Sleeper in the Cave, a Morrowind fanfic Options

[Kazaera]

@ghastley - I think you've found the most accurate summary of Adryn's life on Vvardenfell to date...!

Last chapter, Adryn got cleared of suspicion regarding the murder of Ordinator Suryn Athones with the help of Athyn Sarethi, who immediately capitalised on his actions via both inviting her to join House Redoran and then forcing her to admit to a less selfish nature than Adryn is really comfortable with. She fled to Balmora, where she promptly got dragged into a new task: Caius Cosades would like some notes, and for some reason this now involves getting a Dwemer artifact from a ruin. Adryn is not happy.

Also, for some reason the subject of said notes - the so-called "Nerevarine" - seemed oddly familiar to Adryn when she heard it. Surely only a coincidence...

Chapter 13.1
****

-draw the lines like this, make sure to balance out the nzamchend, then feed the power into the bthuri-

Two claps from outside interrupted my concentration. In my hands magicka sparked, then faded to nothing as my focus broke.

I frowned. For a moment there, I'd swear it had been working-

Well, no matter now. I had a guest to take care of.

"Come in!" I called, dropping the crystal I'd been probing as I looked up. I blinked in surprise when I noticed the light streaming in the open air-flaps had the distinctive reddish tinge of evening. How long had I been sitting here?

Voryn ducked into the entrance of the yurt. My eyebrows rose further at this most unexpected guest – I'd thought Voryn in Dagoth lands in the north of the island, days away.

"My apologies for dropping by unannounced, Nerevar," Voryn said. "We were in the area and thought we'd visit."

My friend was still stooped half-crouched in the open entrance. He looked distinctly ridiculous. I waved at the seat-cushion opposite me impatiently, then remembered that Voryn could be something of a stickler for propriety.

"Clan Indoril welcomes you, Voryn of Clan Dagoth, you may eat freely from our herds and drink freely from our winter stores in honour of our friendship- sit down, will you? You're too tall as it is, you're going to give me a crick in my neck if I have to keep staring up at you."

Voryn's lips quirked in a smile as he settled himself on the cushion I'd indicated. "I honour the welcome you give me, Nerevar of Clan Indoril. May there be friendship between our people forever more."

There. The formalities had been observed. Although-

Old lessons our Wise Woman had tried to thump into my head when I was young reared their head.

"May I offer you anything to eat or drink?" I offered, then looked between us. The low table in the center of the yurt was covered in parchment, one of the precious books Dumac had given me when we last met lying open on one side, the crystal I'd been experimenting with on the other. "Er- let me just tidy that up-"

"It's quite all right, Nerevar," Voryn said as he took in the mess. "I'm not hungry. I take it you're studying Kagrenac's work?"

"Mzahnch's, actually," I corrected. "Kagrenac has been developing some mad theories about the nature of Aedric- well, let's just say our interests are diverging. Mzahnch, on the other hand, has been looking into how to use-"

I broke off with a sigh. Voryn was no scholar, after all. No doubt his eyes were glazing over in disinterest right now... especially as, with the Chimer's general lack of participation in this sort of scholarship, any further detail would require a switch to Dwemeris.

In truth, that bothered me. My long friendship with the Dwemer meant I could speak their language well enough by now, but they remained secretive about their tongue all the same and so it formed a real barrier to any other aspiring Chimer researcher. Even aside from that, I had my pride in our people. It smarted to think our language had no way of even expressing some of these theories. If I were able to find other Chimer interested, we might be able to come up with something... perhaps some of the Telvanni...

A thought for a later day, given that I had a guest.

"My apologies, Voryn. I don't mean to either bore you or ignore you."

"I missed you, you know." Voryn's voice was fond, but there was a vast ocean of sadness beneath the words.

I found myself seized by the sudden, odd feeling that our conversation had been following an invisible script and Voryn had just departed from it.

"What do you mean?" I asked warily.

Hadn't it been evening just a second ago? It was fully dark outside now, a dim candle our only source of illumination.

"What I said," Voryn answered. He leaned closer, knees bumping the table. "It's been a long time, old friend, and the traitors have tried to keep us separate."

...Voryn had always been tall, but had he truly been this tall? And surely it was an illusion cast by the flickering candlelight that turned his face into an eerie golden mask?

"Voryn, wha..."

My voice trailed off as I found myself unable to form words, my thoughts slowing down like a river freezing into ice.

"And succeeded, too. I almost had you, dear friend, until Vivec's blind slaves intervened." Voryn snarled, a rumbling, inhuman sound. On his forehead a third eye opened, blood-red and piercing. "No matter. Soon, they will learn. Everyone will learn. The traitors will receive their due, Resdayn will live again... and we will be truly reunited."

I couldn't think. I couldn't think. I couldn't-

"She's not letting you remember, is she?" Voryn sounded almost pitying. He reached out to stroke my cheek with long, curved claws. "A cruel thing indeed, keeping you ignorant by force. And such monsters claim to be the true gods of our people. Rest assured, dear friend, no Daedra will be able to touch you when all is done."

"I-"

My voice was a choking rasp, dying before it could form, and I couldn't think.

"Alas, the traitors' interference means I cannot speak to you... properly. Soon the last threads of our connection will be gone, and then even this superficial conversation will need to end. But I can be patient. And Nerevar, I promise you this, promise it on the Heart: I will find you again."

Voryn sat back, and-

I shook my head. Pain stabbed my skull, and I- I couldn't think-

Summer evening sunlight streamed through the open flaps of the yurt, illuminating the papers I'd been working on earlier. Voryn was seated across from me and looking rather concerned.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

I frowned.

What had happened? Voryn and I had been talking, I'd been telling him about my research, and then-

A white-hot knife lanced through my head. I winced and raised my hands to rub my temples, thoroughly distracted.

Well, no matter what had happened, right now I was most shamefully neglecting hospitality.

"My apologies, Voryn, my thoughts must have drifted for a moment. What were you saying?"

"Oh, nothing important," Voryn said, waving a hand dismissively. "Don't worry yourself. Are you well?"

I really wished that whatever had decided stabbing needles into my forehead was an appropriate activity would go and find another victim. "Headache. Not sure where it's come from. Maybe I've spent too long studying, today."

"Maybe." Voryn frowned, a dark, angry expression I wasn't used to seeing on his face. "Perhaps some distraction will help. What do you say to a wander around the camp as we talk?"

The idea of getting out of my stuffy yurt had some appeal. "That sounds like an excellent idea, my friend- ah!"

My legs cramped as I stood, and Voryn reached over to steady me before I fell. His hand felt burning hot, his fingernails oddly sharp.

"Yes," he said. Despite the fact that I'd regained my balance, he didn't let go of my arm. "I look forward to catching up with you, Nerevar."

*****

[haute ecole rider]

:huh?:

[ghastley]

Flash waaaaaaay back, I think.

Or it's a completely different story, just getting started. Calling it Chapter 13.1 suggests the former.

[treydog]

So much Adryn goodness and then the unexpected bonus of seeing one of the moments where the events that shaped Vvardenfell began...

/Standing ovation/

Most excellent, Kaz!

[Kazaera]

@haute ecole rider - Here's hoping those are good emoticons!

@ghastley - well, sort of a flashback... until Voryn ventured off-script.

@treydog - thanks! I'm glad the Nerevar interludes are going over well - I really enjoy writing them (and want to regularly underscore exactly what is happening in Adryn's head at night right now...) but don't want to overdo it since they're relatively disconnected from the rest of the story. Well, this one maybe not as much...

Last installment, Nerevar had a very, very odd encounter with Voryn Dagoth. One that may not have gone exactly that way originally, and left Nerevar both unable to remember the details of what occurred and with a splitting headache. Let's see what the effects of that are...

(apologies in advance for an awkward split; this scene doesn't divide well.)

Chapter 13.2
*****

I watched the breakfast crowd from where I nursed a cup in the corner. I'd woken this morning with a nasty headache that seemed inclined to hang around as the day wore on. Needless to say, I wasn't feeling in the mood for company, and if it hadn't been for my agreement with Teleportation Girl I'd probably have skipped the communal breakfast today - especially because the headache had apparently talked my appetite into desertion. At least that was my theory for why the spiced rolls that had been so delicious when I'd last had them looked about as appealing as prison crusts today. Worse, I'd barely made headway on my first cup of Dulnea's tea... a fact that must surely qualify as some sort of blasphemy.

Thankfully, none of the other guild members seemed to mind my sour mood and silence. Ajira would most likely have tried to draw me out if she'd been there, but she was absent and the others were deeply involved in their discussion. Listening more closely made it clear they were talking about some sort of event that was apparently happening today.

