help?" I asked.

"Aye, lass, that would be a great thing if you could do it. I've suffered so. Maybe you could talk to him and convince him."

I nodded.

"His cave lies in that direction. It is not terribly far. The entrance is a low snow-covered mound."

He pointed.

"Right. I'm on it."

The blizzard began to taper off into a light snowfall as I traveled. On the way I was attacked by two Nord women. At first I was overconfident, as they were armed only with daggers. When the first dagger bit into my arm I realized that I had underestimated matters. The frost enchantment hurt, even with my affinity to cold, and the blade itself was more damaging than it looked. I also realized that these women were skilled with short blades.

Chrysamere chopped into the first one. She screamed and was down, although not yet dead. I kicked her while swinging my sword at the second one. She dodged but the blade still cut into her.

She came at me and I brushed the dagger aside with Chrysamere.

"Why are you attacking me?" I shouted.

"You will die where you stand!" she said as she raised her dagger and rushed at me.

I ran her through.

The first one must have quaffed a potion because she was up and on the attack again. I kicked her back while I pulled my blade from the second one.

I parried and my swing forced her back.

She came at me again and again. I simply parried and blocked. Maybe she'd calm down and stop.

She didn't.

I finally kicked her hand: her dagger went arcing though the air, quite a ways. She ran for the corpse of her compatriot, obviously intending to employ her dagger.

My booted foot smashed down on the weapon.

She stopped and glared at me.

"Why?" I asked. "Who are you?"

She aimed a kick. I dodged. Since I had to move my feet to do it, she dove for the dagger and snatched it up. She was on the attack again. I guess she just was not going to talk.

I dispatched her. It bothered me, not knowing why these two had wanted to kill me. I didn't think they were bandits.

I healed my arm with a spell and then examined the corpses: they both were wearing fur shirts that were very similar in appearance, as if they were some sort of uniform. Boots and brown pants completed the ensemble. I inspected one of the nasty cold-enchanted daggers. It was a curious construction in that the hilt had no cross-piece and that the blade was not much longer than the hilt. For its size it was rather effective. I stowed one in my pack.

I continued on my way and soon found a snow covered cave. I sheathed my sword and carefully entered.

The inside of cave looked as if it were entirely made from ice. I was astounded. I touched the wall: it was pleasingly cold. It *was* ice. Perhaps Solstheim was so cold that there were layers of ice in the ground as if it were merely another form of rock? Fascinating!

I progressed along the tunnel of ice. It went downhill until it opened into a cave that had some furniture, a few torches stuck into the floor, and one occupant.

He was a Nord man, with long, light brown, hair. He studied me warily. This was fair, as I had just barged into his home uninvited.

"Excuse me. I am Rashelle. Are you Geilir The Mumbling?"

He chuckled.

"I haven't mumbled since back in school as a lad, yet I have a name for life."

I grinned.

"I am sorry. I come here on behalf of a man who has not been able to sleep for six months."

He frowned and said; "He caused the deaths of everyone on board but myself and my friend."

"He said it was an accident."

"Aye, lass, it was: the fool fell asleep at the helm. We struck rocks and the ship sunk like a stone. I dragged him to the shore, although I almost decided not to. I let him live but I put a curse on him: he will never sleep again."

I remained silent. Sometimes I say more by not saying a thing. I stared.

"They died because of him."

I was mute.

"Look lass, he did a terrible thing."

Silence was my only reply.

"Of course, we all make mistakes," he said, "It's just ... that one was such a big mistake."

I silently reflected on mistakes that I had made in the past.

"How about this, lass? If you can find my friend for me, I'll lift the curse on Thormoor Gray-Wave."

"Your friend?"

"Oddfrid White-Lip. She is my only friend these days. Some draugr attacked us here today and they took her away. My powers as a seer are, sporadic: they do not work on demand, so I did not see the attack ahead of time."

I nodded.

"My visions indicate that the draugr took her to Kolbjorn Barrow. It is to the far south east of here, not far from the Imperial fort. It's a little bit west of the fort, actually"

He must mean Frostmoth.

