The Neveragaine, A Morrowind fanfic Options

[mALX]

Just as good the second time around!

[Helena]

BTW Helena why have you gone back to the old Ada Avatar?

I plan to post screenshots of Morrowind-Ada, just like in the other thread - so it might confuse people if I use Oblivion-Ada as my avatar.

[Helena]

Chapter 3: A Warm Welcome

Of course, what with all the fuss over the murder and Foryn Gilnith’s death, I ended up missing the silt strider again and had to spend yet another day in Seyda Neen. Naturally the news was all around the village in about five minutes, and for the rest of the day I had to put up with the other villagers scowling at me and muttering imprecations (from a safe distance, mind you). I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to finally leave a place. It wasn’t all bad, though; I got the reward money, and Thavere gave me some healing potions as thanks for returning Processus’s ring.

Just before I left, while no one was looking, I picked the lock on Fargoth’s door and slipped inside his house. There I left his healing ring, along with three hundred septims and a short note telling him to be more careful next time. Stupid conscience.

I slept on board the silt strider – a fairly uncomfortable experience, but a lot better than the previous night – and was woken up next morning by the caravaner as we arrived in Balmora. I found myself standing at the top of a huge ramp, high enough to give me a view of the entire city. It was a pretty little town, with a river flowing through the centre and buildings constructed from warm brown stone – a very different style from Imperial cities, but still attractive. I wouldn’t have minded living here, if I hadn’t been so desperate to get back to Cyrodiil.

Directly below us I could see two Dunmer enjoying breakfast on top of one of the buildings. I decided to head down there and ask them the way to the South Wall cornerclub, so that I could get this Caius Cosades business over with. The sign on the building said ‘Council Club’ – it took me a minute to work this out, as the words were in Tamrielic but written in the Daedric script. I would later find out that this was very common in Morrowind.

When I got up to the rooftop, however, I started to think this might not have been such a good idea. The two men – a rough-looking pair, their faces marked with some kind of clan tattoos – looked at me as if I were something that had just crawled out of the river, and once again I got the uncomfortable feeling that I’d intruded somewhere I shouldn’t. Still, it was too late to go back without looking like an idiot, so I plunged ahead.

“Good morning,” I said, trying to sound as friendly and non-threatening as possible. “Sorry to bother you, but I’ve just arrived here and I was wondering if you could help me.”

The pause that followed was far too long for comfort. Finally, with obvious reluctance, one of the men said, “What do you want, outlander?”

“Just some directions,” I said. “I’m looking for the South Wall cornerclub?”

Instantly I realised I’d said something very wrong. The Dunmer glanced sharply at each other, and suddenly their demeanour became a whole lot more threatening. The second of them took a step towards me, a truly unpleasant expression on his face. “What sort of business do you have there, outlander?”

“Er, nothing much,” I said hurriedly, wishing fervently that I’d tried somewhere else first. “I was just told they could help me find a… friend.”

The two Dunmer exchanged another quick glance, and one of them nodded to the other. He took a couple of steps towards me, shoving his face right up against mine, and it took all my self-control not to back away from him.

“Listen, outlander,” he said through clenched teeth. “We are Camonna Tong. And you are a foreigner. And the Camonna Tong doesn’t like foreigners. Understand?” He jabbed a finger into my ribs. “So go and ask someone else for your directions.”

“Ah, traditional Dunmer hospitality,” I said drily, determined not to let them see how nervous I was. The Dunmer’s scowl deepened, and he ground his teeth audibly. “Fine, sorry I asked.”

“Good,” he snarled, still glaring at me. “Now go. N’wah.”

I left the terrace, now in no very good mood myself. If this was the official Balmora Welcoming Committee, they really needed to work on their people skills.

It was still early in the morning and there were few people around to ask for directions. I thought about visiting one of the shops lining the streets, but now I was afraid of meeting with the same reaction from the shopkeepers. I was beginning to think that I’d just have to wander round the place until I stumbled upon South Wall, when suddenly I spotted a wooden sign on one building with a very familiar shield-and-swords logo. The Fighters’ Guild!

A wave of relief swept over me. Surely they wouldn’t turn me away? In fact, it would probably be a good idea to join up with them, presuming they’d have me. I needed the money, and with luck I might get hold of some free equipment.

I pushed open the door and entered. A Breton woman in light leather armour stood on guard at the entrance. “Hello, outlander,” she said with a smile (how the heck did everyone instantly guess that I was an outlander?) “Looking to join the Fighters’ Guild?”

“I was, actually,” I said, smiling back gratefully.

“Then speak to Eydis Fire-Eye upstairs.”

Eydis Fire-Eye was a Nord, as I had guessed from the name. She was a tall, stocky woman with red hair – not a weak gingery colour like mine, but a true, fiery red. The suit of armour she wore was made out of some kind of gold-coloured material which I didn’t recognise, though it looked vaguely familiar.

“Well, speak up, Imperial!” she boomed, when I rather shyly introduced myself. “What do you want? You here to join us?”

“I was hoping to, yes.”

She nodded. “Well, you look like you could take care of yourself. Would you like to hear our creed first?”

“I know it,” I said. “I was in the Cyrodiil guild. Er… Defender,” I added. “Though I’ve… been out of the game for a while.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Defender, eh? Who’d you report to in Cyrodiil?”

“Uh… Modryn Oreyn.” Oreyn was a Dark Elf, the Guildmaster’s deputy. He was a good fighter, but he’d done little to combat the stereotype of Dunmer as moody, foul-tempered and generally obnoxious. I doubt he’d have let me back in the Guild even if I got back to Cyrodiil; he wasn’t the forgiving type.

“Oreyn? I’ve heard of him. If you can handle him, you can handle anything.” She pursed her lips. “Still, I’d better start you off as an Associate for now. Get some missions done, show us your skills, and you should rise back up through the ranks pretty quickly.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’m busy right now, but I’ll come back for orders as soon as I have time. By the way… did I hear that it was possible to join the Imperial Legion?”

She thought for a moment. “Well, I hear the Deathshead Legion up at Fort Darius in Gnisis is hiring. But don’t take on too much at once, Ada.”

Good advice. In retrospect, I really ought to have followed it.

Before I left, I took the opportunity to change my clothes and stock up on equipment from the Guild chest – just a few healing and stamina potions and some armourer’s hammers, but that kind of thing could make all the difference out on a mission. In fact, it suddenly occurred to me that if free supplies were on offer, I might as well join the Mages’ Guild as well. Okay, so I was useless at magic, but I didn’t have to do any duties for them.

I went next door to the Mages’ Guild, where the Guild steward – a woman named Ranis Athrys – took my details and signed me up as an Associate. I was a little nervous that she might ask me to actually perform some magic before letting me join, but in fact the process was as quick and simple as it had been at the Fighters’ Guild. By this time I was getting pretty hungry, so I headed for a tavern called The Eight Plates which one of the other Guild members had recommended to me.

“Would you like to try a kwama egg?” the barkeeper asked me when I sat down at the bar. “It’s a Vvardenfell delicacy.”

I’d never had a kwama egg before – in fact, I wasn’t even sure what a kwama was – but I decided to live dangerously and order one. While I was waiting for it to arrive, I took out the letter I’d been given by Sellus Gravius and read through it. It began as follows:

Ada Ventura

You have been given these directions and a package of documents. Do not show them to anyone. Do not attempt to read the documents in the package. The package has been sealed, and your tampering will be discovered and punished.

There followed instructions to take the package to Caius Cosades, and a warning in case I was thinking of absconding:

Remember. You owe your life and freedom to the Emperor. Serve him well, and you will be rewarded. Betray him, and you will suffer the fate of all traitors.

It was signed by ‘Glabrio Bellienus, Personal Secretary to the Emperor’. Hmph. Whatever.

The kwama egg arrived. It was at least four times the size of any other egg I had seen, and I wasn’t entirely sure how I was supposed to eat it. I tapped cautiously at the shell with my spoon, trying to crack it open without spilling the contents everywhere.

The Dunmer man seated next to me laughed, but not unkindly. “Like this, outlander.” He showed me how to cut the shell open with a knife and scoop out the soft centre.

“Thanks.” I tried a small spoonful. It tasted a little strange, but I’d definitely had worse.

“So you are new here?” my neighbour asked me as we tucked into our eggs. “What do you think of our city?”

“Well, some of the people here could be a little more friendly,” I said sourly, thinking back to the Balmora Welcoming Committee.

He looked shocked, and a little upset. “I am sorry to hear that, sera.”

Suddenly I felt rather guilty. It wasn’t this guy’s fault that other people had been unfriendly to me; maybe I’d just been unlucky. “Sorry,” I said hastily. “It’s just that those people at the Council Club practically bit my head off when I spoke to them.”

He practically choked on a mouthful of egg. “The Council Club? You went in there, outlander?”

“Er... yes,” I said. “Shouldn’t I have done? It was right next to the silt strider.”

He shook his head vigorously, then leaned towards me and lowered his voice. “That is the headquarters of the Camonna Tong.”

“Who are they, exactly?”

“The old criminal syndicate here in Morrowind.” His voice fell to a whisper. “I didn’t tell you this, but everyone knows that their leader is Orvas Dren, the Duke’s brother. And they loathe outlanders.”

“Okay, I’ll keep out of their way,” I promised. “Maybe you could tell me where the South Wall cornerclub is?”

Again he spluttered on a mouthful of food. “You went to the Council Club and asked about South Wall?”

I threw up my hands. “Look, maybe you could explain to me exactly what’s going on here? So that I don’t end up getting myself killed just by talking to the wrong person?”

“Very well.” He glanced around to ensure that nobody was listening. “You’re an Imperial, so I think it is safe to tell you this. The South Wall club is the hideout of the Imperial Thieves’ Guild – they’re in a gang war with the Camonna Tong.”

Well, that explained a lot. I was quite interested to hear that the Thieves’ Guild operated openly in Morrowind; back in Cyrodiil, the official line is that they don’t exist (though of course, everyone knows they do).

“Okay,” I said with a sigh. “I’ll be more careful who I speak to in future. So… are most people here this hostile towards outlanders?”

He shook his head. “No, most of us are loyal citizens of the Empire… well, in Balmora, at least. We’re a House Hlaalu town.”
`
I’d heard of House Hlaalu, a little. They were supposed to be the most forward-thinking and pro-Imperial of the Dunmer Great Houses; my uncle traded with them through his agent in the East Empire Company. He was forever complaining about how they’d swindled him on some deal or other, but then he said that about everyone. At the very least he seemed to respect them as good traders – worthy opponents, if you will.

“So do any of the Houses accept outlanders as members?” I asked.

He nodded. “Technically all of them do. It’s hard for an outlander to rise in their ranks, but some do – there’s even a Nord on the Hlaalu Council.”

I was impressed. The Dunmer and the Nords are ancient enemies; they’ve been fighting along the Morrowind-Skyrim border since time immemorial. The Hlaalu must be pretty open-minded to allow a Nord into a high-ranking position.

“Imperials like you usually do best in Hlaalu,” he told me. “Not as friendly to outsiders up north in Redoran country… and definitely not as friendly out east with the Telvanni wizards. If you want to join, go to the Council Manor in the High Town.”

Well, maybe I would check it out. It couldn’t hurt to have some friends in high places.

After obtaining directions from my new Dunmer friend, I set out to find the Council hall. The ‘High Town’ turned out to be a part of town that was literally raised above the rest, up a flight of steps in the north-west of the city. It was easy to see that this was where the wealthy people lived; the houses were larger and in better repair, and the shops looked a lot more up-market.

The Hlaalu council manor was easy to spot; it was by far the largest building around, and hung with banners. The first person I encountered on entering was a well-dressed Dunmer woman, who looked at me searchingly before saying anything. I was glad now that I’d taken the time to freshen up at the Guild; my outfit wasn’t exactly the height of fashion, but at least I looked clean and presentable. Having apparently decided that I measured up to her standards, she gave me a nod and a cautious smile.

“Greetings,” she said pleasantly. “I am Nileno Dorvayn. I keep business going here in Balmora while the Hlaalu Councillors are away… which is most of the time. How may I help you?”

“About House Hlaalu…”

“The Hlaalu councillors have conferred upon me the great honour of interviewing those who wish to become members of our illustrious House.” She sounded like she’d made this speech a thousand times. “Do you want to join House Hlaalu? You seem like a worthy candidate.”

I wasn’t entirely sure how she could tell that based on twenty seconds’ acquaintance. “I’m not sure,” I said cautiously. “I’d like to, but I’m not planning to stay in Vvardenfell for much longer.”

She frowned. “But outlander, haven’t you heard?”

“Heard about what?”

“They’ve restricted travel to the mainland because of the Blight. It’s a serious disease caused by ash storms,” she added, seeing my blank face.

I felt my heart sink like a stone. “Aren’t they letting any ships through?”

Nileno shook her head. “All ships from Vvardenfell are being turned back until further notice. Apart from a few Imperial shipments, but they have special permission.”

Damn! Damn, damn and damn! Well, that was Morrowind Escape Plan A shot to hell. I’d have to pull some serious strings to get out of Vvardenfell now, and I didn’t have any strings to pull.

I heaved a weary sigh. “I see. All right, in that case I guess I might as well join House Hlaalu.”

“Very well,” she said briskly. “You are now a member of House Hlaalu. When you are ready, we can discuss business and advancement in the House.”