...on the one hand, part of me still wanted to crawl back into bed, pull the covers over my head and hope to wake up no longer feeling like a draugr. That part was definitely not in the mood for conversation.

On the other, I was curious.

"Hey, Marayn? What's this 'seminar' you're talking about?"

Marayn blinked at me. "Oh, right, you've been away a lot so you wouldn't know. The guild has regular events where someone gives a talk about their current area of research. Usually it's someone from one of the guilds here on Vvardenfell, sometimes we can get an independent local researcher in, and occasionally it's someone from a non-local guild who's in Vvardenfell for some reason. For instance, two weeks ago we had Edras Oril from Almalexia talking about kagouti mating habits. It was very- are you all right, Adryn?"

"F-fine," I managed once I'd finished coughing. Really, I was ashamed of myself - appetite or no appetite, Dulnea's tea was far too fine a liquid to waste on choking. "So it's about listening to people talk about what they're researching right now?"

That sounded... as if it could be fascinating or dreadfully boring, depending on who the people in question were. I hadn't forgotten Cassia in Vivec and her pots and pans.

"It's also about having tea, coffee and cakes with everyone beforehand," Teleportation Girl corrected me. "Edwinna brings these sweetrolls from a bakery in Ald'ruhn... they're delicious!"

"And don't forget the times we go out for drinks and dinner afterwards," Uleni chimed in. "Last week we were booked in at the Flowers of Gold in Vivec, the guild paying-"

"For shame, both of you!" Marayn was obviously trying to be stern, but his sparkling eyes and the smile quirking the corner of his mouth made it hard to believe in. "Scholarship is more important than food and gossip!"

The expression on Teleportation Girl's face made it clear she found this statement rather dubious.

"So who's speaking today, then? And what's the topic?" I asked, curious despite myself.

"It's Analinwe, from Vulkhel Guard in Alinor," Marayn answered. "She's on holiday in Vivec and said she'd give a talk on... what was it again... oh yes! The Miracle of Peace and what its implications may be for the connection between Akatosh and the Septim line."

The clink as I dropped my spoon was deafening. Strangely, nobody else seemed to notice.

"Well, that should be interesting. I mean, it's not every day you get a purported Dragon Break to examine."

"Not every day, but the one we have was over ten years ago, on the other side of the world, and has spurred more puerile 'scholarship' or rather excuses to hop onto the Dragon Break caravan than any other-"

There is fire everywhere.

"But don't you see, the fact that a Dragon Break resolved so favourably to the Empire..." Marayn was talking, hands darting around like cliff racers as I'd noticed they did when he was deep into explaining something, but his words were drowned out by a roaring in my ears.

"Excuse me," I said. My voice seemed very far away. "I think I need to get some air."

Outside, I looked at the growing crowds, turned and took the stairs upwards. My headache was finally ebbing, but I felt shaky, ill, and not at all up to battling my way back to the Mages' Guild. Sitting on the edge of the walkway that connected the roof of the Eight Plates with the neighbouring building and letting my legs dangle did do some good, though. The air was fresher up here, and I'd always liked heights.

The sun was out today, and I let my eyes drift closed as I indulged in the feeling of sunlight on my face. There was a slight chill in the air, but not yet enough to drive me to the clothier for a cloak. New to Morrowind as I was, I found it unseasonably warm for the beginning of Frostfall. In Windhelm, we'd be seeing regular snowfall by now. Even in Daggerfall...

"Are you all right?"

I blinked up at Teleportation Girl, torn out of my thoughts. I hadn't expected anyone to follow me; they'd seemed deeply involved in their debate when I left.

But of course she'd wanted to talk to me about something, I remembered. It had been the entire reason I'd been at breakfast. Well, maybe if I ignored her she'd get the message: meeting rescheduled, please come back another day.

No such luck. Instead, Teleportation Girl seemed to take my lack of response as an invitation and let herself drop down beside me.

For a minute or so, we simply sat together in silence. Then, quietly, she began to talk.

"My family is from Wayrest, you know. My parents moved to Vvardenfell before I was born, but we went back to visit my grandparents twice and they travelled to Morrowind once. I was very young, but I remember my grandfather."

I didn't say anything, letting the words wash over me.

"I loved him, you know?" Her voice grew wistful. "He'd let me sit on his shoulders and he'd call me his little mageling, and when he found me crying because some boys had called me an outlander he taught me a spell to make them think I was a ten-foot-tall monster... he laughed so hard when I told him how they'd run away screaming. And then... then the warp happened. He was a battlemage in the army, he was on patrol..." She took a deep breath. "They never found him. And believe me, my grandmother looked."

The grief in her voice was palpable. I bowed my head.

"I still hate it when people call it that stupid name. The 'Miracle of Peace'. As if my grandfather dying was a miracle." She spat the word.

The silence grew. I shifted, uncomfortable. A story like that demanded reciprocation. I'd usually reject such an idea with great prejudice, but now I could feel words welling within me.

Perhaps it was that she understood. I hadn't expected anyone who'd understand.

"I grew up in Daggerfall." The words slipped out in a quiet, even murmur. "An village in the province, then the capital itself. I was in the orphanage attached to the Temple of Kynareth at first, there, but later I lived with-"

Fjaldir. Azha. Do'kharza, Eix-Lin-

Giants in my memory, ones where the thought of them still filled me with awe and gratitude, with hero-worship in the truest sense of the word...

...who I still viewed through the eyes of a child, because I'd never known them when grown.

Could it really be called living with when they'd been there maybe three days in a month?

"-well, it doesn't matter," I moved on. "They were all out when it happened. There was a, a neighbour who looked in on me, but she- died. I think. It became very hard to be certain of anything, at that point."

I'd have liked to leave it there, but now that I'd started I found the words kept coming, like poison seeping from a lanced wound.

"There's no way to describe what a Dragon Break is like, you know? We're children of Akatosh, we need time to make sense of the world. When it shatters, when everything starts happening out of order and location doesn't make sense anymore and effect comes before cause- when the entire concept of before stops working- and as if that weren't enough there was the fire and the fighting, armies and monsters and people dying-" I swallowed hard. "Well, usually I just try not to think about any of it."

It worked pretty well as a strategy. Barring nights.

"But the worst part, the absolute worst, that came afterwards. I- time didn't make sense, I said that, but you ask questions like how long did it last and the like anyway, that's just how we're made. I thought - two weeks? Maybe a month? Imagine my surprise when they told us it had only been a day. Especially because... when it was over, we were in the Eastern Reach, near Markarth in Skyrim - no idea how we got there - and..."

My mouth tasted like ashes.

"It was two years later," I finished in a whisper.

*****

This post has been edited by Kazaera: May 16 2020, 02:54 PM

[mALX]

I am catching up! I am so glad you are back to updating again! Adryn is one of my favorite characters!!!

[haute ecole rider]

Adryn survived the Dragon Break? Of course she would, makes sense with the timeline in the Lore.

This just suddenly went from amusing and enjoyable and interesting to a very compelling read . . .

More, please.

[Kazaera]

@mALX - I'm glad! And thank you so much for your kind words about Adryn, especially coming from the creator of Maxical!

@haute ecole rider - I did wonder if anyone would catch the implications of Adryn having grown up in Daggerfall! The timeline actually works out so beautifully I had to get her involved - and for all that I initially thought I was reaching by having it be a horrifying traumatic experience for her, the witness descriptions in The Warp in the West include lots of death along with details like someone's eyes being burned out of their sockets so it's actually supported in lore. The geographic and temporal displacement is my own invention, but there's reasons why Adryn was closer to the "epicenter" of the Warp than most people and could have been affected more badly.

Chapter 13.3
*****

I jumped at the feeling of a hand on my shoulder. I'd almost forgotten about the Breton who was now looking at me sympathetically and offering what I supposed was meant to be reassuring physical contact. "I'm sorry," she said now. "That must have been hard."

"Mmm. Well. Anyway!" I groped for a subject change and found one. "What did you want to talk to me about yesterday?"

Message sent: communal trauma-sharing time is over. Normal service may resume at any time. Also - I shifted away from her - communal trauma-sharing time does not constitute an exception to Adryn's personal space bubble.

The other girl blinked at me, but withdrew her hand. "Well. Um. I have a suggestion... I guess you could see it as doing me a favour?"

I raised an eyebrow at her. I wasn't used to soul-baring being a prelude to asking for favours, but maybe that was just because I was unfamiliar with the whole thing. For all I knew, this was Caius' modus operandi. Maybe he met with people like Hasphat, they all sat down and shared sob stories from their childhood - Caius talking about how his mother wouldn't let him have sweets, maybe, and Hasphat about a traumatic experience in a Dwemer ruin that left him deciding to send poor innocent bystanders for his toys instead of picking them up themselves - and afterwards Caius would put another person on his list of people who owed him favours...