"What are draugr?"

"They are undead: they are the mummified corpses of Nords that have become animated. They are a black in color, with eyes that glow red: they are hard to see so they can catch you by surprise. They seem to lurk in every barrow in Solstheim. They attack and they kill: they feed upon the living. Beware of them."

I nodded and departed.

I made a long journey back to the fort. I fought many creatures along the way, including one of a type that I had been warned about, a spriggan.

The creature was of a strange appearance. It resembled some weird cross between a woman and ... a tree. Its face was human but the eyes were devoid of any humanity, staring blankly as it used its large claws to slash at me.

Taking a hint from the resemblance to trees, I hit the spriggan with a fireball. It screamed and slashed at me again. While the spell did some damage, it was not enough to kill the creature. I chopped with Chrysamere. The sword connected but the spriggan was tough ... with flesh almost like wood in hardness.

Nothing but to chop and duck and chop some more. Blood like red sap flowed from its wounds. Eventually I killed it.

I paused to take a breather. This creature had been ... annoying.

One does not expect a just-killed creature to return to full health and attack again, yet that is just what the fetcher did. Suddenly there was a flash of light and I was staggering back from a slash of the creature's claws, cursing and dodging a second slash.

I slammed down a potion and fought. I killed it a second time.

It rose from the dead again ... larger this time. I was beginning to come close to panic. Could this thing ever be killed for good?

Finally, I killed it for a third time. This time it stayed dead. I like many things about Solstheim, but spriggans are not one of them.

Upon sighting the Fort, I turned and strode west.

I found a barrow, a Nord tomb. The entrance was a pile of roughly-hewn dark stone blocks with an ornate door. I slowly puzzled through the ancient Nordic runes on the door, whose shape and meaning were unlike modern Tamrielic, and determined that this was the Stormpfund barrow.

This was not the one I was looking for but I entered anyway. The black stone made the interior of the barrow even darker than that of a Vvardenfell tomb.

I met my first draugr and also an animated half rotted undead wolf. Later I found out that these are called "bone wolves".

I fought them.

Afterwards, I found a nice-looking Nordic silver claymore. As I didn't want to lug it all around the island, I left it there. I found some gold and some gems: those I took.

In the back of the barrow was something ... interesting. It looked like ice, but it was harder than ice ... much harder. I could not crack it with Chrysamere. I peered through its translucency and saw a skeleton inside. This strange ice thing was some sort of coffin.

I exited the barrow and continued on my way. The ground sloped up and I ascended a hill. The hill was topped by a circle of standing stones. I saw nothing of interest in the circle so I continued walking west, down the other side of the hill.

I found another barrow. The runes on the door indicated that I had found the Kolbjorn Barrow. There were no people here, save for the undead. I fought through these as I had the ones in the previous barrow.

I did not find the woman. As those draugr had only carried Oddfrid White-Lip off that day, I should have seen her or her recently-killed corpse. Maybe he had envisioned the wrong tomb?

On a rock in the center of the barrow lay a skull. Geilir couldn't have meant that this was his friend, could he?

The skull had no dust on it so it could not have been there for more than a few days. I put it in my pack.

My return to Geilir's cave was uneventful, save that the snow had stopped and the sun was shining brightly. The glare of the sun off the snow took some getting used to, but it was all still very beautiful.

"Rashelle, did you find her?"

"It depends ... "

I took the skull from my pack and said, "Is this her?"

His face lit up and he exclaimed, "Oddfrid, my friend!"

He took the skull from my hands. He looked so happy that I could not remain angry for having been sent on such a pointless quest.

"Oh thank you for rescuing her!"

He then spoke to the skull. "Oh Oddfrid, it's so good to be with you again!"

I remained silent.

"Oddfrid sees things," he said to me. "Sometimes she tells me them. She is grateful to you and will tell you of your future."

I nodded. I didn't really know what to think, yet alone what to say.

Geilir held the skull in both hands. He twitched and his eyes rolled up. In a different voice he began to speak.