“Whoa!” I’d thought there’d be a little more to it than that. “Isn’t there anything you should tell me first? Any… rules I should know?”

A faint smile played around her lips. “The rules of House Hlaalu are simple: Never interfere with the business of House Hlaalu. Or if you do,” she said with a wink, “be sure you are not caught.”

Fair enough, I suppose. Not exactly what I’d expected, but…

I promised to come back later in the day to discuss ‘business’ with Nileno, then left the hall to resume my hunt for Caius Cosades. I was about to head for the South Wall club when I spotted a strange-looking building off in the distance, set a little apart from the town on top of a hill. It was built in a different style from most of Balmora: flat, roundish, with some kind of glass dome on top. I decided to take a closer look.

The sign outside the building had more Daedric writing on it, but it didn’t seem to spell out anything sensible. There were just three letters of the Daedric alphabet: ayem (a), seht (s) and vehk (v). At the bottom of the sign, in Tamrielic, it said ‘Tribunal Temple’.

So this is a Temple, I thought, looking at the simple, squat building constructed from packed mud. It was certainly very different from the beautiful chapels of the Nine in Cyrodiil, with their soaring ceilings and stained-glass windows. On impulse, I decided to go in and take a look around.

I’d never been particularly religious, myself. Oh, obviously I believe in the gods – it’s hard not to when you can walk into any chapel and get free healing and blessings just by saying a quick prayer – but as far as I was concerned, we had a simple arrangement: I didn’t bother them and they didn’t bother me. I knew very little about the so-called ‘Tribunal’, except that the priests in Cyrodiil sniffily referred to them as “the false gods of the heathen Dunmer”. Well, now I had the chance to find out.

At first sight, the interior of the Temple looked more like a boarding house than a place of worship – several beds and bunks were visible in rooms just off the entrance hall. Through another door was a room with two shrines and a gravel pit, surrounded with candles and scattered with what I was shocked to realise were human bones. Or possibly Elven bones, which wasn’t much better.

A woman in a priestess’s robe approached me. “Welcome, my child. Can I help you?”

I inclined my head somewhat nervously towards the pit. “What are the… er… bones for?”

“We Dunmer venerate our ancestors, child.” She must have guessed the direction of my thoughts from the expression on my face. “No, we do not sacrifice people! What kind of savages do you take us for, outlander?”

“Oh, I wasn’t thinking that,” I assured her, hastily and untruthfully. “Er… whydontyoutellmeallaboutyourreligion?”

The strained expression on her face relaxed a little. “Well, the Tribunal Temple is the native religion of civilised Morrowind. We worship ALMSIVI.”

“Almsivi?”

“Our gods, sera. Almalexia, Sotha Sil, and Vivec, also known as the Tribunal.”

“Oh, I get it,” I said suddenly. “Ayem, seht, and vehk, right? The letters on the sign outside.”

She beamed. “Exactly! Would you like to hear more of our Temple, outlander?”

“OK, go ahead,” I heard myself saying.

Her eyes lit up. I got the impression she didn’t get asked to do this very often, especially not by outlanders. “Well, Almalexia is our Healing Mother, protector of the poor and weak. Sotha Sil the Magus is the patron of Artificers and Wizards. And Lord Vivec is a master of weapons and poetry, the most gallant knight and subtle rogue of the First Council. He lives in His palace in Vivec City here on Vvardenfell.”

I blinked. “Hold on… you said he lives there? You can see him?”

The priestess gave me a rather pitying smile. “Our gods are not like your Divines, outlander. They live, and breathe, and walk among us.”

“How… nice,” I murmured. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of bumping into God down the local tavern. I mean, what if you forgot yourself and swore on their name or something? No wonder the Dunmer had such a reputation for religious fanaticism.

“Would you like to join the Temple, my child?” she continued. “Or would you like to hear our doctrine first?”

“Well, er…”

“You will receive discounts on Temple services,” she coaxed me. “Such as blessings at shrines, for example.”

Actually, that didn’t sound like a bad idea. I’d benefited from Divine healing more than once in my own country, and if these were the local gods, it might be a good plan to get on side with them.

“I’ll hear the doctrine first,” I said cautiously, one eye still on the ancestor pit.

She nodded. “Your fourfold duties are to: Faith, Family, Masters, and all that is good. Perform holy quests and bring lustre to the Temple. Never transgress against your brothers or sisters – in thought or deed – as we are all one body. If you somehow fail to uphold these ideals, you must speak with a Master or the Patriarch to be cleansed of your wrongdoings.”

I felt a slight twinge of guilt at the ‘family’ part – maybe I ought to write and tell them where I was… But anyway, the rest didn’t sound too bad. I just hoped that my own gods, the Nine Divines, wouldn’t be too pissed off by this – not that I’d ever properly worshipped them in any case.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll join.”

A few minutes later I was walking down the steps to the river, now clutching a copy of a book called The Pilgrim’s Path. Apparently I had to complete a pilgrimage to seven holy shrines – all in different parts of Morrowind – before I could progress any further in the Temple. Given that I’d just joined four different factions in one morning, that sounded like it could take some considerable time.

I walked over the bridge to the east side of the river Odai, where the commoners and the poor people lived. As I crossed the river, I saw a large group of children fishing on the opposite bank – mostly Dunmer, but also some humans and even a Khajiit. Nice, I thought, to see them all playing together like that.

I finally managed to find the South Wall – right at the other end of town, surprise, surprise – and the owner, Bacola Closcius, directed me to Caius Cosades’ house. Turned out I’d walked right past it on my way to the club. Sighing, I made my way back up to the north edge of town and found what appeared to be the right house. I knocked cautiously.

The door creaked open and Caius Cosades stood before me. He was in his early sixties, with greying hair and an intelligent-looking face, but what struck me most forcibly was that he was wearing nothing but a grubby pair of pants. I had to fight the urge to avert my eyes, and not just out of feminine modesty. He wasn’t in bad shape for a sixty-year-old, but honestly, a half-naked old man was not a sight I wanted to see this early in the morning.

“Uh… Caius Cosades? I mumbled, trying not to look at the hairy chest. Couldn’t he at least get dressed properly before opening the door to visitors? And him an Imperial, too. It was a disgrace.

A smile hovered around his lips. “Me? I’m just an old man with a skooma problem.”

“Right,” I said uncertainly. “Because if you are Caius, I was told to deliver this package to you.”

“I see.” He took the package out of my hand and scrutinised it closely, then glanced at the letter I’d been given by Sellus Gravius. “Well, you’d better come in.”

I entered the tiny, one-room house, wondering just what I’d got myself into. Was this really Caius, or had the Thieves’ Guild people pulled a fast one on me and sent me over to the local lunatic?

The interior of the house was messy and not too clean, a little like its owner. Dirty bottles and overturned chairs littered the floor, and a strong smell of skooma pervaded the room. On the other hand, looking around, I saw several books – with titles like On Morrowind, the Imperial Province and The War of the First Council – which didn’t really fit in with the overall image of dinginess and squalor. Caius ripped open the package I had given him, took out the sheets of paper it contained, and flung the wrapping into a corner of the room.

“Why don’t you sit down.” He directed me to a bench in the corner. “Just wait here a minute while I look over these instructions you gave me…”

He sat down on the bed and began to read through the papers, nodding occasionally and saying things like “Hmph,” and “Mmm.” At one point his brow furrowed and I saw his eyes dart back and forth several times, as if he were re-reading a passage to make sure he’d understood it correctly. Finally he flung down the papers with a sigh, looked up at me, and smiled.

“Well, my friend,” he said. “It appears that the Emperor wants me to make you a novice in the Blades.”

For the second time in three days, I felt as if I had been hit over the head with a large mallet. “What?” I squeaked. “Me, a Blade?”

“Ah, then you’ve heard of us?” he said, with another smile.

I closed my eyes briefly, wondering if I’d somehow gone completely mad. Of course I’d heard of the Blades; they were the Emperor’s personal bodyguard and secret service, the elite of the elite. And now I was being asked to join, just like that?

“I have, yes,” I said. “But… look, it can’t possibly be me they’re talking about. There must be some mistake.”

“No, I don’t think so. This is the Emperor’s seal.” He looked closely at me. “You are Ada Ventura, aren’t you? Born on the twenty-first of – ”

“Yes, yes,” I assured him. “I’m Ada. But… I’m sorry, I just can’t get my head around this. Does the Emperor really think I’m Blades material?”

“Apparently so,” he said, shrugging. “Wouldn’t have thought so, to look at you. But orders are orders.”

I would have been insulted, but the truth was that I wouldn’t have thought so to look at me either. I was a nobody, and I knew it. So what could possibly have caused the Emperor to take notice of me? I cast my mind back over my past adventures, searching vainly for something that might have marked me out as a candidate for the Blades. I was a reasonably competent fighter, but…

“So does this mean you’re a Blade as well?” I gazed in disbelief at the scruffy old man sitting cross-legged on the bed in front of me. At the stained walls, the dirty floor…

Caius’s face broke into a sudden grin. “No one would ever suspect it, would they?”

“I see your point,” I conceded. But gods, how could he stand to live like this? If he was expecting me to do the same, he could forget it.

Caius stood up. “So, Ada. Are you ready to follow my orders?”

“I… suppose so,” I said, still too bewildered to think of refusing. “But – ”

“Good! Welcome to the service, Novice Ada.” He grasped my hand and shook it heartily. “Now you belong to the Blades. You can use my bed if you need to rest, but leave my personal stuff alone unless I say otherwise. Now, would you like orders straight away, or would you like to get some skill practice in first?”

Absolutely no way was I sleeping in this guy’s bed, with or without him in it. “Um, I guess I could do with some practice,” I mumbled. “But I –”

“Okay, I’ll give you a list of the Blades trainers here in town. Now, first thing, pilgrim – ” He reached into a pocket and pulled out some coins. “You’re new, and you look it. Here’s 200 drakes. Go get yourself some decent weapons and armour, or a spell.”

My mouth snapped shut. If he was offering me 200 drakes before I’d even done any work for him, I wasn’t about to complain. I’d do whatever tasks he wanted me to do, and later I’d explain my plans to return to Cyrodiil. After all, I could do with the extra money.

“Second thing,” he went on, “you’ll need a cover identity. Sign on with the Mages’ Guild, or the Fighters’ Guild, or the Imperial Legion. Or you could even try one of the Dunmer Great Houses, if you’re inclined that way.”

“Already done,” I said proudly. “I’ve joined the Fighters’ Guild, the Mages’ Guild, House Hlaalu… and I’m thinking about joining the Legion if I ever get up to Gnisis. Oh, and, er… the Tribunal Temple.”

He looked a little surprised. “The Temple? That’s an… unusual choice. Why not the Imperial Cult?”

“They asked first,” I said with a shrug. “There isn’t anything wrong with the Temple, is there?”

“No, not as such – they’re narrow-minded and superstitious, but I admire their concern for the poor. But few outlanders join.” He paused. “House Hlaalu, though… they’re very open to outsiders. Greedy and ambitious in the best Imperial tradition.”

“What are the other Houses like?” I asked, suddenly interested.

“House Redoran are warriors, a very serious and honourable bunch. But the Telvanni… ah.” He screwed up his face. “Their nobles are thousand-year-old wizards. Powerful mages, but arrogant and elitist.” Just like mages everywhere, then.

I would have asked more, but it was almost midday and I’d promised to speak to Nileno. “Well, I guess I’d better be going,” I said, standing up. “Thanks for the money and everything. Er, when shall I come back?”

“When you’re ready,” he said with a smile. “Take your time; practice your skills, and then come back when you feel ready for orders. No need to rush.”

As I turned to leave, I noticed something lying on the floor by the bed: a skooma pipe of good quality, half-filled with liquid. Was he really a skooma addict, I wondered, or was it all just part of his cover story?

I left the house and headed back over the bridge into western Balmora, glad to be able to breathe fresh air again. The skooma vapours in Caius Cosades’ house had been so powerful that I was half inclined to think I might have hallucinated the entire conversation, but the 200 drakes he had given me were certainly not a hallucination. I managed to find a clothier’s shop where I purchased some reasonable-but-not-too-expensive clothes, then went to the Fighters’ Guild smith to buy some armour. Then, decked out in my new outfit, I went back to the Hlaalu council hall in the High Town.

[D.Foxy]

And so it begins (again)! Yay for Helena!!!

[haute ecole rider]

This is new ground to me (as far as the story is concerned).

I'm enjoying Ada's first experience in Balmora, especially her encounter with the Welcoming Committee (need to work on their people skills - !) , joining not one, or two, but four different factions before even meeting Caius Cosades and being roped into the Blades, and learning about how things are - ahem - different in Morrowind.

It's enjoyable to read something so tongue in cheek as this. Loved it!

[mALX]

These beginning chapters are what made me fall in love with the story.

[treydog]

First- what mALX said!

And then a couple of highlights to illustrate what we mean:

…I left his healing ring, along with three hundred septims and a short note telling him to be more careful next time. Stupid conscience.

Yup, there is our Helena in just a couple of lines.

And she joins every faction in sight, excepting only the Thieves. “Impulse control issues? Ada? No, couldn’t be.”

The Temple? That’s an… unusual choice. Why not the Imperial Cult?”

“They asked first,” I said with a shrug.

And Ada's take on Caius is still one of my favorites of all time.

[Olen]

That more or less sums it up: funny, good to read and very morrowind.

Absolutely no way was I sleeping in this guy’s bed, with or without him in it

I too love your take on Caius, but this line is also very fitting with Ada.