What? It's not as if I have any idea how this spy thing is meant to work!

"I'm trying to make Journeyman, you see," she continued, apparently not having noticed my current battle against an overactive imagination. "I've been an Apprentice for almost a year now, I've done my time – and I really hate being a guild guide." She scowled. "The hours are absolutely terrible, no free time at all, and being the only person in Balmora who has to take the land route everywhere gets really old, let me tell you. My parents moved six months ago and I haven't been able to visit their new home even once."

My somewhat haphazard entry into the guild meant I was missing some of the basics. I suspected I'd just stumbled across another one. "Making Journeyman would mean you no longer had to be a guild guide?"

"Exactly. It's a job for Apprentices – all the nasty ones are. You don't see Marayn or Estirdalin or, Julianos forbid, Ranis stuck behind an alchemy desk or teleporting people."

Well, that certainly shed new light on Ajira's and Galbedir's rivalry... and raised worrying prospects regarding what Ranis might have planned for me, now that enchanting was out.

"Okay. I'm with you so far," I said. "What I fail to see is how I come into this. Aren't you specialising in Mysticism? If so, I really have no idea how I could help. Given the obvious," I added with some level of (justified, in my opinion) bitterness.

"Actually, that's exactly it. I'd never heard of that syndrome you have, apparently it's really rare. I don't think anyone's ever properly studied what causes it and what its exact effects are. I asked Estirdalin and she said she thought it might make for a good Journeyman thesis."

I wasn't sure what my expression was, but judging by the way my guild-mate's steadily drooped it wasn't very positive. Estirdalin's quiz had been more than humiliating enough; I couldn't imagine voluntarily spending even more time trying and failing to cast spells only to be told how easy they were supposed to be.

I said so.

"Oh, that's not how it's going to be at all! I was actually thinking about focusing more on the spells where you get unusual effects – Detection and Telekinesis. I mean, Estirdalin did suggest investigating the inabilities, but honestly I don't think there's much more you can write for 'can't cast Soultrap'."

Hmm. That did sound better. Maybe this was worth considering after all? If-

"Well, I did think it might be interesting to see what happens to you with the guild guide spells-"

All right, that suggestion certainly brought me violently back to Nirn.

"Are you out of your mind?" I demanded once I was capable of noises other than spluttering. "Asking me to cast a teleportation spell? On other people? On customers?"

"No! No!" If she waved her hands a little more wildly she'd probably take flight. "We practice on rocks, or boxes, or sometimes summoned Daedra. I wouldn't have you try on actual people." My sigh of relief was interrupted as she continued, "Although who knows? The foundation of guild guide spells is actually completely different from the Intervention school. You might find they work out for you."

Azha, I remembered, had had the world's most cutting skeptical expression. The Mother-Superior of the orphanage had had nothing on her. She'd been able to reduce Do'kharza - inveterate rogue who'd steal the whiskers off Rajhin that he proclaimed himself – to a whimpering bundle of fur with just a long stare and furrowed eyebrows. A seven-year-old girl had been no challenge at all, and after my first and last attempt at sneaking something past The Look had featured heavily in my nightmares.

My own was only a pale imitation, I knew. Judging by the way the blood was draining from my guild-mate's cheeks, I'd managed to capture something of the essence all the same.

"I feel as if you're not really taking this seriously enough," I said after a moment of silence to let the gravity of the situation sink in. "From what Estirdalin said, me messing around with Mysticism spells could be seriously dangerous, and I'm not sure restricting ourselves to rocks will be enough to be safe. What if I actually do blow something up, or mistarget the spell and accidentally send you off into the stratosphere, or-"

I'd always had a fantastic imagination. Right now, it was throwing all the things that could possibly go wrong here at me in full, lurid detail.

"It'd be safer not to even try," I said, and the words tasted like acid.

The Breton's shoulders sagged. Had I convinced her?

I tried to squash down the sting of regret at the thought. So it hurt to have to treat the Mysticism school like a hidden fire-trap rune. So I really wanted to be able to dive into new spells, the same as anyone else would be able to. Well, I hadn't been a child in a long time now and I was used to not getting what I wanted-

An indrawn breath brought my attention back to the conversation.

"Look, Adryn – Estirdalin is a fantastic and experienced mage and all that, but in this case I think she's wrong. Just because you cast spells a little differently from most people and can have problems they don't doesn't mean you should have to give up on the whole school of Mysticism."

There was real force behind the words – this was obviously something she felt strongly about.

"So it might be a little more difficult to teach you," she continued. "So maybe we'll have to be very careful about it. So what? If that was a reason not to bother trying, there wouldn't be any mages at all. The guild should be there to help anyone who's interested in magic, not just those who do it exactly by the textbook! It should be about scholarship, about learning, not just making as much money off customers as possible and ignoring anyone who doesn't fit!"

The rant struck me as genuine, and despite myself I began to soften.

"So... you want me to try the guild guide teleportation spells to see if I can get them to work?" I'd meant it to sound scoffing, but instead it only came out as mildly skeptical.

"Exactly. I think there's a decent chance you could learn them. And if not, there's still a lot of potential for research in your Detection spells. Who knows, maybe you can teach them to me-"

"In case you didn't catch it last week, I tried that before. It didn't work."

"To some scout you met, you said. I remember. Well, I'm an Apprentice of the Mages' Guild with a specialty in Mysticism – I'd like to think I have a much better chance. How much magical education can a scout have, anyway? For all you know she'd never even heard of Lor's Principles!" She waved my objection away.

I hadn't heard of Lor's Principles. The urge to come to Gelduin's defense was strong, but my guild-mate hadn't finished.

"And even if I can't learn the spell, if I figure out enough of the way you shape it I might have enough material for a proper research article, one that one of the bigger journals would accept. At that point Ranis Athrys would have to promote me to Journeyman."

I wasn't nearly as optimistic. But...

But until this conversation I hadn't realised how much I'd needed someone proclaiming confidence in me, someone who viewed my Mystic disability as a minor obstacle and an opportunity for research instead of proof I shouldn't bother trying. It was so perfectly tailored to what I wanted to hear, such a balm to places in my soul that sorely needed it, that I almost suspected the Breton of manipulating me.

"So? Will you help?"

...well. If she was, it was working.

"Sure. Why not, You only live once, and I'm an alchemist, I should be used to explosions by now. And..."

I took a deep breath.

"Thanks... Masalinie."

*****

[ghastley]

Well, I don't see how a Detection spell can go wrong in a dangerous way, but I'm now expecting to find out.

[Kazaera]

@ghastley - now you're giving me ideas!

Last installment, Ajira and Masalinie talked, and Masalinie somehow got Adryn to not only agree to help her with research in Mysticism but also use her name. Now that's charisma for you.

Chapter 13.4
*****

Afternoon found me hiking past Fort Moonmoth in the sturdy guarhide boots I'd gotten in trade for those from the Temple, plain but comfortable shirt and breeches, and carrying a pack that a bystander might notice I treated very, very carefully.

Although I'd have liked to put it off for longer – preferably eternally – I suspected Caius wouldn't be all too happy if I didn't get moving on his 'simple task'. With that in mind, I'd decided it was time to have a look at this Arkngthand. Not look for the cube, I told myself, just get the lay of the land. A scouting mission before the actual heist, like so many I'd gone on before.

Well, not entirely like. I certainly couldn't remember any manor I'd scoped out in Skyrim being populated by murderous Dwemer automatons. However, one has to adapt to changing circumstances.

I'd prepared for this particular scouting mission in the only way I knew. This meant that I was unarmed, Elone's old short-sword having migrated to under my bed, but my pack was filled almost to bursting with potions for every eventuality. The process of preparing them had depleted Ajira's stores quite a bit, and the end I'd guiltily left two ten-drake coins on the desk in the alchemy lab to cover materials.

I rounded a corner in the path and then stopped to take in the sight. It looked like I'd almost arrived.

Ahead, the path crossed the deep gorge that was labelled Foyada Mamaea on my map via a bridge. The opposite side was grey and ashy, an abrupt shift from the scrubby green growth that I'd been travelling past since Balmora. It was broken by coppery-gold metal sprouting from the ground to the right of the path. The style of architecture was unmistakeable to anyone who'd ever seen a Dwemer ruin... let alone lived in one, those two years in Markarth after the Warp.