"The time for the hunt is near. You are both hunter and hunted."

I didn't think he was faking it. It was rather creepy.

Geilir's trembled for a few seconds and then blinked.

"It always gives me the shakes to do that," he said in his normal voice.

I nodded.

"Here Rashelle, she wishes to communicate with you directly."

I raised an eyebrow and took a step back.

"She says it's, ummm, 'girl talk.'"

"Could you put the skull on the ground? I don't want to drop it."

He did so. I crouched down, took a deep breath to prepare myself, and put two hands on the skull, as he had done before.

When I had touched the skull before, to put it in my pack and again to hand it over, there had been no sense of any magic or anything else about it. This time it was different: there was a mental contact and the skull was talking to me, directly in my mind without sound! That Nord was not so crazy after all.

"Rashelle, Thank you for rescuing me and bringing me back to my Geilir. I know this is very strange for you but I really do appreciate it."

"You are welcome ... and yes this is rather unusual."

"As for a more personal glimpse into your far distant future, Rashelle ... there will be true love. Someone ... someone tall ..."

"... dark and handsome?" I interrupted. That was the oldest fortune-teller line in the book. This had gone from strange to ludicrous.

"No ... tall and light ... yes, lightness. They wait for you, though they do not realize it yet. That is all I can say."

I sensed that the conversation was over. I removed my hands from the skull and stood up.

"Can you please lift the curse now?"

"Of course, lass."

"Thank you."

I departed and returned to the coast. I found the outcrop but I did not see Thormoor Gray-Wave standing there. Had he disappeared? Had he fallen off the rock in a sudden onset of sleep?

I scurried up the big rock as fast as I could and discovered that he was still there, but not standing. He was lying there so peacefully, a smile on his tired-looking face. His chest slowly rose and fell as he breathed. The curse had indeed been lifted, perhaps instantaneously and without warning.

I was concerned that he would fall off of the outcrop in his sleep. I was also worried that there might be a creature in Solstheim capable of climbing and then attacking him. I tried to shake him awake but he remained in a deep slumber.

It was nearing the end of the day. For the sake of his safety, I decided to remain there. I ate some food from my pack and watched the sun set.






This post has been edited by blockhead: Jun 11 2007, 11:24 PM

[blockhead]

Thank you all for the comments!


This chapter has an off-hand mention of something that may be a spoiler for Tribunal. Sorry. I expect no one cares any more but I mention it here anyway.

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Chapter 5. Explorations



The sun was nearing the horizon: it was time to see about dinner and a place to sleep. It would be easy to stay here at the fort, but I just did not want to. I needed to be away from people again: I needed to be out in the Solstheim wilderness.

It began to snow as I traveled. It rapidly became a blizzard, with visibility not more than thirty feet. I was walking east now, into an area I had not explored yet. I crossed water twice before I was attacked, this time by another one of those Fryse Hags.

This was beginning to annoy me; not so much their murderous intentions, but the question as to their motivation. I supposed the Hags could simply be like bandits, killing for the thrill as well as the loot, or like rogue Ashlanders, who still try to kill outlanders to this day, but I did not know. This is what bothered me: the not knowing. I don't like a mystery.

She summoned a greater bone-walker and hurled a frost spell at me.

I hurriedly chopped through the bone-walker, before its spells could reduce my strength to zero. My Atronach birth sign absorbed the frost spell and partially replenished my magicka.

"This is getting old," I shouted as I grabbed her wrist and twisted.

She screamed in pain and dropped the dagger. I kicked: it sailed off into the swirling snowflakes and disappeared.

She tried to attack me bare handed.

"So", I said a few seconds later as I sat on her still-struggling form, "what's it all about? Why are you all attacking me? Are you really a Fryse Hag?"

She cursed and continued to struggle. She was bigger than me, but I had a weight advantage from my armor and weapons, and I had a strength advantage as well. I watched the snow for a time. It seemed to be tapering off. This would be a quick blizzard that would leave little accumulation on the ground.