[Winter Wolf]

Welcome aboard Helena!!

Another brilliant writer is now here at Chorrol. Yippee!!

Your writing is very addictive. My only complaint is that I have a stong urge to toss Oblivion into the corner of the room and start playing Morrowind again.

Please don't do that to me!! I have too many quests at Oblivion to finish.

[Helena]

Chapter 4: Down To Business

Nileno Dorvayn looked at me with raised eyebrows as I entered the hall. “You’ve certainly smartened up since I last saw you.”

“Came into a bit of money,” I said, shrugging. “So, what about this business, then?”

She frowned suddenly. “Wait a minute, Ada. Say that again.”

“Er, business? You wanted to discuss… business?” She was staring at me with a thoughtful expression on her face.

“What a coincidence!” she exclaimed. “You sound very much like Relmerea Saram, a Redoran who died… recently.”

“Redoran,” I said uncertainly. “That’s the warrior House, right?”

She nodded. “Yes, and our rivals in business. Would you be willing to disguise yourself as Relmerea and get orders from House Redoran, then bring them to me?”

I hesitated. “You want me to impersonate a Redoran spy?”

“That is correct, yes.”

Wow, these Hlaalu certainly threw you in at the deep end. I’d been expecting my first assignment to be more along the lines of “deliver these packages for us” or “make the tea”.

“Okay,” I said cautiously. “I suppose I can do that.”

“Good! Take this helm.” She handed me a closed helmet made of that same yellowish material that Eydis wore as armour. “Speak with Neminda at the Redoran council in Ald’ruhn, and make sure you’re wearing the helmet. When she asks what you want, tell her that you are an ‘orphan of Arnesia’, and she should give you a coded message to deliver. Bring it to me instead. Got it?”

“Orphan… of… Arnesia,” I murmured, scribbling down the instructions in my journal. “All right, that sounds simple enough. But… won’t she wonder why I’m wearing a helmet?”

Nileno shook her head. “Relmerea was disfigured in battle, and was known for always wearing her helmet. That’s the only reason I’d ask you to try and fool Neminda. She’s a Redguard woman, by the way; you can’t miss her.”

I briefly wondered how Relmerea had died, and how Nileno had acquired the codephrase, before deciding that I probably didn’t want to know the answer to either of those questions. Great House politics was clearly a dirtier business than I had imagined.

Rather than take the silt strider to Ald’ruhn, which would have taken several hours, I decided to ask the Mages’ Guild guide to teleport me there. I’d never used a Guild guide before (we don’t have them in Cyrodiil, for some reason), and I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect.

The Balmora guide turned out to be a woman named Masalinie Merian, a Breton (or so I guessed from the name). I paid her a small fee and asked her to transport me to Ald’ruhn. There was a whoosh, a brief sensation of lightness, and suddenly I was standing in front of a completely different mage in a completely different Guild hall – presumably the Ald’ruhn one. Simple as that.

Why didn’t we have anything like that in Cyrodiil, I wondered, as I looked around for the door. This Guild was built in a somewhat different style from the one in Balmora; there were few windows in evidence and it appeared to be mostly sunk into the ground. I’d soon find out why.

I headed up to the top floor and opened the street-level door, only to be hit in the face by a blast of red dust. “Gaaaahh,” I choked, slamming it shut again and rubbing my eyes frantically.

One of the mages patted me gently on the back as I coughed and hacked. “Watch out for the Blight storm, outlander. You can catch diseases from that.”

Muttering to myself, I pulled on the helmet which Nileno had given me and headed out into the storm.

My first impression of Ald’ruhn was that it was quite possibly the ugliest place I had ever seen. The ash storm and the ominous red sky didn’t help, but neither did the crumbling walls and the dry, cracked ground, or the lack of plant life. The buildings were truly bizarre in appearance, resembling nothing less than the giant shells of long-dead creatures dotted around the landscape. When I’d first heard I was coming to Morrowind, this had been the kind of scene I’d pictured.

The guards here all wore full suits of armour and face-concealing helmets – probably to protect themselves from the frequent storms. It was clear that they didn’t have as much contact with outlanders as those in Balmora; they all spoke good Tamrielic, but more formally and with a heavier accent. “Under Skar, outlander,” one of them called over his shoulder, when I tried to ask for directions to the Redoran Council.

“Scar?” I said helplessly, but he was already walking off into the storm.

I stumbled around trying to find someone else to help me, but none of the ordinary citizens scurrying around in the storm would stop to talk. Finally I bumped into another guard, who actually deigned to stop and speak to me for a few seconds. “Skar is the shell of the Emperor crab, outlander.” He gestured towards a flight of steps to the northwest.

So these buildings really are shells, I thought, as I struggled up the steps against the driving wind. Ingenious, but who in their right mind would found a city in a place like this?

The ‘Skar’ building was easy enough to spot once I got up the steps; it was a massive shell which utterly dwarfed all the other buildings. I hurried towards it, desperate to get out of the storm. The helmet provided pretty good protection against the wind and dust, but it was hot and uncomfortable and made it difficult to see anything.

It didn’t help that the closer I got to the Council hall, the more nervous I was getting about the task I had been asked to perform. By the time I reached the doors to Skar I was sweating profusely, and not just from the exertion. I’d never been half as scared when facing off against bandits or necromancers in some gods-forsaken tomb out in the wilderness. How could anyone possibly have got the idea that I would make a good spy?

Only the sight of the Skar interior was enough to briefly take my mind off my upcoming mission. It was a truly astounding sight: the hollowed-out shell formed a vast chamber, with a huge spike rising up from the centre of the floor. Fanning out from the top of the spike were several wooden walkways, each leading to doors set in the ‘wall’ of the shell. I stepped onto the first walkway with some trepidation, but it seemed solid enough.

I stopped to adjust my clothing before entering the Redoran council hall, ensuring that not a single inch of bare skin was visible. By this point I was utterly paranoid that something – my figure, my walk, my outfit – would tip off Neminda that I wasn’t the real Relmerea, and get me thrown straight into a Redoran jail. Or would the guards just kill me on the spot?

I took a deep breath to calm myself before entering the Council hall. To my surprise, I was immediately struck by the beauty of my surroundings: the walls, ceiling and pillars were intricately patterned and hung with tapestries, while rich woven rugs adorned the floor. Balmora might be prettier on the outside, but Ald’ruhn definitely had the edge in terms of interior décor.

Neminda wasn’t difficult to spot; she was the only Redguard woman in the place. In fact, she was the only human in the place, and the only one I’d seen since arriving in Ald’ruhn (unless you counted the Bretons in the Mages’ Guild).

When I approached, she gave me such a warm and friendly smile that I felt my insides twist with guilt. “Hi there, what can I do for you?”

I lowered my voice slightly, doing my best to sound at least somewhat like a Dark Elf. “I am an Orphan of Arnesia.”

“Oh, certainly, Relmerea,” she said instantly, fishing out a scroll and handing it to me. “Here are your orders – they’re in code, of course. Deliver them to Maar Gan as usual.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled, not wanting to say any more than I absolutely had to.

Her brow furrowed slightly. “Are you okay, Relmerea? You sound a little strange.”

“Fine,” I croaked. “Er… got a cold.”

“Oh, I am sorry,” she said sympathetically. “Well, I hope you feel better soon. Goodbye now.”

“Goodbye,” I murmured and left quickly, now feeling like the worst person in the world. I really wasn’t cut out for this sort of work.

I tried to look calm and nonchalant as I walked back to the Guild, but in truth I was expecting to hear shouts and running feet behind me at any moment. In my paranoia I imagined that every guard was looking at me suspiciously – and to make matters worse, I suddenly realised what looked so familiar about that material they wore as armour. It was bone.

It was at this point that I very nearly panicked and broke into a run. In the event it’s probably a good thing I didn’t, as it would undoubtedly have aroused suspicion. Nevertheless, I didn’t feel at ease again until I was safely back in the Balmora Mages’ Guild, and not completely safe until I was back in the Council Manor and handing the coded orders over to Nileno Dorvayn.

She took a quick look at them and nodded. “Yes, this is exactly what I wanted. Good work, Ada – keep the helm, and take these 500 drakes for a job well done.”

I gaped at her. 500 drakes for my first job? But she was handing me a real purse filled with real money.

“Would you like further orders?” she asked, oblivious to my astonishment.

For 500 septims a throw, the answer to that was ‘hell yes’. Just as long as she didn’t ask me to do any more spying.

“Very well,” she said, when I shrugged and nodded. “I need someone to visit an apothecary in Vivec and... acquire certain alchemical formulas. Go to the shop of Aurane Frernis, find some of her notes or formulas, and bring them back to me.”

I blinked. “You want me to steal them?”

“I want you to… acquire them.”

“By any means necessary?”

“Yes,” she said calmly. “Barring violence, of course.”

I hesitated. Even for five hundred septims, I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of stealing anything. But maybe there was another way…

“All right,” I said at last. “I’ll do my best.”

I decided not to keep the helm, even though Nileno had said I could have it. Okay, so presumably it was made of animal bones rather than humanoid ones, but the idea of wearing bone as armour just creeped me out. (A bit strange, since I have no problem wearing leather, but there you go.)

After stopping for a bite to eat, I paid another visit to the smith before heading to Vivec. Five hundred drakes would allow me to buy good-quality steel armour rather than the crappy iron stuff I was wearing now. It felt a bit strange to be exchanging armour I’d only bought earlier that day and hadn’t even used, but at least it allowed me to get a better price for it.

Luckily there was a Guild guide in Vivec as well, so the journey there took seconds as opposed to the day or so it would have taken by silt strider. In the Vivec Mages’ Guild I passed an elderly Imperial man who nodded absent-mindedly to me; I would later discover that this was Trebonius Artorius, the head of the Guild.

Emerging from the guild, I found myself at one end of a huge plaza – not open to the elements, as I had expected, but completely covered over with a high domed roof. Several buildings, mostly guilds and shops, were set in a row on either side of a wide central walkway. At either end of the plaza was a huge set of double doors, presumably leading outside.

“Submit to the Three, the Spirits and thy Lords,” a voice hissed in my ear, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I whirled round to see the speaker – a soldier in an impressive-looking uniform of blue and gold. The elaborate golden helmet he wore covered his entire head, and had a sinister-looking face painted onto it; the effect was distinctly unnerving.

“Don’t do that!” I gasped, my fear quickly turning to annoyance. “You made me jump! Who are you, anyway?”

“We are the Ordinators,” he hissed. “The holy guards and soldiers of the Temple.”

“So,” I said carefully, “you’re some kind of religious… police?”

He nodded, and I could almost see the unpleasant smile behind his helmet. “Go about your business, citizen. But remember… we’re watching you.”

I was just going to love Vivec, I could tell.

As I headed for the nearest set of doors, a Redguard man standing nearby shoved a leaflet into my hands. “Take this, friend! It has important information.”

I nodded politely and was about to stuff it into my pack for later, when I spotted the name ‘Aurane Frernis’ written in large capital letters. Surprised by the coincidence, I paused to look over the leaflet, which read as follows:

BEWARE!!!!

HAVE NO DEALINGS with AURANE FRERNIS!!!
She is known to be both UNDERHANDED and UNETHICAL in her dealings!!!
The materials she uses are both SHODDY and DANGEROUS!!!
You could come to GREAT HARM from her products.
Her shop should be AVOIDED AT ALL COSTS!!!

See these testimonials:
"I took potion and got sick. Lost good lunch." - Grugbob G.
"Her materials looked old and stale. Not good for alchemical use." - Daren O.
"She should be disembowelled and fed to nix hounds." - Hlorngar F.

I stared at the leaflet and then at the Redguard, an idea beginning to form in my mind. “Where can I find this Aurane Frernis?”

“She’s in the Lower Waistworks,” he told me. “Just go out through those doors, then back through one of the smaller doors to the left or right, and down the stairs in the centre. But I wouldn’t buy anything from her.”

Out in the open air, I found myself standing on a walled balcony several stories above the ground – or rather, above the water. Looking down, I could see that Vivec had no streets as such, only a series of canals. Through a haze of fog I could dimly perceive several massive square buildings, similar to the one I was standing on, but there didn’t seem to be any way to reach them apart from a single bridge far below. It seemed a terribly impractical way to design a city.

My opinion wasn’t improved when I entered the ‘waistworks’, a series of twisty passages and winding staircases that seemed deliberately designed to get people lost. The narrow passageways and low ceilings, combined with the lack of windows, quickly brought on a feeling of mild claustrophobia. I’d only been in this place five minutes and already I hated it.

At last, more by luck than anything else, I stumbled across a sign saying ‘Aurane Frernis: Apothecary’. Inside the shop I laid the ground by purchasing a few random potions, including some I’d never heard of before – what was a ‘Potion of Rising Force’, for example? I’d no idea, but I spent an amusing couple of minutes trying to imagine.

“By the way,” I said casually, as I handed Aurane her payment. “Did you know that someone up in the plaza is handing out leaflets about you?”

I showed her the leaflet, and her face turned white with shock. “What's this? This is ridiculous! It’s all lies!” She slammed the leaflet down on the counter. “I tell you what, Ada – if you can find out who is behind this slander, I’ll reward you well!”

“All right,” I said casually, trying hard to conceal my glee. This was going exactly as I had hoped. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Back in the plaza, I marched up to the Redguard and dangled the leaflet in front of his face. “These leaflets are all lies. Why are you doing this?”