Steam burst from one of the pipes rising from the hillside with a hiss and a clanking noise. Yes, definitely Dwemer. I still had decidedly unfond memories of the way the rusted cog at the far end of the Warrens would randomly decide to start trying and failing to turn or the grate next to it would start spitting steam – always at an hour of the morning only Sanguine would recognise, of course. I knew I should really have been impressed that Dwemer machines still worked four millennia after their owners' disappearance, but in my defense it's quite hard to muster any emotion other than irritation when you've been woken up from a sound sleep by ear-splitting screeches and whistles and have to be ready to work at dawn. Nine knew Charon had cursed a blue streak...

My lips pressed together.

I'd really had far more than my allotted dose of nostalgia recently. For all that so many people loved to wallow in their memories – see Masalinie and her insistence on 'talking about it' – I'd always considered myself smarter than that.

After all, the past is over. Gone. Dead. For all the present is concerned, it may as well never have happened – indeed there are philosophical schools that state it didn't! – so bothering about it is really just an unnecessary indulgence in masochism.

"Halt!"

And my pointless, unwanted trip down memory lane was certainly to blame for the fact that I'd entirely missed the man standing in the middle of the bridge, just ahead of me.

He was an older Colovian with receding grey hair who was watching me with narrowed eyes, one hand on the hilt of a sword. The armour he wore was worn and oft-mended, dark brown leather with no identifying marks... no, looking closer I could make out some sigil picked out in dark red against his upper arm.

I could recognise a gang sign when I saw one.

Definitely a bandit. He couldn't be any more of a bandit if he had the word "Bandit" floating over him. In fact, the only reason he didn't was probably because the world had decided this would be unforgivably redundant.

I let my own hand drop to one particular vial I'd tucked into my belt. If I'd brewed it correctly, it should create a thick cloud of smoke when poured out or shattered...

...of course, given that it had been my first time attempting this potion with Morrowind ingredients, that if was not to be underestimated.

"What's your business here?" demanded the bandit.

I blinked, having expected something more along the lines of your money or your life.

"Ah... I was heading to the ruins of Arkngthand?"

I clamped my mouth shut, but too late. Mentally, I gave myself a good kick; any good criminal will tell you that being taken by surprise is no excuse for being honest, of all things. Especially since in this situation I didn't think telling the truth was going to be to my benefit.

And indeed, the bandit's eyes were narrowing as his hand clenched on the hilt of his sword.

"I hope you're aware that all Dwemer artifacts belong to the Emperor by law, and taking them is viewed as a serious crime."

As a matter of fact, Hasphat Antabolis had refrained from mentioning that tidbit. An omission I'd have to thank him for when I got back. Although I certainly didn't know why a bandit was lecturing me about-

"I happen to be a member in good standing of the Imperial Archaeological Society, you know," the bandit continued. "We're conducting a dig in Arkngthand right now, and I'm afraid we have to take exception to any attempts at... looting."

If he was an archaeologist, I was a kagouti-

-and I should probably wait to inspect myself for an outbreak of tusks until after I'd gotten out of this situation in one piece.

"Oh! The Imperial Archaeological Society, you say." The fact that I managed to keep my face straight when saying that proved, I think, that a career in the theatre was definitely an option for me. "That's-"

An idea bloomed in my mind, fully formed and – if I may say so myself – brilliant.

"That's fantastic!" I gushed. The bandit-archaeologist looked rather taken aback. "I'm a member of the Mages' Guild, you see, and I've been assigned to study the Dwemer." So far, I was even being entirely truthful. "Of course I'd never dream of disturbing the historical record by removing artifacts from the ruins! I simply wanted to investigate their layout. You see..."

I took a deep breath, mind racing. Time to hope the research I'd done into the Dwemer so far had given me enough to come up with something plausible.

"...Arkngthand, like many of the Dwemer citadels closer to Red Mountain, was almost abandoned some time before the disappearance of the Dwemer due to increased amounts of ash-fall. It not only left the environment inhospitable, but also caused worry that an eruption might be imminent, so many Dwemer moved to citadels further away from Red Mountain, such as Mzuleft and Bethamez."

I was genuinely surprised at how easily the words flowed. Either I was a far better liar under pressure than previous incidents would indicate, or more of Chronicles of Nchuleft, Ruins of Kemel-Ze and Antecedents of Dwemer Law had stuck than I'd thought.

"I want to investigate the architectural set-up of Arkngthand and contrast them with citadels that were built after the exodus. Perhaps the differences might reflect changes in the Dwemer mind-set in the intervening time, which could in turn shed new light on the disappearance of the Dwemer!" A breath. "I hadn't realised there was an archaeological team already here. I'd of course be delighted to collaborate!"

The bandit was goggling at me, obviously struck speechless. I waited for him to collect himself, keeping up the bright smile even though the mask of sheer enthusiasm was starting to make my head hurt.

The beauty of it all was that thanks to Trebonius (and there were three words that one didn't expect in sequence...) the whole story was built on a foundation of truth. And certainly I made a far more plausible Dwemer scholar than artifact hunter or smuggler, unarmed and dressed in robes as I was.

The bandit – no, looter, he must be – certainly seemed taken in. His grip on his sword loosened, and although he looked rather frustrated, he didn't look suspicious.

"Ah... I'm afraid that's not going to be possible. You see..."

Now it was his turn to invent wildly, and I suspected he wouldn't quite reach the standard I'd set.

"The ruins are still... dangerous! Yes, dangerous. There's still working automata and centurions and all sorts of deadly creatures. We need to finish clearing them out before we could possibly allow others access."

No, not convincing at all, I thought critically. Where I'd pulled off a performance worthy of a lead actor, the only role this man could win in the theatre would be cleaning up after the shows. Who knew, maybe a thwarted dream of stardom was the reason he'd turned to crime in the first place? Well, at least he'd given me a good excuse to turn around and leave...

...except that the keen if rather oblivious scholar I was pretending to be wouldn't give up nearly so easily, and I had to make sure the bandit didn't grow suspicious.

"Oh." I let myself pout. "Are you sure? I've told the guildmistress I'd finish this paper, you see. I need it to make Journeyman," I added, remembering Adryn and Galbedir's rivalry, not to mention my discussion with Masalinie on comparative duties by rank. "Could I talk to your leader about an exception, maybe? I promise I can take care of myself..."

"I'll talk to Boss Crito," the bandit said, managing to sound sincerely regretful (I mentally upgraded his career in drama to understudy), "but I don't think it's likely, sorry."

"Oh well." I let myself sigh gustily. "I'll have to look into Bthanchend, or maybe..."

I turned around and let myself trudge back on the path to Fort Moonmoth. Leaving the looter at my back was not to my liking at all, and I found myself glad he couldn't hear my heart race as I walked away. Finally, I judged I was out of sight and earshot.

I set down my pack beside a rock that looked like a reasonably comfortable seat, a theory I immediately tested and proved acceptable.

"Scamp drek," I hissed. The curse did nothing to improve my situation, did however make me feel a little better.

I'd expected Dwemer automata, had a whole sheaf of notes I'd made on the various types that had occurred in Ruins of Kemel-Ze with me. I hadn't, however, expected looters... much less what was clearly an organised gang. This was going to complicate things tremendously.

To begin with, how was I to even get to Arkngthand? I was excellent at sneaking and moving unseen, and that was no empty pride speaking... but across a bridge? With no cover, a guard watching, and no one else in sight? The Grey Fox couldn't have done it.

If you can't go through, go around...

I dug in my pack and pulled out the map I'd acquired on my ill-fated trip to Lake Amaya. After having done without it on my first expedition to Vivec (followed, as it had been, by my first expedition to Ald'ruhn and then my first expedition to the West Gash) I wasn't planning to let it leave my person anytime soon.

I must currently be here, on the path about halfway between Fort Moonmoth and Arkngthand. With a moment's exercise of will, the magic on the map flared to life to confirm that fact.

...why were the looters being so open about their presence so close to an Imperial Fort, anyway? They must be either very stupid or very clever, and with the way my luck had been going lately it probably wasn't going to be the former. Why no worries about being discovered by the Legion? Did they expect their story about being archaeologists to stand up to scrutiny?

Well, no matter for now. Here was the bridge, here the ruin of Arkngthand, denoted by a small gear symbol on the map. The path I'd been following left the bridge and the ruins to snake its way through the hills. Some distance away (a distance significantly less measured as the cliff-racer flew than as the Adryn walked, I noted gloomily) it met a second path. That one...

Hope blossomed as I traced the second path on its way southwest. It passed directly behind Arkngthand on its way, then reached a region I knew quite well.

I let my finger rest on the words Lake Amaya.