Eventually she subsided, either through a sensible realization of her situation or just from being tired out. I looked down at her and asked: "So, who are you?"

She was silent. I waited.

After a time she finally broke her silence and said: "Aren't you cold?"

"Nope. Maybe after dark I'll be, but not now. So, now: are you a Fryse Hag?"

"Yes."

"Now we are getting somewhere. Why did you attack me?"

"You are not of our order, not a Fryse Hag. You are not even a Nord."

"I see. So anyone not a Hag must die. Recruiting must be difficult, eh?"

She glowered.

"Go on, kill me." she demanded. "All life ends in death: it does not matter."

I'd heard this kind of fatalism from Nords before. Nords have this strange death wish thing going on in their religion and folklore. To many Nords, the greatest desire is to die in battle.

Almost every religion has a prophecy that one day Good and Evil, or Law and Chaos, will have a final battle ... but the Nords believe that Evil will triumph and that the world will be destroyed. This gives them a strange outlook at times.

"Wouldn't you like to live?" I asked.

She remained silent.

"Do you have children? Are they waiting for you? Do they know that their mother runs around killing people randomly for fun?"

She remained silent.

"I should kill you. It's clear that even if I let you go, you'll only attack me again the next time we meet."

Her only reply was a sullen silence. While she had tried to slay me, I just could not bring myself to kill her in her current defenseless state.

"What kind of life are you living? Don't you get tired of it?"

Again, silence.

"I wish we could work something out. I wish you would talk. Do you have a leader?"

Predictably, silence.

Enough. I cast Divine Intervention and was returned to the fort.

Severia Gratius jumped in surprise as I appeared within a foot of her.

"Oh hello Rashelle, you gave me a start."

"Sorry, I just cast an Intervention," I said as I stood up.

"Yes, Joleen only set up that Divine Mark a week ago. I am still getting used to it."

"Just a week ago? is this a new fort?"

"Relatively. We've been here just over a year but some things, such as the Divine Intervention mark, are still being added, piecemeal, now."

She smiled and then continued, "You've arrived just in time for dinner. Come to the mess hall with me: trooper Secundus caught some fresh crimson flounder and we have booze again."

I had previously wanted to be by myself, but that conversation with the Hag had left me cold ... an unpleasant sort of cold that made me want some human company. I nodded, but I had a concern.

"As a civilian, is there a problem with me eating your food?"

"Pshaw. It's not like we're swamped with beggars. It comes out of your taxes so you really paid for it. Besides, I'm an officer: there won't be a problem."

Upon entering the mess hall, I saw Procis Catraso. He waved to me from across the room. I waved back. After obtaining some food and beverages, Severia and I joined him. Normally officers and enlisted men do not mingle, but either because this was a frontier fort, or because I was a civilian, or perhaps because of the sudden jump in fort morale, Severia did not object to eating with Procis.

"Changed your mind, eh?" he said.

I related the story of my strange encounter with the Fryse Hag as we ate. The flounder was not bad.

"Those Hags are a strange lot: I've run into a few."

"I wish I knew what they were all about. It bothers me, not knowing. There has got to be more to them than just running around and randomly killing anyone they meet. It doesn't make sense."

"What about the berserkers? That's what they do."

"Well, they have a reason, they are driven mad by the cold and mead."

"That's not much of a reason."

I frowned and said, "I guess not."

The conversation changed to more pleasant topics. The happy mood on the part of the soldiers, now that they had their alcohol back, cheered me considerably. Dinner had an atmosphere more of a party than a simple meal. It was all rather un-Imperial, in a good way. I had a much better time than I had expected to.

At some point in the festivities, Procis apologetically said that he had watch duty and took his leave.

"Maybe we should go as well."

Quite tipsy, Severia and I walked outside into the clean cool night air. The sound of drunken singing continued behind us.

"Rashelle, you need a place to sleep?"

I belched and said, "Err, hadn't thought about that yet. I'll go crash in a storeroom or something." I laughed and said, "can't sleep in the barracks with the men, now, eh?"