He hesitated. “Slander is a crime,” I reminded him. “You want me to report this to the Ordinators?”

The man’s eyes widened in fear. “No! Listen, friend, times have been tough for me and mine.” He wiped his brow. “So when Belan offered me some gold to hand these out for her, I jumped at the chance. Gotta make ends meet, you know?”

“Belan?”

“Garulo Belan,” he muttered. “She’s an apothecary in the Telvanni canton. She makes the leaflets, I just distribute them.”

I couldn’t be sure he was telling the truth, but it occurred to me that I could go to the Telvanni canton myself and confront Galuro. I asked a passer-by how to get to the canton. “The quickest way is to take a gondola,” he told me. “But be careful if you’re going there – they’re known to kidnap people and take them as slaves, or hold them for ransom.”

…Okay, maybe I wouldn’t go to the Telvanni canton. Not yet, at least.

“I’ve found out who makes the leaflets,” I announced to Aurane on returning. “It’s Galuro Belan, in the Telvanni canton.”

“Galuro Belan? That fetcher!” Aurane looked furious. “I can't believe she'd do this to me! I'm reporting this to the magistrate. Well, thank you for your help – here’s your payment.” She scooped up a handful of coins from her box of change.

“I don’t want payment,” I said quickly, waving it away. “But as it happens… I was wondering if you could possibly give me the recipe for some of your potions. That wonderful ‘Rising Force’ potion, for example.” I gave her my sweetest smile. “We don’t have anything like that in Cyrodiil.”

Aurane shook her head. “I am grateful to you, Ada, but I can’t reveal my secrets. Other alchemists are constantly trying to steal my formulas.” Her eyes narrowed. “Particularly those in House Hlaalu.”

Uh-oh. “Hlaalu? Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, with a nervous laugh. “I’m not a Hlaalu, I’m House… Redoran. Just joined up the other day, in fact.”

She looked skeptical. “Really? Who signed you up?”

“Neminda,” I said promptly. Aurane still looked uncertain. “Well, never mind,” I said, shrugging. “I guess I’ll just be going, then. I hope your business prospers, Aurane.”

“No, wait! I…” She hesitated. “I suppose you have helped my business. Oh, very well.” She scribbled down some notes on a sheet of paper and handed it to me. “Just don’t give it to anyone else in House Redoran.”

“I certainly won’t,” I assured her, with perfect truth.

Once again I felt more than a little uncomfortable with myself as I returned to Balmora. I hadn’t done anything technically illegal – yet – but all this lying and cheating was not really my cup of tea. The Fighter’s Guild had a strict code of honour, and I doubted they would approve of what I was doing on the side.

After collecting another 500 gold from Nileno, I decided not to accept any more ‘business’ from House Hlaalu for the moment. Besides, it was getting late. I chose to stay at the Fighters’ Guild that night, as it was free (the Mages’ Guild would have done as well, but somehow I felt more comfortable among fellow warriors). Caius Cosades’ house was not even worth considering.

The next morning, after breakfast, I decided it was time to do some jobs for the Guild. I went to see Eydis Fire-Eye and asked if she had any duties for me.

“Well, I have a very simple contract to end an infestation of cave rats.” She winked at me. “You might be able to handle it.”

Ah yes, the traditional ‘rat-catching’ assignment given to new recruits. I remembered that all too well from my early days in the Guild. I agreed to the job, but I had to struggle to conceal my humiliation; it was a little like being sent back to the nursery class with the children who couldn’t read.

The client, a woman named Drarayne Thelas, lived in a small house on the east side of the river. “Are you Fighters’ Guild?” she snapped, the minute she saw me on her doorstep. “Well, it’s about time!”

I’d met with this attitude plenty of times before, so I just smiled politely. “Ada Ventura at your service, ma’am – er, sera. I’m here about the cave rats?”

She nodded. “These rats are such a nuisance! I'm worried they'll eat all of my pillows. You like pillows, don't you, Ada?”

“Er… yes,” I said. “Very much.”

“Oh, good!” she exclaimed, clearly delighted to have found another pillow enthusiast. “Anyway, I’ve got one trapped in my bedroom here, and the other two are in my storage area upstairs. Rats, that is... not pillows.” She handed me a small key. “Here’s the key for that door. Oh, I do hope they haven’t gotten into my good pillows...”

I tackled the rat in the bedroom first, before moving onto the storeroom upstairs. She certainly did have quite an impressive collection of pillows, I had to admit. Some had been scattered around a bit, but luckily none of them seemed to have come to any serious harm.

“Good news, Drarayne,” I announced, returning to the ground floor. “All targets neutralised; the pillows are safe.”

“Safe? Oh, thank you, Ada!” For a moment I half-expected to get a pillow as a reward, but instead she handed me some money. “Here, take these 100 septims. It’s what I agreed to pay the Guild.”

I thanked her and left the house, shaking my head. At least with Operation Pillow Protection I’d proved I could handle a sword without dropping it or cutting myself; maybe I could get a real job next time.

Eydis agreed, and promoted me to the rank of Apprentice. “Okay, want more orders? I need someone to return a codebook that belongs to our client.”

“Who has it?”

“A woman named Sottilde.” I was just trying to think where I’d heard the name before, when she added, “You can find her at the South Wall here in Balmora.”

Ah yes, I remembered Sottilde: she was the first person I’d spoken to when I’d entered the cornerclub the day before. She was a Nord, and since she hung out at South Wall, that presumably meant she was Thieves’ Guild. This could be slightly tricky.

In the event, however, Sottilde proved to be a bit of a pushover. The minute I mentioned the codebook to her, she stiffened and became visibly nervous. “What codebook?”

I didn’t want to resort to threats immediately, since as far as I knew she’d done nothing wrong (apart from being a thief, of course). Instead, I offered her some coins. “Look, here’s fifty septims. Now just hand over the codebook and we can forget this ever happened, all right?”

“Eydis sent you, did she?” She sighed. “Okay, I have the codebook. But I want more than that for it.”

I looked at her through narrowed eyes. “I just gave you fifty, how much more do you want?”

“It’s valuable. Two hundred drakes.”

“Two hundred? You’re joking.” I took a step towards her. “Fifty is all you’re getting. Don’t make me get nasty about this.”

It felt a bit strange to be threatening someone who stood half a head taller than me, but I’d learned long ago that you could get away with all sorts if you looked like you meant it. Sottilde hesitated for a moment, doing her best to look defiant, but quickly abandoned the attempt.

“Oh, all right,” she muttered. “I don't want any trouble with you, so take it. Just don't tell anyone I gave it to you.”

I thanked her politely and made to leave the building. Just as I reached the door, she called after me: “Oh, outlander?”

I looked back over my shoulder, my hand on the doorknob. “What is it?”

“If you’ve just joined the Fighters’ Guild, watch out for yourself.” She folded her arms. “There’s lot more going on there than you know about.”

“Such as?”

She gave me a tight little smile. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

I went back to the Guild hall, wondering what she meant, and what the Thieves’ Guild had wanted with the codebook in the first place. I did sneak a quick look at it, but it was all gibberish.

Eydis seemed pleased to receive the book, praising my ‘obedience’ and ‘efficiency’ and promoting me to the rank of Journeyman. She also paid me a grand total of fifty septims, perfectly balancing out the fifty I’d given Sottilde for the codebook. It was a good thing I was actually making money on the jobs I’d done for House Hlaalu.

Since I had plenty of spare cash for now, I decided that it was time I went and got some training. Rescuing defenceless pillows and purloining people’s alchemical formulas might be fun, but it wasn’t going to get me in shape for whatever Caius had in store for me. Not that I particularly wanted to do any missions for him, but getting dragged off and jailed for treason was something I wanted even less.

In the afternoon I looked up one of the Blades trainers in Balmora, a Redguard warrior named Rithleen, and asked for tuition in swordfighting and blocking techniques. The first time we fought she beat me soundly, so we tried a second time and she beat me again. And a third time. By the end of the day I was exhausted, but at least I was starting to recover some of the technique I’d lost during my year in jail.

“You’re not bad,” she told me approvingly, following what seemed to me like yet another humiliating defeat. “You just need to keep up the practice.”

After another day of training, I decided I was just about ready to handle a mission from Caius – it couldn’t be that difficult to start with, after all. So I went over to his house bright and early the next morning.

Caius looked pleased to see me back so soon. His house was exactly as I remembered it – messy, grubby and reeking of skooma fumes – and so was he. He still wasn’t wearing a shirt; in fact, I was sorely tempted to offer to go out and buy one for him. I actually found myself wondering how I could introduce the subject without causing offence: “You know, I think you’d look really nice in yellow…”

“So, Ada, back already?” he asked, looking pleased. “Are you ready for orders now?”

I shrugged. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

“Good. Now,” he leaned forward, “I want you to talk to Hasphat Antabolis at the Balmora Fighters Guild. Ask him what he knows about the secret cults of the Sixth House and the Nerevarine.”

I took out my journal so I could make some notes. “What was that word? The… Neveragaine?”

“Nerevarine.”

“…Neverarine?”

“Ne-re-var-ine.”

“Ne-re-var-ine,” I repeated, feeling like an idiot. “What is a… Nerevarine?”

“Not what,” he corrected me, “but who. Some Dunmer believe that an orphan and outcast, a youth born on a certain day to uncertain parents, will one day unite all the tribes of the Dunmer, drive out the invaders of Morrowind, and reestablish the ancient laws and customs of the Dark Elven nations. They call this orphan and outcast the ‘Nerevarine’, and say the Nerevarine will be a reincarnation of the long-dead Dunmer General and First Councillor, Lord Indoril Nerevar.”

I was struggling to keep up. “Okay. And there’s some sort of cult around this Nerevarine guy? You think they’re a threat to the Empire?”

“I’m not sure… yet.” His expression was serious. “I don’t know much about it; that’s why I’m sending you to find out.”

“All right. And the Sixth House? I thought there were only three?”

Caius shook his head. “No, there are two more – Indoril and Dres. But they have no holdings on Vvardenfell.”

“So what is the Sixth House, then?”

“A trusted informant says they're a secret cult associated with some strange events recently,” he explained. “And that these are related in some way to the Nerevarine Prophecies. But Hasphat will be able to tell you more.”

I’d seen Hasphat a few times at the Guild, where he was a drillmaster, but not yet had occasion to speak to him. He was a very ordinary-looking middle-aged Imperial, not someone I’d thought would be involved with the Blades – but then, it seemed that half of Balmora was mixed up with them in some way. You could barely turn around in that place without bumping into a member of the Emperor’s super-secret intelligence service. How they managed to maintain their cover was beyond me; I was beginning to wonder if the entire town was in on the secret.

“You’ll have to do him a favour first,” Caius warned me. “Probably an ugly favour. But do it, then get the information and report back to me.”

I went over to the Guild, where Hasphat was training down in the basement – alone, luckily enough. “Mr Antabolis?” I said, when he broke off to greet me. “I’m Ada Ventura. Caius Cosades sent me to you.”

“Ah.” He looked at me with an expression of faint amusement. “So you’re the latest hero, are you?”

Seeing the confusion in my face, he motioned me to sit down on one of the benches. “Caius says he’s fed up with heroes,” he said, sitting down beside me and resting his hands on his knees. “The Empire keeps sending them out here to the provinces to ‘civilise’ things. The fools don't seem to realize that their ‘destinies’ are being created by historical processes.”

“What do you mean?”

“Caius and I always argue over the role of the individual in history. Tiber Septim, for instance.” He paused. “I say Tiber Septim changed the world. Caius says he was a product of his time, and if he hadn’t lived, some other person would have served his function. What do you think?”

I’d never really thought about it at all, to be honest. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “And in all honesty, I don’t really care. What’s the point of arguing about something that happened centuries ago?”

His eyes twinkled. “And you? Are you going to change the world, do you think?”

“Not if I can help it,” I said bluntly. “Right now, all I want to do is find a way to get back to Cyrodiil as soon as possible. But don’t tell Caius that.”

“Poor Caius,” he said, with a faint smile. “So many disappointments. Anyway, how can I help you?”

I explained to him that I needed to know about the Sixth House and Nerevarine cults, and he nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard of the Sixth House. But before I tell you anything, I need you to do a favour for me.”

Oh, big surprise. “Which is?”

“Have you ever been in a Dwemer ruin?” he asked.

I’d heard many fantastic tales of Dwarven ruins in Morrowind, filled with strange contraptions and ancient machinery, but I’d hardly even believed them – let alone had the chance to visit them myself. “No, never.”

“Well, there are Dwemer ruins nearby called Arkngthand. I need you to run over there and find me a Dwemer puzzle box. It’s a little cube, about the size of a fist, with a circular design and some symbols on one side.”

I stared at him. “What do you want with something like that?”

“That,” he said, tapping his nose, “is my business”.

Sighing, I noted the details down in my journal and then stood up. “Could you just explain one thing to me, Hasphat?”

“Go on.”

“You must be a more experienced fighter than I am,” I said. “So why do you want me to get this box for you?”

“Because,” he said calmly, “I have the information you want, so you have no choice.”

He just grinned at the dirty look I gave him.

[haute ecole rider]

Wow, these Hlaalu certainly threw you in at the deep end. I’d been expecting my first assignment to be more along the lines of “deliver these packages for us” or “make the tea”.

Or go rat-hunting!