Come to think of it, now that I thought about it I vaguely remembered a path that had branched off the route to the shrine at Kummu in order to vanish into the hills. I'd looked at it for a moment, contemplating escape, before the minion of Molag Bal disguised as a pilgrim had caught up to me and ordered me on.

It looked like it might just be possible to access the ruin from Lake Amaya, which wasn't at all far from here. Better yet, there was the possibility the looters only had guards posted at the approach to the main entrance. Even if my luck didn't reach that far, I had a lot more confidence in my ability to sneak past guards once one took bridges out of the picture.

I forced myself up and off the rock with a groan. There wasn't that much daylight left – I wanted to make the best use of it that I could.

*****

[Kazaera]

Sorry for the delay! I got a little sidetracked and forgot to post last weekend. Not helping that I was hoping to build up a decent buffer, but chapter 15 is seriously kicking my ass; I think I've had to throw out around 75% of what I've written for it so far because the plot keeps changing under me. :/

Last installment, Adryn tried to investigate the Dwemer ruin of Arkngthand as (indirectly) ordered by Caius Cosades. Her first attempt was foiled by a guard barring the approach to the ruin. She's now trying for a flank attack.

Chapter 13.5
*****

A few hours later, I let myself collapse against one of the metal towers. All my limbs were throbbing with pain, but that didn't remove the triumphant smile from my face.

I felt I deserved to have it, considering how bleak things had looked not long ago.

As it turned out, the path passed within spitting distance of the ruin, yes... if one allowed the direction in question to be vertical. I'd forgotten how deceptive height could be on maps, meaning that the sheer cliff that separated me and Arkngthand had come as something of a surprise.

I was a good climber, but the distance to the top was far enough and looked unsafe enough that I hadn't wanted to attempt it with no supplies. I'd been weighing the difficulty of trying the long way around, growing steadily gloomy at the thought of things like the length of the journey, the likelihood of encountering hostile wildlife, the fact that the sun was already brushing the hilltops to the west...

Then I remembered the amulet.

It turns out that a Slowfall spell is quite a multifunctional thing. As well as saving anyone unfortunate enough to find themselves in mid-air from an ignominous death involving sounds like splat, it is also a climber's best friend. Being near-immune to gravity makes ropes and harnesses unnecessary, heights irrelevant and impossible reaches a cinch. The only issue is that you do have to be quick, as the enchantment running out would qualify as a Very Bad Thing indeed.

In short, I made my way up that cliff like a veritable spider, and my amulet still had a charge left when I reached the top. Honestly, I should've learned this spell years ago. It would have saved me any number of bruises.

Well, enough patting myself on the back. Time to investigate the ruins.

Arkngthand's towers sprouted from a hill bordering the foyada. I'd come out on the slope to the southeast of the summit, out of view of the bridge – and its guard. A quick look around proved that that I was alone. Fortunately for me, the looters had apparently decided the cliff didn't need to be watched.

Dwemer citadels of this size, I remembered, were generally built with a single well-marked main entrance and either no secondary entrance at all or an emergency exit designed in such a way to make sure it could not be used by attackers. In Arkngthand's case, the main entrance was likely near the bridge... and therefore within the guard's line of sight.

Thankfully for me, dusk had fallen by now. The western horizon was still bright, but above it was dark enough to make out the Lady looking down on us mortals from the sky. In this lighting, a greyish figure against ash would hardly be noticed at all...

...especially since I was a little more greyish than usual, I thought ruefully as I brushed at the ash on the front of my shirt. My climb had left me thoroughly covered in the stuff.

As I crested the hill, I spied a circle of light just ahead and ducked behind a boulder. An armoured figure was standing where the bridge I'd failed to cross that morning met land again, a lantern held high in his gauntleted grip.

Idiot.

It wasn't full dark yet, and with the clear night this was shaping up to be, Masser and Secunda would give plenty of light. He'd have to squint a little without the lantern, true, and the low light might make it harder to spot someone beginning to cross the bridge. However, in the process of making the idea of sneaking past him on the bridge completely impossible instead of just almost certainly impossible, he'd destroyed his night vision. And I was well outside the lantern's light.

At the bottom of the hill, I was close enough to make out more details, but still far enough away the guard could have looked right at me without seeing me. It was the same guard as the one I'd met earlier, and he was standing in front of a pile of crates that definitely hadn't been there then. They must've received supplies.

...in broad daylight, less than an hour from an Imperial fort? What was going on here, anyway?

I reminded myself firmly of a certain saying involving cats and curiosity (one which, for the record, it's unwise to repeat near Khajiit). However this particular criminal band had managed things so they didn't need to worry about Imperial repercussions, it was none of my business. What was my business was that the guard seemed completely focused on the bridge – and so, thanks to my adventures in climbing, away from both me and the ruin.

The entrance to the ruin was easy to spot. Dozens of footprints had worn a path off the road to a tower that was larger and wider than the others. They stopped at a round bulge of stone at its base. As I crept closer, a shadow resolved itself into a split straight down the middle.

A protective measure, I knew, shielding the door proper. From the inside, there'd be some button or lever that would crack it open. From the outside, a handle located some distance away from the door, which could be deactivated from the inside to repel invaders. Bubbles like that had been popular during the war to free Resdayn, being excellent protection against siege from the Nords, but fallen out of favour later due to how awkward they made daily coming and going-

I frowned. Something was niggling at me.

None of the books I'd read about the Dwemer had discussed the war. Besides, I hadn't read that much, and there had been enough highly distracting things happening at the same time it was a wonder I remembered anything. Where was this flood of knowledge coming from?

I lost my thoughts to a dull throb of pain building at my temples. I gritted my teeth as it slowly died down. My morning headache had been gone by the time I got back to the guild after my chat with Masalinie. If I'd had any suspicion it might make a resurgence, I'd have left this trip until tomorrow-

A rumbling sound interrupted my thoughts. The crack in the stone shuddered.

Quick as a flash, I crouched behind a nearby rock.

The bubble split open with a tortured screech, the mechanism which had lain unused for millennia clearly protesting this forceful end to their retirement. A Nord emerged, ducking his head to manage the doorway.

"Bato, there you are." The Imperial guard approached, holding his torch high. I squinted. "About time, too! Sunset's just about over. Did you lot finish yet for today?"

The Nord shook his head, sending blond braids flying. "The boss wants the one room cleared out, and it's taken longer than he thought. You should hear him yelling about 'the schedule'." He spat, then turned to look at the crates. "Are those..."

"Arrived just now. A keg of mazte, two cases of shein, one of Black-Briar's mead-"

"Black-Briar's?" The tone, I thought, would have been significantly more suited to the words a casket full of treasure, or possibly an unknown ingredient. Behind the rock, I rolled my eyes. If I live to be a thousand, I will never understand Nords and their mead.

Judging by the Imperial's sigh, he felt similarly. "-and one of Weynon beer, which I'll thank you to leave to people who'll appreciate it."

"You can keep that swill. Man, Black-Briar's, I haven't had that since I left Skyrim. You guys had better hurry up in there so we can crack the kegs."

The Imperial stretched, his back making alarming popping sounds I could hear even from my distance. "Once I let them know what's waiting out here for them I think they'll find reasons to speed up the work. As for me, it's been frightfully boring today – I look forward to actually doing something other than standing around." He paused. "Although you should know that if Boss Crito should suspect you've started drinking while on watch... while the rest of us are still working... I don't think it'll go well for you."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm not stupid, Granius. Give me the lantern, will you?"

After a brief exchange, the Nord stayed nearby while the Imperial made his way into the ruin. When the bubble slammed shut behind him, it managed to avoid causing any avalanches or earthquakes, although I suspected it was a close-run thing.

I slumped behind my rock. Why couldn't things be easy, for once? Why couldn't there have been a... an entrance nicely tucked away out of sight of the bridge, with no strange exertions involving levers and bubble-shields necessary to enter, never to mention well-oiled hinges. Or a window! Or a chimney! As things stood, I couldn't think of any way to enter the ruin without alerting everyone within a mile.

"Man." The Nord's expression was about as despairing as mine. "Black-Briar's. And I'm on guard duty."

This seemed a bit extreme even for a Nord. Then again, he had said that he was in withdrawal. If this was a general issue for Nords in Morrowind, I might have to invest in a few bottles for distraction purposes. Just imagine if I'd thrown a bottle at Bolvyn Venim, back in the mansion! Allfool would have been after it like a shot, and in the confusion I'd surely have been able to escape without aerial acrobatics...

The mansion. There was something about the mansion. Varvur and Bolvyn Venim, and Allfool with his lockpicks...