"I have my own quarters. You can sleep there. It's a small room, but comfortable."

"Thank you."

"It's my pleasure; come with me."



I woke later than my usual time. Severia was gone: she had managed to depart without waking me.

I rubbed my eyes and then buckled on my cuirass. My greaves were in a corner, by my pack. I put them on. I'm not sure how one of my boots ended up on top of her closet. I fetched it down, found the other one, and put them on. Chrysamere was on the floor, unsheathed and placed within reach. After donning the now-sheathed claymore, I put on my pack.

On the table was a plate with scrambled kwama eggs and some kind of meat that I later found out was frost boar. A note on the table indicated that duties had called Severia elsewhere and that she had ordered the breakfast brought up here for me. The food, though cooled a bit, was rather tasty. This was definitely not your usual Imperial Legion hospitality.

I wrote her a note, thanking her, and then I left.

I was still bothered by yesterday's brief conversation with that Fryse Hag. I wanted to obtain more information and I had no pressing matters to attend to. I wandered the fort until I found an area that appeared to be traveled infrequently. I then cast a Mark spell. Now, whenever I cast a Recall spell, I would be teleported to this spot from wherever I happened to be.

From my pack I then extracted the Mazed Band, an artifact that I had acquired in Mournhold. Its enchantment allowed me to teleport to Vivec, Mournhold, or Sotha Sil. Actually, this last destination no longer worked. My theory was that either Sotha Sil had flooded all the way or the dome in the final room had collapsed: the enchantment "knew" that I could not go there anymore. I invoked the band and was teleported to Vivec, just outside of the High Fane.

After the events that led to my becoming the Nerevarine, I had been given unrestricted access to all of the books in the Temple library in Vivec. The blasphemous books, those dealing with any religion other than that of the Tribunal, were what I wanted to look through.

The information on the Nordic beliefs was slim, but I did learn that the goddess Kyne had been the wife of Shor. Shor was interesting in that he had rebelled against the other gods and had created the mortal plane. This sounded exactly like the tale of the aedroth Lorkhan. Like Lorkhan, Shor had been killed by the other gods as punishment for this act.

As I had already noticed, Fryse Hags are noted for their skill with frost-based magic. One book mentioned that they view "most people" as a threat to their beliefs. This would indicate that there were some people who they would not attack on site. This last did not include Breton spell-swords, at least in my own experience.

The phrase "kiss at the end" was associated with Kyne. The books were unclear on what it meant but I think it had something to do with the Nord battle death wish: to fight gloriously and to receive a kiss from some sort of female demigoddess or spirit as they died.

Kyne was associated with storms. Her "daughters" had somehow given Nords the Storm Voice ability, which was a powerful frost damage spell that all Nords can cast once a day. It was unclear who these daughters were. Were they human or something else? Were they the Fryse Hags?

I found a book that listed the equivalents across religions: often a particular deity in one faith's pantheon is nearly identical to another, save for being renamed. It turned out that in the Imperial Cult's pantheon, Kynareth is the equivalent of Kyne.

Kynareth, one of the Nine Divines worshiped by the Imperial Cult, is a goddess of the air and is the strongest of the Sky spirits. In some legends, she was the first to agree to Lorkhan's plan to create the mortal plane. She is also associated with rain. One goddess for storms, the other for rain and air: a close enough match.

This was interesting but seemed to be a digression from the topic of concern: the Fryse Hags.

I closed the last book. I smiled to the ordinator who had been reading over my shoulder. He was not allowed to read these books but under the pretense of guarding me he could sneak a peek.

"Not much here, sera," I said to him, "I'll have to search elsewhere."

"Perhaps, err, an Imperial chapel?" he said, obviously uncomfortable at discussing "blasphemous" things.

"Not a bad idea, sera. Thank you."

I imagine that, under his helm, he smiled.

"By your leave, I will teleport out."

He nodded.

I cast Divine Intervention and was teleported to Ebonheart, just outside of the Imperial Cult chapel.