I lowered my voice slightly, doing my best to sound at least somewhat like a Dark Elf. “I am an Orphan of Arnesia.”

Ah, you mean an 'inlander?'

“Well, I have a very simple contract to end an infestation of cave rats.” She winked at me. “You might be able to handle it.”

He still wasn’t wearing a shirt; in fact, I was sorely tempted to offer to go out and buy one for him. I actually found myself wondering how I could introduce the subject without causing offence: “You know, I think you’d look really nice in yellow…”

How like a woman!

I took out my journal so I could make some notes. “What was that word? The… Neveragaine?”

Ah-ha! Now we have the title of your piece!

[treydog]

So much to enjoy here, from Ada's discovery of what "business" means to the Hlaalu, getting to be the designated rat-catcher for Balmora's pillow-fetishist- and, of course, the "Never-Ever-Again" prophecies.

Then there is her reaction to the perpetually shirtless Caius.

“Poor Caius,” he said, with a faint smile.

The truth of Teresa's parentage is at last revealed! Her father was Hasphat Antabolis!

[mALX]

GAAH! The Caius parts! I love these! Every time I hear his name I think of :

Ada: He's gone!

"Aw, don't worry honey, there are plenty of other men...

(maybe I should put a spoiler on that, lol)

[Olen]

Grand stuff, I love the mocking of some of Morrowinds perculiarities. The discrepancy between the pay of Hlaalu jobs and the Fighter's Guild is bizarre. Though so is the whole pillows thing (in fact that's just weird). And the comments on those bits of magic missing from Oblivion.

Caius is spot on, I laugh every time she meets him. She certainly hasn't sat around before getting into the main quest though.

[Helena]

To help you all visualise Ada, here are a few screenshots:

Just off the boat in Seyda Neen

After a shopping trip in Balmora

"I'm too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for..."

[Helena]

Chapter 5: It’s Off To Work We Go

I wasn’t in the best of moods as I set off from Balmora, following the directions I’d been given to Arkngt… okay, I wasn’t even going to try to pronounce that name. I was still a bit pissed off that Hasphat expected me to fetch him this Dwemer box thing, which he was apparently too lazy to get for himself, in return for telling me a few stupid Dunmer legends. Since he hadn’t gone himself yet, presumably that meant the place was infested with bandits or spiders or huge mutated bunny-rabbits or something. Still, at least it meant I’d get in some sword practice.

The weather was bright and sunny, but not too hot – one of the few things about Morrowind that I actually preferred to my home country. Summer was drawing to a close, but in Cyrodiil it would still be baking hot this time of year. I remembered the long hours I’d spent in my stuffy jail cell, longing for fresh air, and then longing for shade whenever they let us out to work or exercise.

As I crossed the last of a long series of bridges over the Odai river, I saw a large stone building looming up in the distance – Fort Moonmoth, the local headquarters of the Imperial Legion. It was built in the classic Imperial style, and looked weirdly out of place in the alien surroundings; a little piece of Cyrodiil here in Morrowind. I paused to look at it for a few seconds, and felt a brief pang of homesickness.

The road leading north sloped gently upwards. I followed it until I came to a sign pointing towards ‘Molag Mar’; then, as I’d been instructed, turned onto a dirt track leading north-east. I had to admit that I was a little curious now to see this Dwemer ruin – I vaguely remembered hearing that they constructed entire fortresses out of iron and steel. Though I could have been mistaken, as I’d never really paid that much attention to my history tutors.

“The Dwarves were a fascinating people, Ada,” they would tell me. “Amazing scholars and craftsmen. They weren’t really dwarves, of course, just another Elven race – they only got that name because…”

“Quite,” I would agree, while my mind drifted off to happy thoughts of ancient Ayleid ruins and treasure chests and shiny, shiny swords.

My first glimpse of real-life Dwemer architecture came in the form of a bridge over a wide canyon, edged with thick metal pipes. Coming closer, I could see that they were indeed made of iron – amazing that it hadn’t rusted away completely after all these years. There was some kind of writing carved into the railings, but as it was all in Dwemeris I had no idea what it meant. For all I knew it was saying, “Caution: Serious structural faults have been found in this bridge. Cross at your own risk.”

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted something in the distance, at the other end of the bridge: a male human standing beside a pile of crates. I froze. Friend, or foe?

I got my answer a few seconds later when he spotted me – and began running towards me with a distinctly non-friendly gait. I drew my sword quickly and shifted into a fighting stance, only for him suddenly stop about twenty feet away and cast a summoning spell. Oh crap, a mage! I wasn’t prepared for this!

Slightly panicked, I backed away a few steps as the bonewalker summoned by the mage headed straight for me. A blast of shock magicka struck the ground right by my feet, and I leapt aside, trying to get closer to the guy without getting hit by a spell. I knew from experience that it was best just to ignore the bonewalker; it would disappear when the caster died, and if I killed it he’d just summon another one.

The next blast of magicka hit me dead on, and for a second I felt as if I was being roasted alive. Honestly, you haven’t experienced true agony until you’ve been hit by a shock bolt. I gasped in pain and stumbled to the side, just as the bonewalker’s axe slashed down on the spot where my head had been half a second ago.

One chance. I knocked the bonewalker back with my shield, then raised my arm and gasped out a fire spell as my opponent prepared to cast another shock bolt. Amazingly, it worked. This time it was the mage’s turn to roar in pain as I rushed straight at him and smashed the flat of my sword down on his head. I spun round, just about managed to parry another blow from the bonewalker, then summoned all my strength to deal the caster a final vicious blow.

The mage toppled and fell. The bonewalker vanished. I lowered my sword and stepped backwards, gasping for breath.

What was a bloody battlemage doing out here in the middle of nowhere? I groped in my pack for a healing potion and swigged it down, grimacing as I felt the burning sensation gradually fade away. Talos, I had to pick up some kind of magickguard spell before my next mission.

I searched the man’s body – he was a Cyrodiil, from the looks of him – but didn’t find anything to indicate why he’d been standing in the middle of a bridge waiting to attack hapless travellers. He didn’t look like a mage, I thought resentfully, observing his simple clothing and heavy iron cuirass. There ought to be some kind of rule.

I scanned the horizon carefully while crossing the bridge, wary of further attacks. The place seemed deserted, but the winding path up ahead looked like the perfect place for an ambush. The place was almost eerily silent; the only sound to be heard was the piercing shriek of birds in the distance, which didn’t exactly reassure me.

Still, no further assailants appeared as I made my way up the steep track towards Arkngthand. The fortress wasn’t what I had expected; at first sight it appeared to be built into the rocky hill, as if it had been swallowed up by a landslide. Only a few strangely-shaped towers poking out of the ground suggested that this was a building, as opposed to a cave. Where the door ought to have been was just a hemispherical bulge, like half of a giant stone ball.

Approaching the ‘door’, I could see a long, thin crack in the stone surface – clearly the two halves of the sphere could be slid apart if you knew how. I poked at it and tried to slide the blade of my sword into the gap, but absolutely nothing happened. Sighing, I turned around to look for clues, wishing I had done some research on Dwemer architecture before coming up here.

A little way down the hill was another of those metal pipes with Dwemer writing on it, and looking closely I could see some kind of crank handle attached to the pipe. With nothing to lose, I turned the handle, and heard the creaking of machinery in the distance. The two halves of the stone sphere slid apart and around, revealing a small circular platform.

As I stood and watched for a few seconds, the sphere closed up again. I turned the handle once more and ran towards the platform, cursing the Dwemer for their bizarre architectural quirks. What was the point of a door like that?

The outer doors closed up behind me to reveal another door, this one made of metal and covered with lettering and images. It swung open at my first touch, and I entered the fortress.

I found myself at the top of a massive underground cavern, with a stone ramp leading down and around the walls to the ground far below. Most of the light came from torches, a clear sign that the place was inhabited, but the lamp above the door I’d just come through was the strangest I’d ever seen. It was a kind of glass tube bracketed to the wall, and inside it was some kind of glowing… thread? Wire? It wasn’t like anything I’d ever seen in the Ayleid ruins in Cyrodiil.

I took a few cautious steps onto the next section of ramp and felt it shift slightly, producing a loud whirring noise. Instantly I heard shouts from down below and saw a couple of men – both human, by the look of them – draw their daggers. I watched in astonishment as they ran out from cover and up the ramp towards me, possibly the stupidest move I had seen in my entire career as a fighter. Clearly they were either very inexperienced or extremely dumb.

This time I was ready for them, and fighting them off was ludicrously easy. I simply knocked the first one back with my sword as he approached, sending him skitting into the second man just behind him. After that it was an easy matter to deal with them before they could even begin to untangle themselves.

I made my way down to the ground below, then up another ramp onto a platform made of studded metal. Somewhere further into the fortress I could hear loud creaking sounds, apparently from some kind of machinery. How could it possibly still be working after so many centuries, millennia even? There had to be some type of magic involved.

This part of the cavern seemed to be used as a home base by the inhabitants, but the only furniture of note was an old cabinet. I searched through the drawers and bottom cupboard, but found them frustratingly empty of Dwemer puzzle boxes. What I did find was a couple of very ancient-looking coins, probably of Dwemer origin, and a rusty metal cog. I decided to take the coins with me – if they were ancient and rare, they might well be worth quite a bit.

At the left side of the room was a round iron door with another of those strange lamps above it. I put my ear to it and listened for sounds of life, but couldn’t hear anything over the groaning of the Dwemer machinery. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

The first thing I saw on entering the room beyond was a large and mean-looking man wearing a rusty cuirass. “What the…?” he began, then his eyes fell on my blood-covered sword and he seized up a heavy axe lying beside him.

There are times when it’s actually an advantage to be smaller, lighter and more agile than your opponent. As the man rushed at me I froze in mock terror, then leapt to the side just as he swung the axe. It crashed into the wall just inches from my head, and I darted out and around him before he could raise it for another blow, skewering him through the chest from behind.

“If you’d just stopped to talk, maybe we could have sorted this out peacefully,” I snarled as he collapsed to his knees, groaning.

This chamber was small, low-roofed and filled with old crates and rickety-looking shelves. A hiss of steam escaped from a crack in the pipe that ran through the centre of the room. The creaking sounds were a lot louder here, to the point where I could hardly hear myself think. Luckily I spotted what I was looking for almost immediately – a small cube, engraved with glowing runes, just sitting there on one of the shelves.

There was nothing else of interest in the room apart from a few more of those Dwemer coins. I briefly considered exploring the rest of the fortress, but as I wasn’t being paid to cleanse it of bandits or outlaws or whoever these idiots were, I decided not to bother. Despite what you might think, I don’t actually enjoy killing people – even in the Fighters’ Guild, most jobs involve things like escort duty rather than actual fighting. (Doesn’t stop snotty mage-types from portraying us as bloodthirsty thugs, of course.)

By the time I got back to Fort Moonmoth, it was well past noon and I was very hungry. I wondered if I might be able to get some supplies at the Fort; it couldn’t hurt to try, at least.

The soldiers patrolling the courtyard nodded to me as I passed, and a few of them greeted me as an ‘Imperial sister’. The inside of the fort was instantly recognisable to any Cyrodiil, with its typically Imperial construction and wall hangings showing the dragon, the symbol of the Empire. It felt almost like home.

Some traders had set up stalls in the main hall. I approached a Nord wearing Templar armour, who seemed to be in charge of the fort, and asked whether he knew of anyone who might be willing to buy Dwemer coins from me. “I found them in the Dwemer ruins up on the hill,” I explained. “I’m sure they must be worth quite a bit.”

He gave me an odd look. “They certainly are,” he said slowly, “if you don’t mind being arrested for smuggling. Don’t you know that trading in Dwemer artefacts is illegal?”

“What?!”

“Figured you hadn’t heard.” He shook his head, chuckling. “Trying to sell contraband Dwemer artefacts in an Imperial fortress? Well, I never.”

Burning with embarrassment, I deposited my haul of coins with the much-amused guard and went off to search for food. I approached an Imperial trader selling a variety of goods, and immediately wished I hadn’t when he greeted me with, “Welcome! May I tell you about the Imperial Cult?”

“Actually I’m a member of the Temple,” I said hurriedly, glad to have a real excuse for once. (In Cyrodiil I’d have responded with, “No, I worship Malacath,” or “I serve the Night Mother. Praise the Unholy Matron!”)

He looked shocked. “But you are Imperial! You follow the Nine, surely?”

“Well, yeeesss,” I admitted. “I do pray to them now and again. But – ”

“Then why should you not join the Cult as well?”

I stared at him. “You can join both? Isn’t that kind of… cheating?”

“The Nine will not judge you for it,” he said calmly. Actually, that was probably true; the Nine are almost ridiculously liberal by divine standards. If you’re a Daedra-worshipper and betray your patron god, heaven help you.

“Uh… maybe some other time,” I said, not keen on joining yet another faction who’d expect me to perform tasks for them. The man’s demeanour grew noticeably colder, and I’m positive he decided to raise his prices right then and there. Still, I wasn’t buying much, so it didn’t matter.

I ate my food in the courtyard and then set off for Balmora, now very much in need of a rest and even more in need of a bath. Honestly, I don’t know how anyone can stand actually living in a place like Arkngthand. I’d make the worst bandit ever; after a week or two I’d be so fed up of the living conditions that I’d probably turn myself in out of sheer desperation.

“Here we are, Hasphat” I announced as I returned to the basement of the Fighters’ Guild. “Your Dwemer puzzle box.”