...and the guards, slumped asleep next to the door to Varvur's cell when we entered. Allbraggart had bribed a maid to drug the stew, he'd said.

"...can't believe Crito's insisting we have to wait to break open the booze..."

I'd made many potions for this trip. Sleeping potions among the number.

And so I had my plan.

*****

[ghastley]

But slowfall is just a weaker form of levitation, which is also available in convenient bottles from your friendly alchemist. Somebody here is supposed to be an alchemist??? Ok, so that means planning ahead, forget I mentioned it.

[Kazaera]

@ghastley - Adryn is shocked and appalled at your insinuations! She'd like you to know that she is an excellent alchemist, thank you very much. You are however correct that planning ahead isn't her forte...

(Also, I as the author need to get a little clearer on what's available in Adryn's Skyrim and what isn't. There's large in-game differences between the magic systems of Morrowind, Oblivion and Skyrim, and I pull some of them in as regional variations. Adryn had definitely heard of Slowfall and Levitation spells before, but it's more than possible that they're far less common in Skyrim and not possible in potion form.)

Chapter 13.6
*****

Inside the bubble, I hit the lever that would keep it from closing, then the one to open the door to the ruin proper. The screech of the hinges was ear-splitting, but nothing compared to the massive clang when it shut behind me. I winced at the sound, waiting for the shouts of alarm to start. That had been loud enough to wake the dead. If even one of the looters had abstained-

Silence. I heaved a sigh of relief and silently thanked Shor, Kyne and normalised alcoholism as I crept forward.

Doctoring the alcohol had gone far more easily than expected, considering the presence of the Nord guard. But he'd mostly stayed near the bridge, his back to the crates. That and the torch he'd stupidly taken over from his predecessor made it possible to stay out of sight.

I also found I had something else to thank Masalinie for – our conversation had given me the courage to try out the telekinesis spell I'd learned from Estirdalin again. Given how much it had helped, I suspected trying to manage without it would have ended in disaster. Not only had it allowed me to float bottles, pop corks and brace kegs with not a rustle of cloth to give me away, the one time the Nord decided to wander close to stare at the trove of alcohol I'd been able to send rocks tumbling near the bridge. The noise had distracted him enough that I could hide.

Now, of course, I hadn't needed to worry. The man had put up a good fight against temptation, but succumbed in the end. When a group of the bandits came out to bring the booze inside now that the day's looting was done, several bottles of mead went mysteriously missing on the way. Now the Nord was deep in dreamland, leaving the entrance to Arkngthand free.

It had been a good thing that I hadn't tried to sneak in while the looters were awake, I discovered. The ramp that must once have led from the entrance level down to the main part of the citadel had apparently not survived the intervening millennia. In order to let people get down without breaking their necks, someone had hewn a path down out of the rock of the wall. A narrow, winding ledge with torches placed at regular intervals, anyone who took it would be completely exposed to all eyes.

At the bottom, the sight of a looter camp and sound of snoring greeted me. A quiet count made it eleven sleeping bodies, ranging from another Nord who might, physically improbable as it might seem, be even taller than the one outside to a slight Imperial woman who'd fallen asleep in mage robes. All humans, I noted, not a mer nor Khajiit nor Argonian among the lot. Odd, but I didn't know if that meant anything in the context of Morrowind. More importantly, to my admittedly inexperienced eye all of them looked like tough, hard-bitten characters who would probably be able to squash me like a fly if it came to a fight.

...it would be really good if I could get out of here before any of them woke up.

I closed my eyes and remembered the description Hasphat had given me.

A cube of bronze metal, around five or six inches in size. Each side of the cube is divided into nine squares with a symbol etched into each square. The sides can be rotated.

Target acquired.

I smiled to myself as I ghosted towards the door leading further into the ruins. It was time to show Antabolis how a professional – well, ex-professional – thief handled this.

*****

Some time later, I was feeling far less cocky. Indeed, "desperate" would probably be a more accurate description of my mood. I'd swear that I'd been through every nook and cranny of the rooms I'd seen so far only to turn up... nothing.

Well, not nothing per se. All the rooms I'd found contained various furniture, battered and rusted by the progress of the ages but still recognisable, as well as heavy machinery, cogs, and random detritus. The one I was currently in was the first I'd seen that also contained portable items such as decorated goblets and plates, weapons hanging on the wall, and small engraved silver discs which I suspected had been Dwemer currency, once upon a time. Most likely the looters hadn't reached this far yet.

A fact one could also deduce by this room's inhabitant.

Beneath me, the spider-shaped Dwemer automaton that had been scrabbling at the legs of the table finally gave up as whatever rusted cogs served as its brain informed it that no, unless it suddenly learned how to levitate it wouldn't be able to reach me. I watched it trundle off, wanting it to be a safe distance away before I risked descending back into clawing range.

The machine's presence was a clear sign that it was time for me to turn back. True, according to what I'd read so-called 'spider centurions' were dangerous in certain situations but overall not much of a threat as their programming was quite straightforward and they weren't very mobile (facts which I'd now verified through empirical evidence). Nevertheless, getting past it would take time – time I might not have to spare. And who knew what might be crawling around deeper in the ruin? The last thing I wanted was to run into one of the giant metal men described in Ruins of Kemel-Ze.

But I still hadn't found Hasphat's thrice-cursed cube. What if it was further i-

Wait a moment.

Some part of my mind was metaphorically jumping up and down, yelling at me to stop and think things through for a moment. It sounded, I noticed, a lot like Charon when he thought that I was about to do something only Sheogorath would think advisable.

All right. I pushed down the squirming sense of urgency, let myself settle cross-legged on the table (which had held up under both my weight and the spider centurion's attempts at climbing with admirable fortitude considering its age) and focused on the part of my mind that had apparently absorbed some forethought from Charon, miracle though he might have deemed that fact.

What are you doing, Adryn?

I'm trying to steal a so-called 'puzzle cube' from a Dwemer ruin that's infested with both hostile automatons and looters. I'm doing it because Hasphat Antabolis wants the thing, and Caius Cosades wants me to help Antabolis, and all that adds up to 'I have no choice'-

There. I was missing something in that line of thought. I focused...

I was stealing the puzzle cube for Hasphat Antabolis. He was the one who'd told me it was in Arkngthand.

How did he know where it was?

It could have been recorded in a book from back when the Dwemer were around, of course... but with four thousand years in between, anything could have happened to a portable, valuable object such as the puzzle cube. If his information had been that outdated, he should have had some doubt, and he'd sounded absolutely certain of its location. No, Hasphat's source had to have been more recent. Someone like...

Like one of the looters who was currently occupying the ruins.

"I am a prize idiot." I said it in a whisper, not wanting to attract any more Dwemer attention, but all the same I felt a statement of such utter and profound truth deserved to be proclaimed to the world.

The cube was in the possession of one of the looters. It had to be in their camp. The camp where its inhabitants might be waking up very, very soon. The camp right at the entrance that I'd seen with my own two eyes, then ignored to head straight into the uncharted depths of the ruins. If only I'd stopped to think back when I'd entered, I could be halfway back to Balmora with the cube in my pocket right now.

"A prize idiot," I whispered again, and after looking around carefully to make sure the spider centurion was definitely nowhere near I slipped down off the table to retrace my steps.

*****

Notes: I'm certain many a Morrowind player knows the pain of trying to find that blasted cube, a small object in a large ruin in a time before Bethesda believed in quest markers. I am pretty sure I spent literal hours searching for the thing. Adryn was not going to escape, although she does short-circuit matters a little by applying common sense (and yes, I can't quite believe I wrote the words "Adryn" and "common sense" in the same sentence either).

[ghastley]

Don't worry, that's not actually "common sense", it's really a thief's street smarts. Totally different, even if the result's the same. It's much more blinkered, allowing her to be completely blind in other directions.

I think the reason they added quest markers after MW, was that the target NPC's in TES IV:Oblivion got the AI packages that let them roam all over the map. So if you needed to find Quill-Weave, you had to know her schedule for visiting Chorrol, or you would be hunting in Anvil for someone who just wasn't there. At least the puzzle cube doesn't wander off - until Adryn helps it do so.

My main reason for taking a long time on that specific quest was that there are two separate zones with the same name (upper and lower floors, I believe) but they're not connected. So if you're in the wrong half, you're never going to find it. And that's working from knowledge that is not given to you in-game! And to cap that, I'd actually found it with an earlier character who just went there to fetch a dwemer spear they wanted, and not doing the Antabolis quest at all. I just didn't remember where I'd picked it up the first time.