There was not an actual library there but I was on good terms with the priests, even though I was not a member of the Cult. They were able to discuss Kynareth but confessed to knowing only as much about Kyne as I now did. Generally, Imperial Cultists are an open-minded lot and will tend to know a surprising amount about other religions ... but not this time. It was starting to look as if the dearth of information on Fryse Hags was not part of any suppression on the part of either the Cult or the Temple, but simply that no one knew much about them. A secretive group, these Hags.

I entered Jobasha's Rare books. Jobasha had a strange filing system: the books were in no perceptible order, yet he somehow knew the location of each and every one of them. Because of this, I had often stumbled onto an interesting book that I might not have otherwise. I had spent many pleasurable hours here.

He had read a great deal of his merchandise and was a wealth of surprising information.

"Good morning, Rashelle," said Jobasha.

"Good morning; any new stuff in since I've been here last?"

"Ahh, yes; Jobasha has. Come this way."

He led me around, back and forth a few times, selecting a book here and there.

As we passed by the ordinator, Jobasha said "Relax, Gadave; Rashelle is OK."

"Whew. Hello Rashelle," said the ordinator as he took off his helm.

He sat down and took up the book he had apparently been reading before I entered the shop. From behind a shelf he retrieved an opened bottle and took a sip.

Jobasha eventually give me a stack of five books that he thought would interest me, including the latest Agent adventure.

"He's read half of Jobasha's books, by the way," he said as he indicated the ordinator. "Jobasha likes him."

"Jobasha, what do you know about Nord religions?"

He launched into a short lecture that was packed with information, conveying all of the general info ... which I already knew.

"What about the Fryse Hags?"

His Khajiit brow furrowed. "Jobasha has not heard of them."

I was dumbfounded: it was rare for him to not know at least a little bit about something. I filled him in with what little I had learned. Jobasha wondered how they would recruit new Hags.

I thanked him, put aside the thought of Fryse Hags, and sat down to read. Solstheim has its wonderful cold and snow, but it has no book stores.

An hour or two later I bought two of the books he had recommended and exited the shop.

I cast Recall and was teleported back to Fort Frostmoth. Leaving the fort, I struck out again in an eastern direction. I crossed water twice, noticing that the area was green despite yesterday's snowfall. I passed what I thought was the spot where I had encountered that Fryse Hag. As I traveled, I encountered two spriggans, one berserker and a frost boar, but no Hags.

When I reached the east coast, I found a Dwemer ruin. It was a surprise. For some reason I had expected there not to be any in Solstheim. I suppose it made sense: there were Dwemer ruins all over the Empire, even as far south as Mournhold.

The door was in the eastern side of the ruin, facing the water.

I entered and was struck by the familiarity of the interior. It could have been any Dwemer ruin back in Vvardenfell. I guess I had expected the Solstheim ruins to have a different architectural style, as the Mournhold ruin had. The familiar sounds of distant Dwemer machinery carried though the air and brought a smile to my face.

Ahead, the corridor dipped down into a stairwell. I followed this until it leveled off and turned left. Stairs again: the corridor went deeper and I followed.

By now I had to be below the outside water level, yet it was dry in here. Once again I was amazed at the quality and durability of Dwemer construction.

I heard the click-clack of a centurion spider as the corridor turned left. Creeping stealthily, I rounded the corner and took out the spider with one stroke.

The corridor branched: straight ahead and to the right. I poked my head around the right branching. I saw a door on the left and the corridor bending away on the right. Since there were no obvious dangers there, I returned to the straight passage and continued to move along that.

A side corridor extended on the left, but it was a dead end. Ahead I could see that the corridor bent to the right. Around that bend glided a Dwarven spectre, the ghost of a Dwemer.

That time under Mournhold was the only time that a Dwemer ghost had not attacked, and also the only time that one had actually talked to me. The one now ahead of me started to hurl offensive spells without any hesitation.

I silently charged forward and sliced him. He fizzled away, leaving a small pile of ectoplasmic residue.