He put a finger to his lips. “Not so loud, my friend. Don’t you know it’s illegal to trade in Dwemer artefacts?”

“I do now,” I said. “I tried to sell some at Fort Moonmoth. I wish you’d told me that a little earlier.”

Hasphat ignored me, too busy examining the box. “Hmm… the inscriptions on the box seem to be the directions for setting a Dwemer key to open a specific lock. If you’re interested, after you’ve delivered your report to Caius, come back, and maybe I’ll have a key you can take back to Arkngthand.”

Why the heck he thought I would want to go back to Arkngthand was beyond me. “Okay… thanks. Er, can I have the report now?”

“Here are the notes for Caius. And I’ve given you some Sixth House references he should read.” He handed me a sheet of paper with a list of books, above which was a single paragraph:

House Dagoth is an extinct Great House. In the wake of the ancient Battle of Red Mountain, its leadership was revealed to have plotted treason, and was discredited. Many of House Dagoth died defending the House; those survivors who were faithful to the Great Council were redistributed among the other houses. The Temple says the ancient, legendary evil beings that dwell beneath Red Mountain in the Dagoth Ur region are the original leaders of this extinct house, sustained by some powerful, evil sorceries.

I flung down the paper in disbelief. “Four lines? That’s all? I could have got all that just from reading a history book!”

“Then I suggest you do so,” he said with a wink. “Try the bookseller Dorisa Darvel in the Commercial District.”

I glowered wordlessly at him, unable to believe that I’d trekked all the way out to Arkngthand when I could have just walked down the road to the bookseller’s. “You b**tard. All right, what about the Sixth House Cult?”

“I’ve heard something about a cult worshipping Dagoth Ur,” he said. “That’s the leader of the extinct House Dagoth. They plan to overthrow the Temple and drive the Empire from Morrowind… and I've heard they also smuggle goods, or hire smugglers, or something like that.”

I wrote all this down. “And the Nev… uh, Nerevarine?”

“Well, Nerevar was the general who led the other Great Houses in battle against the Dwemer. The Ashlanders – the native tribes of Vvardenfell – believe that a reborn Nerevar, the ‘Nerevarine’, will unite the Dunmer against the outlander invaders. But the Temple denies the prophecy, and persecutes those who believe in it.”

“So do you know anything about this Nerevarine cult?”

He shook his head. “Not a lot. Tell Caius that Sharn gra-Muzgob would be a better person to ask.”

My ears pricked up; that name sounded Orcish. “All right,” I said, getting to my feet. “Thanks, Hasphat.” For nothing. Honestly, I doubted he’d told me anything that wasn’t fairly common knowledge.

I took Hasphat’s notes along with the ones I’d written myself, and returned to Caius Cosades. I did not visit the bookseller first; there was no way I was going to buy all those books for Caius. If he wanted them, he could damn well get them himself.

“Here are your notes,” I told him, handing them over. “They’re a bit… brief.”

He glanced at the papers and nodded, his expression unreadable. “Very well. Thank you, Ada.”

“There’s one thing I don’t get,” I said slowly. “If this ‘Dagoth Ur’ betrayed Morrowind to foreign invaders… why would he be worshipped by people who want to drive out foreign invaders?”

“A good question,” he acknowledged. “I think we may need to investigate this further. But right now we need more information about the Nerevarine cult.”

“Hasphat mentioned Sharn gra-Muzgob.”

He nodded. “Ah yes, you’ll find her at the Mages Guild. Very smart… for an Orc. She’s always worried that the Temple will bust in and stick her in a fire, and with good reason.”

“Why?” I asked, astonished. “Do they hate Orcs so much?”

“No. Well, yes, but no more than they hate most other outlanders.” He shook his head. “But Sharn has a somewhat unhealthy interest in… well, you’ll see.”

Now that he’d mentioned it, I did remember seeing a female Orc wandering around the Mages’ Guild. She stuck out like a sore thumb in a place dominated by Elves, Bretons and Argonians. I had to confess to being a little surprised to see her there; the Orcs aren’t exactly known for their love of scholarship. Still, nice to see someone defying the stereotype.

After dinner and a bath, I went to the Mages’ Guild to see if I could catch a few minutes with Sharn. She was in a secluded area of the Guild, filled with bookcases and alchemical equipment, but she looked very busy. I decided to buy some spells first and come back to her later.

“Do you have any magick shield spells? I asked Estirdalin, a haughty-looking Altmer (honestly, the phrase ‘haughty-looking Altmer’ is a bit redundant).

She shook her head. “Try Marayn Dren; he handles Alteration.”

Marayn Dren, a Dunmer mage, was a bit more helpful. “Yes, I have shield spells. Would you like to guard against fire, frost, shock, poison or other magickal attacks?”

“Um… all those things?”

He shook his head. “Only one type of shield can be cast at a time. You could enchant an item with all those effects, but it would be expensive.”

Gods, why did they have to make everything so complicated? This is why I’ve always hated magic so much. Why can’t anyone come up with a simple all-in-one magickguard spell, as opposed to five separate ones? Why do I have to learn one spell to cure myself of a common disease, but a different spell to cure someone else of exactly the same disease? And come to that, why do they have to give all of them stupid names like ‘So-and-so’s Gift’, rather than something descriptive like ‘Thirty-second Light spell’ or ‘Summon Useless Daedra’?

I decided to forget about shield spells for the moment, and instead purchased a spell called ‘Ondusi’s Open Door’ which Dren assured me would open around half of all locks. That was, if I could ever manage to cast it in the first place. (Let’s just say that Alteration was never my strongest subject.)

Afterwards I went back to Sharn, hoping she might have time to speak to me. Unfortunately, she didn’t seem too pleased to see me: no sooner had I begun to speak than she broke in with: “I cannot think with all these interruptions! Please leave me alone!”

“Look, I’m sorry to bother you but it’s quite important,” I said testily, my own patience wearing thin by this point. “Caius Cosades sent me here to ask you some questions.”

Instantly her expression changed. “Oh, you’re one of Caius’s associates? Well, why didn’t you say so? That is a different matter, of course.”

I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. “I need you to tell me about the Nerevarine cult.”

“Well, I’m sure we can come to an… arrangement,” she said. “But first I need you to do an errand for me. Bring me the skull of Llevule Andrano from the Andrano ancestral tomb.”

“Oh, not you as well!” I threw up my hands in disgust. “What am I, a bloody courier service? What’s so special about this Llevule Andrano, anyway?”

She shrugged. “He was no one special. A journeyman enchanter. But I need his skull for my… research.”

I shot her a suspicious glance. “You’re not a necromancer, are you?”

“No!” she retorted, rather too quickly and vehemently. “I told you, I simply need it for research purposes.”

“Research into… necromancy?”

“NO!” She glared at me. “And don’t say that so loud! Just go and bring me the skull, and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

Great. Spying, extortion and now grave-robbing. By the time I got out of Morrowind, I’d probably have progressed to drowning kittens and stealing money from charity-boxes.

“Oh, all right, if you insist.” I heaved a sigh. “But you’ll have to wait a while. I have important business for… House Hlaalu.” I didn’t, but I soon would.

“Well, take this old sword,” she said, handing me a shortsword with a fire enchantment on it. “Some of those ghosts are immune to normal weapons. And these scrolls might come in handy… here, let me write you down some directions. Good luck now.”

I stored all my gear in a chest in the Fighters’ Guild and went to the Council hall, which luckily was still open. “Ah, you’re back!” Nileno Dorvayn exclaimed, the minute she saw me. “Are you here about business? Because I have the perfect task for you: Guar hides!”

“Guar hides?” I wasn’t even sure what a guar was.

“That’s right,” she said briskly. “House Redoran sells more guar hides than House Hlaalu. Someone needs to convince the alchemists in Vivec to buy only imported Hlaalu hides.”

I stared blankly at her. “But… I don’t know anything about guar hides.”

“Then make something up,” she snapped. “You’re an Imperial, aren’t you? Flattery and deceit ought to come to you as easily as breathing.”

I decided to ignore this disgraceful slur against my race (not least because it’s largely true) and just focus on the payoff. “Okay, I’ll try,” I said, suppressing a sigh. “Which alchemists, anyway? I can’t go back to Aurane Frernis – I told her I was a Redoran.”

She sighed, in a ‘do I have to explain everything’ kind of way. “Well, we’ll start with Rolasa Oren. Go to Vivec and convince her to buy imported House Hlaalu guar hides instead of local House Redoran hides.”

“But surely imported ones will be more expensive?”

“Of course,” she said, shrugging. “You will just have to be very persuasive.”

I’d had a long day, and at this moment I was sorely tempted to tell her exactly where she could stick her stupid guar hides. It was a good thing these people were paying me well, I can tell you that.

It was getting fairly late by the time I left the manor, so I stopped by the Eight Plates tavern for dinner. Following that, I went over to the Mages’ Guild and badgered one of the alchemists into telling me everything she knew about guar hides. By the end of the evening I knew far more about the bloody things than I or anyone else could possibly want, and I still wasn’t particularly confident in my ability to convince Rolasa Oren.

It was too late to do anything else that night, so I’d have to leave this particular piece of ‘business’ for the next morning. Not that I was exactly looking forward to it in any case.

I slept at the Fighters’ Guild again that night, and had a very strange dream. I was in some kind of graveyard or cemetery, surrounded by dead bodies, and following a man dressed only in a golden mask and a loincloth (I really didn’t want to think what sort of issues my subconscious was throwing up here). The strangest thing was that he was speaking and laughing with each figure as he passed, though they (obviously) weren’t replying. I tried to cry out, but found myself unable to speak, and I woke up the next morning in a cold sweat.

“Off to Vivec again?” enquired Masalinie Merian when I turned up once again at the Mages’ Guild. “What in the world are you doing there?”

“You don’t want to know,” I mumbled.

Over in Vivec I located the alchemist Rolasa Oren, who had a stall in the upper waistworks of the Foreign Quarter, and spent nearly half an hour explaining why imported House Hlaalu guar hides were superior to local (and less expensive) House Redoran hides. Of course, I had no idea whether this was true or not; I’d made the whole thing up based on the notes I’d taken at the Mages’ Guild. Rolasa was understandably skeptical, and I’m pretty sure she finally agreed just so that I would shut up and go away.

The whole thing left me feeling faintly disgusted with myself, just like the other missions I’d done for House Hlaalu. Imperial or not, I simply didn’t have any taste or aptitude for this kind of wheeling and dealing. I’d become a fighter to get away from that kind of thing.

I have to admit, though, that my principled objections wobbled a bit when I found out just how much Nileno was paying me. “A thousand septims?”

“That’s right,” she said with a smile. “Think of it as a small share of House Hlaalu’s future profits.”

I could only shake my head in wonderment. In the Guild I’d have been lucky to make that much in a month, let alone a single job. I couldn’t just walk around carrying that kind of money; I’d have to open a bank account or something.

“Tell me, Nileno,” I said carefully. “Are all the Houses quite as… ruthless… in business as Hlaalu?”

She sighed. “The Redorans are honourable and fair in their dealings with other Houses, but they have no business sense. Those of us in House Hlaalu understand the power of wealth, and do not ponder morality day after day.” Well, that I could certainly believe. “Speaking of which, how would you like to undertake another mission to Ald’ruhn?”

“Uh, maybe,” I said warily. “What is it this time?”

“A very simple matter.” She took a sealed scroll from her bag. “I need you to deliver new orders to Bivale Teneran, the clothing merchant under Skar. She keeps an eye out for us in Ald’ruhn.”

Ah, more secret-agent stuff. Well, delivering orders wasn’t too bad – I just hoped they hadn’t put out an alert for someone fitting my description after my last visit to Ald’ruhn.

I took the scroll and was about to leave, when a thought struck me. “By the way, Nileno, could you tell me something? What is a guar, exactly?”

She stared at me in amazement for a few seconds, then suddenly burst out laughing. “You don’t know?” You managed to persuade Rolasa Oren to buy our guar hides, and you don’t even know what a guar is?”

“I know what a guar hide is,” I said, shrugging. “I know all about guar hides. But no one ever bothered to explain what a guar was.”

Nileno was still chortling. “A guar is a herd animal kept by farmers,” she said at last, when she had calmed down enough to speak. “A little like your cows or sheep, perhaps.” She shook her head. “Well, Ada, I congratulate you. You will go far in House Hlaalu.”

Hmph. Right now, I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to.

[Olen]

Brilliant. I like the cynical take on the game and the place, Ada's tone is just so perfect for the part and is so close to what I can remember thinking on the first play through.

while my mind drifted off to happy thoughts of ancient Ayleid ruins and treasure chests and shiny, shiny swords.

Very entertaining, and not so far off my memories of history lessons. Why do they always focus on the dull stuff where there's no swords?

One thing I did notice was that Ada didn't have an epic in Arkngwossit and found the little hidden away up a cliff room quite quickly. Lucky her. I did enjoy her thoughts about the bloke on the bridge.

‘Summon Useless Daedra’

That caused me to laugh aloud.

Very good and very funny. Makes me want to play morrowind again...

[treydog]

Let’s see- there’s the entire first paragraph, including:

Since he hadn’t gone himself yet, presumably that meant the place was infested with bandits or spiders or huge mutated bunny-rabbits or something.

And then, as Olen pointed out:

“Quite,” I would agree, while my mind drifted off to happy thoughts of ancient Ayleid ruins and treasure chests and shiny, shiny swords.