[Burnt Sierra]

How have I not read this before? Well, devoured chapter 1, and absolutely loved the character of Adryn, I sense some of her observations are going to keep me amused for some time to come. Also, special mention to both how you fleshed out Jiub (and his nose, that made me laugh), Fargoth, Elone... Yep, found myself a treat to read here. Bear with me, as it's going to take me a while to get up to date with this, but starting chapter 2 later today

[Burnt Sierra]

One marathon read later, and I'm up to date.

Honestly, didn't expect to read it that quickly, but every time I kept thinking, right time for bed, the thought "just one more chapter" sprang to mind.

Now there are no more chapters

(subtle hint, no?)

Really enjoyable, and very well done

[Kazaera]

Apologies for the delay in this update! Sometimes I leave minor gaps in my writing, figuring I'll fill them when it's time to post the section... and then I get to posting it and end up completely blocked on how to fill it. (Also, I seem to often get stuck when it comes to posting the last installment of a chapter. No idea why.)

@Burnt Sierra - I totally did the "new reader!!" happy dance when I saw your comments! Thank you so much for taking the time to read and comment, and I'm really glad you enjoyed Adryn! (And hope you didn't end up too sleep-deprived when you read the whole thing in one go, yikes!)

@ghastley - Makes perfect sense! I'll admit I kind of miss the MW style of doing things - I found it really immersive to get an NPC description like (makes something up) "follow the path to Suran until just after the signpost to Vivec, then take the track north into the hills" and try to figure out what that corresponded to in-game. Quest-markers just aren't quite the same... although I'll admit they do make things a lot easier, especially considering my absolutely terrible sense of direction in FPS games.

Anyway, now for more Adryn!

Last installment, Adryn searched for and failed to find a Dwemer puzzle cube in the ruins of Arkngthand. After some time, she applied Street Smarts (superficially similar to Common Sense, but we all know Adryn doesn't have any of that) to work out that the cube was most likely in the looter camp she drugged into unconsciousness at the entrance.

Chapter 13.7
*****

Back at the entrance some time later, I eased the metal door shut behind me. My arms burned at the weight of the thing, but I gritted my teeth and grimly hung on.

Dosing the doctored alcohol had been tricky since I hadn't known who would drink how much of what. Since I also hadn't wanted to kill anyone, I'd erred on the low side. For all I knew one of the looters was already awake, which meant that accidentally slamming the door would qualify as a Very Bad Thing.

Finally, it shut with a soft snick. I silently thanked whichever of the looters had decided to oil the hinges as I eased forward.

The camp looked exactly the same as I'd left it, and the sound of snoring was, if anything, even louder than before. I frowned.

I could leave now, decide it was too dangerous, come back and try another day...

...but could I, truly? I still had no idea how to get past the entrance without raising the alarm. It was a miracle things had panned out to get me this far this time, I couldn't count on being able to drug the entire camp again.

I let my eye rove over the sleeping camp again. All of its inhabitants looked to be firmly in dreamland.

What time was it, anyway? It had been full dark when I'd entered the ruin, and it must have been several hours since then. And although nervous energy and the desire not to die obscured it, I was definitely tired right now. Gone midnight, well into those early hours of the morning recognised primarily by criminals, nightwatchmen and vampires, as well as any intersections between those categories. Chances were that my looter camp had slipped smoothly from drugged unconsciousness into natural sleep.

All right. A quick look. And if any of the looters seemed like they were about to wake, I'd hightail it out of there.

So. Who had the cube?

The mage, I thought. They hadn't shipped it off yet, if Antabolis' intelligence was solid. Perhaps one of the looters had found it interesting and decided to keep it, and a mage seemed the most likely to be intrigued by a mysterious Dwemer artifact.

The Imperial woman in mage robes I'd noted earlier was sprawled over her bedroll, arms akimbo, mouth hanging open, a rather unsightly puddle of drool forming at the corner of her mouth. I eyed the number of empty bottles lying next to her, then her slight figure, and decided that I didn't have to worry about her waking up anytime soon. I'd almost worry about her waking up again ever, low dosages notwithstanding, except that her snores had transcended being merely loud and were making a valiant attempt at deafening. There was no way a corpse could make that much noise, and that was including necromancy. I was frankly surprised it was possible for anyone other than a very large giant trained in the thu'um. Why had I bothered being careful with the door earlier, again?

And this was really no time to go off on tangents, Adryn.

I knelt down next to Miss Probably-Has-Giant-Blood and began to rifle through her pile of belongings, a matter made more difficult by the fact that she'd apparently never so much as heard of the word organisation. Spell tomes were stacked on crumpled robes, an empty wine bottle was lying tipped sideways on top of a scroll. It would serve the mage right if the last dregs stained the runes and made it unusable. Several corked ingredient vials that made my fingers itch (those were fire salts if I'd ever brewed a potion) had been scattered across the floor, a hazard for anyone in the vicinity who wasn't watching where they were going.

I'd never complain about Ingerte's tendency to strew her belongings around the vicinity of her bed again-

No. I wouldn't, would I.

For the love of the Nine, I was currently crouched in the middle of a bandit lair whose inhabitants would be most distinctly unhappy if they woke up to find me here. This was really no place to get lost in memory. Or, worse, to start crying. I tried to avoid crying when I could, seeing as it was messy, unproductive, and humiliating... but that wasn't even scratching the surface of how extremely inappropriate it would be in the present situation. It should be obvious that tears were absolutely out of the question right now, so I didn't understand why my eyes were stinging so.

I clenched my hands into fists, letting my fingernails bite into my palms. After a long moment where I tried very hard to think of nothing but the sharp pain in my hands, I went back to work. If I was blinking a little more frequently than usual, there was no one to witness it and I'd deny everything.

The chaos meant it took far longer than I'd have liked, but in the end I found myself certain: wherever the cube was, it wasn't here.

Right. Not the mage, then. I heaved myself upright. There was a close call as I almost pitched sideways, my legs half-asleep. How long had I spent crouched down there – how long had my weakness cost me? Was it dawn yet?

My hands were shaking, I noticed dimly. I wanted to leave.

But I still hadn't found the cube.

All right. Think. Think! ...don't think of shoving the damn thing up Antabolis' nostril once I finally returned with it. Although that was indeed a valuable and viable train of thought which I'd like to consider at length later, now was really not the time.

Who had the cube?

...the leader, of course.

It was so obvious I could have kicked myself, if not for the fact that I'd have kicked Miss Giantsdottir as well and this would have resulted in what we in the trade call 'very bad things'.

But really now. A gang of looters is cleaning out a Dwemer ruin when they come across an item none of them have ever seen before. It's small, it's portable, it's mysterious, it's probably extremely valuable. Any bandit leader worth his bounty will go "no, I claim that by right of being the one who can bash all your heads together."

It was a predictable course of action, I'd seen something like it play out time and time again, and I should have thought of it immediately. Instead, my head had been full of the mages of the guild, of Trebonius' task and Edwinna and Dwemer scholarship, and my mind had leapt to the mage. Much like earlier that night when I'd headed straight past the camp into the dungeon depths, I'd gotten ahead of myself, drawn connections where none existed, and jumped to a wrong conclusion. It was a mistake I'd made all too often before... except that this time, there was no one around who could catch it.

My eyes were stinging again, I noticed dimly. Why they had to choose now to act up was beyond me. It was true that I might be due a grief-stricken breakdown, but I had no intention of indulging in one and this was definitely not the place or time.

I'd mistreated my palms enough for one night, so this time I bit my tongue to bring myself back to the present. So the leader had the cube. Who was the leader, then? Back in Skyrim, I'd have gone straight to the largest Nord in the place... but this wasn't Skyrim, and it was time to stop making assumptions.

I left the mage's side to make my way through the camp, studying each sleeper as I went. Breton, Imperial, Redguard-

A snort-

My heart almost leapt out of my throat as the huge Nord I'd just passed snorted loudly, the steady rhythm of his snoring interrupted. I froze, tensed to take flight, as his brow wrinkled in a frown. Then, after a harrowing moment, he relaxed and the snores resumed. It took a moment longer before I felt ready to move again.

I firmly squashed the urge to go for the nearest bag and hightail it out of there. I'd definitely overstayed my welcome... but that meant I couldn't afford another wrong choice.

Breton, Imperial...

I stopped.

Unlike the others, who'd spread their bedrolls over the floor, this man had apparently decided an ancient Dwemer bedstead was still up to its original job, and dragged a crate over to serve as a nightstand. A piece of parchment was lying on it. I carefully unfurled it.

Dear Crito,

...eating enough of whatever passes for vegetables in Morrowind? Are any of the other legionnaires being mean to you? You know I'm happy to come visit and beat them up for you... This paragraph was followed by a doodle of a triumphant stick figure standing on a pile of bodies.