The corridor turned to the right, then to the left, then again to the right. While the sturdiness and endurance of Dwemer construction is readily apparent to all, the thinking behind some of their layouts is not. Anyone wandering through a Dwemer ruin for even a short time is struck by the realization that the Dwemer did not think at all like we do: their minds must have been unlike that of any other race.

Still, I was very curious about them. I would like to have seen what they had been like. What had these dark dim ruins looked like in their heyday, when they had life in them other than the movement of the remaining metal machinery?

A steam centurion clomped towards me, raising an arm tipped with a spiked pummeling ball. I dodged said ball and got a whack in with Chrysamere. The centurion shuddered under the impact. I got another swing in before the ball hit me. It impacted on my cuirass: there was no damage but it did make me take a step back.

I evaded another attack and thrust my sword into the chest panel. There was a burst of sparks from the panel and the centurion was motionless.

I quickly extracted my sword and jumped back a few paces as the now-inert centurion fell forward.

The sound had drawn more Dwemer robots. A sphere centurion was rolling at me from the corridor ahead. From a branching to my right clomped a steam centurion.

It did not take too long to dispatch them. I continued on.

To my left, a branching led down and to a set of heavy Dwemer doors. That probably led to a deeper area. I decided to skip that branching, for now.

It did not take me that long to explore the remainder of this area. The corridor ahead bent around and led to an area of two joined rooms. I fought the remaining Dwemer constructs there and, after casting a healing spell on myself, I searched for treasure.

The room contained an enigmatic whirling Dwemer machine, three desks, and some metal Dwemer containers that had rubies, diamonds, and scrap metal in them. While Dwemer scrap metal is at times useful, I took only the gem stones. The emeralds could be used to make Restore Health potions and the other stones I would trade.

Of interest was the book I found in a desk: It didn't belong. The binding and the parchment were not of Dwemer style or manufacture. This was a hand-written book, not made on a press. The writing inside was in ancient Nordic, not Dwemeri. The only thing remotely Dwemeric about it was its age: it appeared as if it might date back to Dwemeri times.

I tried to read it but of course I could not. I can read Tamrielic well, and I can read the Nordic alphabet enough to puzzle out the name of a barrow, but I don't know the words.

I began to place it in my pack, then I hesitated. The book was in good condition, but was obviously delicate. If I fell on my pack the wrong way, or had to swim, the book would be ruined. I could not bear to do that, so I put the book back in the desk. It had been here for centuries: it would not go away in the near future. I could perhaps come by later and then take it to a Nord savant.

It was now late in the afternoon. I could sit by a Dwemer light and read one of the books that I had purchased from Jobasha. Then I could have dinner and sleep in the ruin.

I thought about the rations I had in my pack. While they would sustain me, they were not the most exciting of culinary treats. I wanted something fresh.

I left the ruin and began to retrace my steps.

It was only a moment to locate the corpse of the frost boar that I had slain not too long ago. The ravens were already there. There were no ravens in Vvardenfell: presumably the cliff racers ate any that dared to trespass. Ravens are everywhere else in Tamriel so they were not foreign to me. It just had been so long since I had seen one. Once again I marveled at their coloration: their feathers were as black as my hair and eyes.

They flew away as I approached. I cut a suitable chunk from the boar and departed.

Back in the ruin, I spelled the doors to the surface and to the deeper area so that I would have not have any unexpected visitors without a warning. I made myself comfortable and read one of the books from Jobasha's. There was an amusing scene where a character was so afraid of the silt strider that, on his first trip, he rode the whole way with his eyes closed. I smiled at that.

After I finished the book, I built a fire; small enough to minimize smoke, as there was no chimney or smoke hole, yet large enough to cook the meat thoroughly. I discovered that frost boar meat is excellent. The flavor was familiar: it had been the meat in my breakfast that morning.

I read a little from the second book then decided it was time to sleep. I spread out my bear fur in a corner of the room, drew Chrysamere and then curled up on the fur. The soothing sounds of distant Dwemer machinery lulled me to sleep.