And then going to Moonmoth to trade the contraband Dwemer coins…

And come to that, why do they have to give all of them stupid names like ‘So-and-so’s Gift’, rather than something descriptive like ‘Thirty-second Light spell’ or ‘Summon Useless Daedra’?

By the time I got out of Morrowind, I’d probably have progressed to drowning kittens and stealing money from charity-boxes.

Not kittens! Anything but that!

The beauty of this is that it is at least as funny upon a second (or third, or fourth) reading.

[D.Foxy]

Great. Spying, extortion and now grave-robbing. By the time I got out of Morrowind, I’d probably have progressed to drowning kittens and stealing money from charity-boxes.


Now THAT's the voice of ADA that I fell in love with!!!

[Helena]

Chapter 6: Tomb Raider

Since I wasn’t exactly desperate to get on with either of my current missions, I decided to go to the Fighter’s Guild and see what Eydis had to offer. I’d done enough silly trainee missions for her now; hopefully she’d have something more worthy of my talents (such as they were).

I wasn’t disappointed. “We have a contract to kill four Telvanni agents,” she told me. “They’re responsible for trouble up at the Caldera mine.”

“What sort of trouble?”

“The Caldera Mining Company says they've learned a group of Telvanni agents are spying on the mine works. There have been a number of ebony thefts, missing guards, escaped slaves, and these Telvanni agents are responsible.”

I looked up sharply. “Escaped slaves?”

“That’s right.” She took my map so that she could mark the location of the Caldera mine. “The four agents are hiding in a cave in the hills north of the mine. When they’re dead, report back to me.”

So, the Caldera Mines used slave labour? I felt my heart sink. I’d been hoping that at least the Fighters’ Guild jobs would be something I could do with a clean conscience. But I knew well enough that I couldn’t pick and choose the missions I took, as long as they were legitimate contracts.

“So, Telvanni,” I said with a sigh. “Mages then, I take it?” Maybe I’d have to grit my teeth and buy up those magickguard spells after all.

To my surprise, Eydis hesitated slightly before replying. “No… not mages. They’re Thieves’ Guild.”

I frowned, slightly bemused. I didn’t know much about the Telvanni yet, but from what I had heard about them, it really didn’t sound like they got on with any of the Imperial guilds. “Why would the Telvanni be hiring Thieves Guild people as agents?”

“Who knows? But this isn’t a Thieves Guild job.” I would have asked more questions, but something in the look on her face told me that they wouldn’t be at all welcome. “Here are the directions and the names of the four agents. Now, get to it.”

I said nothing more, but I couldn’t help thinking about Sottilde and what she had told me. What was going on here – some kind of Guild war? Well, whatever it was, it was probably better for me not to know about it. I’d no love for the Thieves’ Guild anyway; I just wished this contract didn’t involve working for slavers, even indirectly.

Having accepted the mission, I was faced with two choices for the next day’s activities: head north to Caldera and hence to Ald’ruhn, or south towards the village of Pelagiad to fetch Sharn’s skull from the Andrano tomb. Since I had a nagging feeling that I really ought to start my pilgrimage for the Temple, and the route to the tomb ran reasonably close to one of the pilgrimage sites, I chose the latter.

The road to Pelagiad led south from Fort Moonmoth through a rocky ravine, far too similar to the Ald’ruhn landscape for my liking. I had intended to turn off at a fork in the path and take the turning for the Fields of Kummu, where there was a holy shrine to Vivec. Unfortunately, with my sketchy knowledge of the route and my difficulty in interpreting the Daedric writing on the signposts, I ended up taking the wrong turning – heading south-west instead of south-east. I didn’t fully realise my mistake until, half an hour later, I found myself at a dead end.

By the time I managed to haul myself back out of the ravine and find a signpost, I realised that I was now several miles south of the pilgrimage site. Since turning back would waste time, I’d have to carry on south to the Andrano tomb and visit the shrine on the way back up.

On the plus side, the countryside here was some of the most beautiful I’d ever seen. It reminded me of the Cyrodiil heartlands: leafy and grassy, with patches of wildflowers growing by moss-covered rocks. The only difference was the abundance of huge and colourful mushrooms, as big as trees, dotted around the landscape. I’d entered the region of Vvardenfell known as the Ascadian Isles.

Just as I was about to carry on south, I saw a well-dressed and very pretty Breton woman standing a little way away. At least, she looked like a Breton – Bretons are technically half-elves, but they’re so similar to Imperials in appearance that it’s often hard to tell them apart. She looked a little lost, and her clothes clearly weren’t intended as travelling gear, so I wondered if she was in difficulties of some kind.

“Can I help you?” I called to her, disregarding the fact that I was pretty much lost myself.

She ran over to me, looking a little flustered. “Begging your pardon, but have you seen a bandit nearby? I must find him!”

“A bandit? Have you been attacked?”

She nodded. “Yes. I was just walking along here, minding my own business, when suddenly a bandit jumped at me from behind. He was a Dark Elf.” To my surprise, a faint blush spread over her face. “A strong, dashing Dark Elf. He didn’t harm me in any way, although he did take my jewels.”

“Okay. Well, I can take you as far as Pelagiad,” I said. “If you talk to the guards at the fort there, I’m sure – ”

“What’s that? Oh, never mind the jewels!” She waved a hand dismissively. “I want to find the bandit again!”

“What?”

“He was quite gentle,” she said dreamily. “And he talked to me for what seemed like forever. He was charming, and funny, and – ”

Oh, sweet Mara. “Are you telling me you’ve fallen in love with him?!”

“I simply must see him again!” she exclaimed, her eyes shining. “Perhaps you can find him for me? Please, I cannot live without knowing if he could ever love me.”

I gaped at her. “Are you mad? No, I will not!”

“Have you no heart?” she said passionately. “No soul? Can you not see that this must be true love?”

“True love? With a highway robber you’ve known for all of three minutes?”

“Not just three minutes!” she protested. “Much longer than that. At least… ten. Anyway, I’m certain he’ll want to find me again.”

I nodded sagely. “Oh, yes. I’m sure the bandit who swiped your jewels to fund his next skooma hit is just dying to see you again.”

She burst into tears. I looked at her in exasperation, wondering why I always seemed to meet the crazy ones. Bretons! They may be wonderful magicians, but they haven’t a scrap of common sense between them.

“Look, what’s your name?” I asked. “If I happen to come across this bandit – if – I guess I could tell him that you’d like to see him again. But I’m not making any promises.”

“Oh, thank you so!” she cried, her tears forgotten. “My name is Maurrie Aurmine, and his is Nelos. Nelos Onmar... a name that will stay on my lips for eternity.” I was struggling not to laugh. “Please, if you find him, give him this glove for me as a token of my love.”

She pulled off one of her expensive-looking gloves and handed it to me. I forced myself to smile politely and then took my leave of her, shaking my head.

When I reached Pelagiad, I was pleasantly surprised to find that it was built in the Imperial village style. Rows of half-timbered houses with thatched roofs lent it a quaintly familiar air. I wasn’t really expecting to find the dashing Nelos here – no doubt he was miles away by now – but I decided to ask around in the local tavern and see if anyone recognised the name.

I pushed open the door of the ‘Halfway Tavern’. “Excuse me,” I said loudly, glancing around the taproom. “I’m looking for a strong, dashing Dark Elf.”

This met with appreciative laughter from the other patrons. There weren’t many of them at this time of day – apart from the female bartender, there was only one other Dunmer in the place. The others were both outlander women: a Wood Elf and a Khajiit.

The bartender raised her eyebrows, clearly amused. “Well, you could try Yakum,” she said, gesturing towards the oddly-dressed man sitting in a corner. “But he’s an Ashlander; he doesn’t speak Tamrielic very well.”

I shook my head. “The one I have business with is named Nelos Onmar.”

“Ah, Nelos? Yes, he comes in here now and again. Ahnassi!” she called to the Khajiit woman. “Have you seen Nelos here lately?”

The Khajiit nodded. “Yes, Ahnassi has seen him.” (For some reason, Khajiit almost always refer to themselves in the third person.) “He will return… later today, perhaps.”

Well, I certainly wasn’t going to sit around all day waiting for the guy. I opted to leave for the tomb now and come back a little later.

The Andrano ancestral tomb was a little way south of the village, just off the main road. The glyphs on the door made it clear that this was a burial place, though I couldn’t read them. I just hoped I’d come to the right place.

Before entering the tomb, I swapped my usual steel longsword for the enchanted blade which Sharn had given me. It was a short blade, and since I’d trained mainly with longswords, the difference in weight and reach would make it harder to fight with. But enchanted blades were expensive, and this was the best I had – unless I wanted to spend some of my hard-earned Hlaalu cash, which I was saving up to bribe my way back to Cyrodiil.

Inside the tomb, I crept down a narrow, sloping passageway towards a small chamber containing a shrine – and then stopped short when I saw the body of a male warrior lying on the floor below me. He had no obvious injuries, but that just made me even warier, and I listened carefully for the telltale sounds of the undead as I crept down the passageway.

That caution almost certainly saved my life. The moment I drew close enough to see the whole of the chamber, a pale, semi-transparent form lunged at me from the far corner, its skull-like face leering evilly. I leapt back just in time to avoid being hit, and slashed at it ineffectually with my sword. Nothing happened; the blade seemed to pass straight through the ghostly figure without doing any damage.

Deciding that my life was more important than my dignity, I turned and fled. The ghost followed me all the way to the door, shrieking angrily, and I only just managed to avoid the magical curse it flung at me.

Outside in the bright daylight, I paused to recover my breath and my nerve before attempting to tackle the ghost again. Sharn’s sword, nice as it was, clearly wasn’t going to work against a spirit this powerful. What I needed was a spell scroll.

Although I’d never learned to speak or read more than a few words of Daedric, I had painstakingly taught myself to recognise the letter clusters and pronounce them phonetically. Spell scrolls took the difficulty out of spellcasting by letting you simply read the words off an enchanted scroll, without having to remember the spell or waste magicka. I rooted around in my pack for something that would work against a ghost, and finally dug out a fire spell scroll called ‘Taldam’s Scorcher’ (see what I mean about the silly names)? It was a fairly cheap scroll, but definitely more effective than my own weak fireball spell.

Clutching the scroll in my hand, I re-entered the tomb, where the angry ghost immediately lunged at me. I gabbled off the spell and the spirit vanished in a burst of fire magicka, leaving only a small heap of ectoplasm on the ground. It would be back, of course – you can’t kill something that’s already dead – but not in the short time I needed to recover Andrano’s skull from its crypt.

I was on the watch for more ghosts as I crept through the tomb, but the only other undead I encountered were a few skeleton walkers, which were easy enough to deal with. What really scared me was the tomb itself. The grisly skull decorations and reeking ash-pits strewn with bones were bad enough, but the creepiest thing by far was the sounds. I could hear them everywhere, distant footsteps and heavy breathing, and faint, echoing whispers that seemed to come from the walls themselves.

The deeper I went into the tomb, the louder the whispers became, until I could hear them so clearly that I could actually make out the words (though not understand them). Honestly, I couldn’t wait to get out of this place – I’d go crazy if I spent much more time in here.

Sharn had described the skull’s ritual markings in some detail, so I was able to recognise it when I finally came across it in one of the lower chambers. There was some kind of enchanted dagger lying next to it, but I left that well alone. I was half expecting to be attacked by another angry ghost the moment I picked up the skull, and though nothing actually happened, it didn’t stop me from feeling deeply uncomfortable. Apart from anything else, the Gods tended to take a very dim view of this kind of thing – and I didn’t want to be refused healing the next time I prayed at a Cult shrine.

“Uh… Arkay?” I mumbled (I never really know what to say when I’m praying). “I’m really sorry about this, okay? But it’s all in a good cause. Sort of.” Since I was a member of the Temple now, I supposed I ought to pray to Almsivi as well – but I didn’t know which of them handled this sort of thing.

I left the tomb as quickly as possible and made my way back to Pelagiad. Nelos still hadn’t returned when I got back to the tavern, so I sat down to wait. In the meantime, I bought a meal and struck up a conversation with the Ashlander man whom the bartender had named as Yakum. He smiled a little shyly when I introduced myself.

“Hello, Ada. Yakum greet you. Bless and be blessed. Speak Old Elf, yes, so Yakum learn.”

“So you’re an Ashlander?” I asked, unsure what else to say. Hasphat had mentioned that the Ashlanders were the natives of Vvardenfell, but I’d never met any before.

He nodded. “You know Ashlanders, yes, a little? We are the People of the Wastes. We hunt and herd guar. No houses, just yurts.”

“So why did you leave?” I asked.

Yakum shrugged. “I was a herder, but now I want to become rich, like a great trader. I will live in a town, fight, find treasure, get rich, learn to trade. The soul sickness and blight storms are very bad now in the Ashlands, so I came to Pelagiad.”

“‘Soul sickness’?”

“There’s bad magic in the dust from Red Mountain.” His speech was becoming more fluent as he relaxed a little. “The Sharmat Dagoth Ur sends bad dreams in the dust. When I lived in the Ashlands, I got no sleep, had bad dreams, was all the time tired. Now that I’m here in Pelagiad, I sleep fine.”

“Hmm.” I briefly remembered the dream I’d had the other day, after my trip to Arkngthand. But I hadn’t been anywhere near a Blight storm at the time, so that couldn’t be it.

A thought struck me. “Yakum, do you know anything about the Nerevarine?”

“Nerevarine?” His brow furrowed. “Yes, Yakum has heard of this. You must speak with Urshilaku.”

“Er… Urshilaku?”

“You have map?” I laid it out on the table in front of him. “Urshilaku are here,” he said, pointing at a seemingly random spot in the north of the island. “Or here, or here. They are moving, often.”

I guessed that ‘Urshilaku’ was some kind of Ashlander tribe, but the idea of trekking to the far north just to ask them about the Nerevarine was not an appealing one. Still, at least it was a lead of sorts.

At that moment, the door swung open and a young, swarthy-looking Dunmer man entered the tavern. The bartender looked up from the tankards she was polishing, and a grin spread over her face. “Oh, Nelos!” she called. “There’s a lady here to see you.”

“A lady?” I heard a note of excitement in his voice, but when he turned and saw me, his face fell. “Oh.”

“Mr. Onmar? Ada Ventura,” I said loudly, ignoring his rudeness. “I’m here on behalf of Maurrie Aurmine. The lady you robbed on the northern highway a few hours ago.”

His face lit up again. “Maurrie? Yes, she was a lovely young woman. But… what would she want with a rogue like me?”

“Search me,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “But she asked me to give you this glove as a token.” I pulled out the now slightly crumpled glove and handed it to him.

Nelos stared at the glove, turning it over in his hands. “How… odd,” he murmured. “She is beautiful, though, and seemed sweet. For the first time in my life, I actually felt a little remorse for robbing someone.”

“How charming,” I said drily. “Maybe you could demonstrate that remorse by returning her jewels to her?”

His dusky skin flushed slightly. “Actually, I’m afraid I’ve already sold them.”

“Ah, such chivalry,” I said. “It must be true love.”

Nelos continued to gaze at Maurrie’s token, oblivious to the sarcasm in my voice. “I must see her again,” he said suddenly. “Do you have a quill?”

I lent him my own quill and some paper and ink, wondering where on Nirn this was going. He scrawled out a message to Maurrie and then handed it back to me. “Here, take this. Tell her you have a note from Nelos. I won’t forget this, friend.”

I left the tavern, still finding it hard to believe I had ended up as a go-between for a bandit and his Breton sweetheart. He wasn’t even that good-looking, I thought – at least not to my eyes. Mind you, I’d never really gone for the whole ‘ash-grey skin and red demon-eyes’ look myself.

Although I don’t make a habit of reading other people’s private correspondence, I did sneak a look at Nelos’ note once I was safely out of sight. I was still highly skeptical about Nelos’ sudden ‘change of heart’, and I didn’t want to be responsible for putting Maurrie in danger, silly little airhead that she was. But all it contained was a few sentences praising her beauty, begging her forgiveness for his ‘past transgressions’, and saying he would come to her ‘as soon as I can’.

I found Maurrie exactly where I’d left her, sitting on a rock with her hands clasped around her knees. She must have been there hours, yet she didn’t seem troubled by hunger, thirst or heat. I explained what had happened and handed over Nelos’ note.

She snatched it out of my hands, read it quickly, and let out a cry of joy. “Wonderful! Thank you so! Oh, I knew that he cared.”

“Well, if you go to meet him, just be careful,” I warned her, vainly hoping to instil a note of caution in that pretty little head of hers. “Don’t let him… take advantage of you.”

But she wasn’t listening. “You’re clearly a wonderful person,” she said, enfolding me in a spontaneous hug. “You should visit my friend Barnand Erelie in Tel Branora. He's a wonderful person too, and I think the two of you would get along famously.”

I gazed after her in disbelief as she all but skipped off down the road towards Pelagiad. Was she trying to set me up with a friend of hers? Still, I supposed it couldn’t do any harm, if I ever happened to be passing that way. I just hoped I wouldn’t come back to hear that her body had been found in a ditch somewhere.

On my way up towards the Fields of Kummu, I came across yet another young woman standing in the road. She looked far less wealthy than Maurrie, but just as lost. As I approached she called out, “Hello! Please, can you help me?”

I stopped short. “Please don’t say you’re looking for Nelos Onmar as well!”

“Who?” she asked, with a puzzled frown. “No, I've lost my way, that’s all. I cannot find the holy place for which I am searching.”

I really wasn’t in the mood for escort missions right now. “Well, I don’t really know this area myself,” I explained. “I was just on my way to the Fields of Kummu – ”

“That’s it!” she cried in delight. “Perhaps you can help me find it? I can pay you for your time.”

Since it wouldn’t cost me anything, I agreed to let her come along with me. As we went, the young woman – a Dunmer named Nevrasa Dralor – explained that she too was a pilgrim, and told me the story behind the Kummu shrine.

“It was there that Lord Vivec met a poor farmer whose only guar had died,” she said. “This farmer could not harvest his muckspunge without his guar, and could not provide muck for himself or his village. So, the Lord Vivec removed his fine clothes, laid them aside, and toiled in the farmer’s fields, acting as a beast of burden until the entire crop was harvested. It is at the Fields of Kummu we go to pray for the same humility Lord Vivec showed on that day.”

“What a nice story,” I said politely. “Er, what is ‘muck’?”

She looked surprised. “Surely you have brought a portion with you to donate to the shrine?”

With a sinking heart, I pulled out my copy of The Pilgrim’s Path and turned to the page on the Fields of Kummu shrine. There, at the bottom of the page, it clearly stated that “It is customary to leave a portion of muck at the shrine to represent Vivec’s humility.”

“Damn.” I turned to Nevrasa. “I don’t suppose you might have some spare…?”

She shook her head. “No, I have only one portion. But there may be mucksponges near the shrine.”

Well, I certainly hoped so. I’d be seriously annoyed if I turned out to have dragged myself all the way out here for nothing.

It was early evening when we finally reached the shrine, by the bank of the huge Lake Amaya. Nevrasa thanked me and paid me a very welcome 150 gold for my trouble. “I don’t suppose you see any mucksponges round here?” I said hopefully.

She looked out over the lake, nodded suddenly, and pointed to a small island a short way from the shore. Bugger.

I stripped off my armour and plunged into the lake, thankful that I didn’t wear my good clothes when out on missions. Unfortunately I’d forgotten that the waters around Morrowind, and indeed in many parts of Cyrodiil, tended to be full of slaughterfish. What was more, when I finally struggled back to the shore with my portion of muck, I found that it was too steep to climb back up. I had to swim quite a way along the bank to a place where it was shallow enough to allow me to climb out.

By the time I limped back to the shrine, soaked and muddy and bleeding from several slaugterfish bites, I felt more like cursing Vivec than praying to him. Nevrasa’s look of faint amusement didn’t help. “Perhaps you should learn a Water Walking spell,” she suggested politely.

Perhaps I should, I thought. That way I could waste all my magicka trying to cast it, and still end up soaked to the skin. (I was in a rather bad mood by this point.)

I dropped my piece of muck in the bowl by the shrine. I don’t really know how to describe the stuff, except that it was brown, slimy and… well, mucky. Presumably it had some kind of alchemical use, but I wouldn’t eat or drink anything made from that stuff if you paid me.

“Thank you for your humility, Lord Vivec,” I said, reciting the ‘Grace of Humility’ written on the shrine. “I shall neither strut nor preen in vanity, but shall know and give thanks for my place in the greater world.”

Almost immediately I felt a whole lot lighter – not in a metaphorical sense, but physically. My heavy armour and pack suddenly felt almost weightless, as if someone had just lifted them off my shoulders. It took me a couple of seconds to realise that the shrine had cast a Feather spell on me.

“Hey, thanks,” I said approvingly. Maybe this pilgrimage business wasn’t so bad after all.

Moments later it dawned on me that it was getting dark, and I was stuck out here in the middle of nowhere. By now I was getting pretty tired, and I really didn’t fancy making the long trek back to Balmora in the dead of night. I was just debating whether to ask for shelter at the nearby farmhouse, when I remembered the scrolls I’d picked up at the Mages’ Guild: Divine Intervention and Almsivi Intervention. I’d been told that travellers lost in the wilderness could use them to reach safety.

I hesitated for a moment before picking the Almsivi scroll pretty much at random. There was that familiar teleportation sound and sensation of lightness, and before I knew what was happening, I was standing in the courtyard of the Balmora Temple.

Wow. I really had to get more of those scrolls.

I hurried over to the Mages’ Guild in the hope of catching Sharn before she went to bed. “Special delivery,” I announced loudly, as I marched into the secluded corner where she sat writing at her desk. “One Dunmer enchanter’s skull for Sharn gra-Muzgob.”

Sharn, who hadn’t heard me approach, nearly jumped out of her skin. “Be quiet, will you?” she hissed. “You have the skull, then? Very good. Just let me finish writing these notes for Caius.”

I handed over the skull and waited for her to finish writing. Just as she laid down her quill and stood up, my eye fell on a book stuffed into a corner of a half-opened alchemy chest. Legions of the Dead? I’d seen that a dozen times in necromancers’ hideouts.

“So, Sharn,” I said, trying to keep a straight face. “Are you sure you’re not a necromancer?”

She threw up her hands. “How many times do I have to tell you that the answer is no! I am not a necromancer!”

“So… why do you have a copy of Legions of the Dead?”

“How did you – ” She followed my gaze to the open chest. “Drat. Oh, all right, I admit it: I’m a necromancer. What are you going to do, report me to the Temple? Er… please don’t report me to the Temple,” she added hastily. “Do you know what they do to necromancers in Morrowind?”

I didn’t, but given the general Dunmer attitude towards their departed ancestors, I could well imagine. “Okay, fine,” I said with a sigh. “I won’t tell anyone your secret.”

“Thank you,” she said, with immense relief. “Would you like me to teach you some necromancy spells?”

“Er, no thanks, I – ”

“No, let me,” she begged. “I can teach you the Summon Ancestral Ghost spell, if you like. Or would you prefer Summon Skeletal Minion?”

“Whichever.” I had no intention of ever using either spell, given that I knew even less about Conjuration than I did about any of the other magical disciplines. Knowing me, I’d probably get it horribly wrong and end up summoning Sheogorath or something.

Sharn gave me the instructions for a summoning spell, and also some notes on the Nerevarine cult for Caius. “This Ashlander cult believes the long-dead hero Nerevar will be reborn to honour ancient promises to the tribes,” she explained. “According to legend, the prophesied Nerevarine will cast down the false gods of the Tribunal Temple, restore the traditional ancestor worship practiced by the Ashlanders, and drive all outlanders from Morrowind. Both Temple and Empire outlaw the cult, but it still persists among the Ashlanders.”

I glanced at Sharn’s notes. They were a lot longer and more detailed than the ones given to me by Hasphat – in fact, they were so long that I couldn’t be bothered to read through them properly. To tell the truth, I really wasn’t all that interested in the Nerevarine and all the things he was prophesised to do. The only thing that caught my eye was a reference to a prophecy called ‘The Stranger’, written in the form of a poem:

THE STRANGER

When earth is sundered, and skies choked black,
And sleepers serve the seven curses,
To the hearth there comes a stranger,
Journeyed far ’neath moon and star.

Though stark-born to sire uncertain
His aspect marks his certain fate.
Wicked stalk him, righteous curse him.
Prophets speak, but all deny.

Many trials make manifest
The stranger’s fate, the curses’ bane.
Many touchstones try the stranger
Many fall, but one remains.

Not exactly the best poetry I’d ever read, but no doubt it lost something in translation. Anyway, Caius would certainly be pleased.

That night, as I was walking to Caius’ house to deliver the notes, something very weird happened. I was just coming to the bridge when a Dunmer man in a green robe approached me, catching me by the sleeve. I tried to pull away from him, but he clung on with surprising strength.

“I am a Sleeper,” he intoned. “One among thousands. I bring you a message. Dagoth Ur calls you, Ada, and you cannot deny your Lord. The Sixth House is risen, and Dagoth is its glory.”

“What?” I asked in astonishment, mildly disturbed that he seemed to know my name. “The Sixth House is risen?”

He nodded. “The Sixth House, the Sleeping House, House Dagoth, the House of Lord Dagoth. The true house, the one house to welcome all true Dunmer, and drive the n’wah from our land.” That word again!

Once more I tried to shake myself free, but he was still clutching my sleeve. There was a glazed look in his eyes; if he hadn’t been speaking to me so clearly, I would have thought he was sleepwalking. Was he drunk? Drugged?

“Take heed, outlander,” he growled. “The day of reckoning is at hand. Take what you can, and leave our place, for when Lord Dagoth comes, this will be no place for you.”

“Right. Well, thanks for the warning.” I wrenched my sleeve from his grasp and hurried on my way, slightly creeped out. Crazy guy.

Once I had delivered the notes to Caius, and been rewarded with a promotion to Blades Apprentice, I explained to him that I didn’t feel quite ready to undertake any more Blades missions yet. That encounter with the ghost had reminded me that while I was pretty good against mortal opponents, I needed more practice – or better equipment – before trying to tackle the undead. He seemed to understand.

“Yes, I’d like to see you at a higher level of conditioning before sending you out again,” he said. “So take some time to polish your skills and enhance your cover story with a little freelance adventuring. When you've gotten some exercise and loot, come back, and I'll have some new orders for you.”

I was all too ready to obey. I’d spent the best part of a week chasing around the countryside at the behest of one guild or another, and I was downright exhausted. So I went to the Eight Plates, hired a room for two nights, and spent almost the whole of the next day in bed.