...thought I'd try some true-and-tested Grandma-style nagging, someone should keep it going. Not sure it suits me, though. So what if you don't have enough long underwear and are freezing your bits off, there are things a sister does not want to know about the contents of her brother's trousers...

...found a new healer for Father, you know I never trusted the old one...

...won't deny the money you're sending is coming in extremely handy, but can you afford it? I know what a guard's salary is like, even with that mysterious special mission you mentioned the # sent you on...

...tell me more about that special assignment, will you? Speaking as someone older and wiser: acting all mysterious about it just makes it seem like you're still twelve...

...your loving sister (who can still beat you up),

Schlera

Well. I'd learned this particular looter had an unexpectedly touching motivation for his crimes along with a both loving and deluded family, but I didn't really see how that was any particular help in this situation...

Wait a minute.

Hadn't the looter on the bridge mentioned needing to talk to a 'Boss Crito'?

And looking more closely at his gear... that armour was definitely a cut above what the rest of the bandits had, and that sword was steel rather than iron, its edges glimmering red with destructive enchantment.

All right. I'd found the bandit leader. Now for the cube.

Unlike the Imperial mage, this Crito had kept his belongings carefully organised. A perfectly even stack of Dwemer coins here, a tidy pyramid of arrowheads there, his clothes not just folded so precisely the corners could probably draw blood but organised by colour. Either neat to the point of obsessiveness or an ex-legionnaire, and his sister's letter implied the latter. It made me even more eager to be out of here before the man woke up, and I'd already been so twitchy I'd probably end up on the ceiling if anyone coughed. However, the level of organisation at least made it easy to see that the cube was nowhere in sight.

I bit down a hiss of frustration. Where was the blasted thing? If the mage didn't have it, the boss didn't have it, then who-

As I turned away from Crito, I saw a gleam of reflected torchlight coming from under the bed... just where a small item might have fallen if it had been knocked off the nightstand.

Despite the situation, I couldn't help the broad grin that spread across my face as I put my pack down, knelt and finally, finally picked up Antabolis' cube.

At first glance, it looked much like Antabolis had described. I didn't give it a second glance. I didn't think it was likely there were two similar cubes in this dump, and careful study of my prize could wait until I was out of here. Speaking of, it was past and well past time to withdraw-

"Whazzat? Izzit dawn 'lready?"

If I hadn't been so tense, that might have been it for me. But some part of my mind had been waiting for precisely this to happen the whole time I'd been searching the camp, had been preparing to flee or hide at a moment's notice. And so my reflexes had me flat on the ground under the bed, pulling my pack in beside me, before Crito had finished rubbing his eyes.

"Ugh, m'head..." came from above me.

Go back to sleep, I willed silently. You're tired, you have a hangover, it can't be dawn yet. Just go back to sleep, you know you want to...

The bedstead above creaked alarmingly as the weight it was bearing shifted. Crito, providing unknowing proof that I did not have any sort of natural powers of telepathy, was sitting up.

"...coulda sworn I didn' drink tha' much yesserday... Dibella, I needda piss..." Two hairy feet hit the ground inches from my nose.

If he was just going to relieve himself, I might still have a chance. I'd seen the stinking corner with its chamberpot that was clearly being used for that purpose earlier, and it was some distance away. He'd be slow, bleary, unobservant. It would be tricky with the exposed route to the entrance, true, but surely I could avoid one half-asleep hungover bandit...

I watched the feet move away with bated breath. One step, two steps, three, four... then they stopped.

"Waitasec. Crist'sh, what're ya doin' asleep? Shouldn'ya be on wash?" A pause. The next sentence came out far clearer, slow, thoughtful and terribly, terribly awake. "Shouldn't someone be on watch...?"

Oh no.

"Oi! Maggots! Rise and shine!"

I should just stop hoping for things. It inevitably made the universe decide to prove me wrong.

I closed my eyes against the sense of rising despair as around me, the looter camp came awake.

*****
End of chapter

[haute ecole rider]

Uh oh . . .

Well done, the search through the camp and the tension, the battle between Adryn's memories and her situational awareness.

Talk about a downward transition! (Sorry, obscure dressage term that fits the situation perfectly)

[Kazaera]

I made a truly amazing discovery just now.

You see, I was reading through ESO Morrowind NPCs and quests to figure out how to work them into my own backstory for SitC. This is frequently frustrating because it ends up overturning plans and backstory I've had for quite some time, leaving me scrambling. However. However.

So I know Adryn's family... and I found a relative of hers. And it turns out Adryn comes honestly both by her reluctant altruism, and by her ability to attract trouble and get into absurd shenanigans. I mean. I could seriously see in Adryn in this NPC's place as they flailed around trying to fix the mess they'd accidentally caused. This is one of the most Adryn-like NPCs ESO has to offer. And they're related.

Bethesda, I forgive you everything. (Including the fact that said relative turned up in a place they shouldn't have been doing a job they shouldn't have been according to my previous plans for that part of the family/the culture of that region as a whole - I may have to rework a lot of backstory here .)

ANYWAY.

@haute ecole rider - Very glad you liked that bit, especially the balance between flashbacks vs Adryn's present reality! I was a little worried Adryn's dips into the past would break the suspense of the situation, but she rather insisted on having flashbacks.

Next up...

Last chapter, Adryn went to Arkngthand in search of a Dwemer puzzle cube for (indirectly) Caius Cosades. The whole thing did not go quite as planned... or rather, the plan of getting into the ruins unseen by the looters inhabiting it worked brilliantly, the plan of finding the cube was successful after some snags, but getting out of the ruin appears to be causing a little more difficulty. Last we saw Adryn, she was hiding under a bed in the looters' camp inside the ruins just as they all woke up.

Chapter 14.1
*****

There had been a small library attached to the orphanage at Daggerfall. It had, I suspected, been one of the things the priestesses used to tell each other how good, how generous they were being. Imagine – not only taking in the poor deprived orphans, but teaching them to read! Giving them books! What kindness, what graciousness, the very image of Kynareth herself. This conclusion would, of course, be reached without actually inspecting the contents of said library. I myself had done so repeatedly and at length growing up, and the contents and state of the books had driven me to the inescapable conclusion that the last time it had been supplied had been in the Second Era.

The most popular books by far had been an adventure series. The language had been archaic, the depictions of anyone other than Bretons or Redguards often downright insulting, and the descriptions of the world had left me briefly under the impression the Summerset Isles were an independent state and there was currently civil war in Cyrodiil (I really wasn't kidding about the Second Era), but there's a certain style of cheesy pulp that remains gripping no matter how many centuries lie between you and its publication.

One of series' conceits had been to start every book with the words so, there I was. So, there I was, fingers just inches away from the Dread Ayleid-King's crown... So, there I was, clinging to a plank in the middle of the Abecean Sea... Hiding in the library, I'd dreamed of one day being in a situation that deserved being described in the fashion. How exciting! How romantic! What an amazing change it would be from my dreary life in the orphanage!

I'd been a real idiot when I was younger.

So, there I was, hiding under a bed at the edge of a looter camp in an active Dwemer ruin, trying not to breathe too loudly lest the bandits notice I was there. I had to say that so far I didn't feel particularly inclined to tell my hypothetical grandchildren about this one, but if I did I'd have to stress that of all the adjectives one could use to describe this situation, exciting did not make the list.

(Said grandchildren were never particularly close to reality. They were, however, even more hypothetical than usual today – such facts as 'Adryn is completely disinterested in the sort of activity that leads to children' and 'Adryn is demonstrably incapable of taking care of herself, let alone helpless offspring' are eclipsed by 'Adryn is currently uncertain she will survive the next few hours' as far as the likelihood to procreate is concerned.)

Given the current constraints of my vision, the only thing I could really see were feet. However, my hearing was unimpeded and judging by the amount of groaning, Crito's attempt to rouse the rest of the camp sounded unfortunately successful.

"Lazy rats, skiving off on watch, lying in bed when there's work to be done," I heard from up ahead. "Get up already, will you... ah, there we are."

Rustling, and then light flared. Even under the bed, I squeezed my eyes shut against the glare. The chorus of complaints around the room indicated the groggy looters' reflexes hadn't been quite so quick as mine.

"Have mercy! I need those eyes!"

"The night after a celebration? Has he lost his mind?"

"If you don't let me go back to sleep this instant there'll be blood!"

As Crito bellowed at the last one, I began a slow shuffle away.

In my professional experience as a thief, under the bed is not a safe hiding place. Better than none, certainly, but it's the first place many people will look – children especially. Never to mention that once you're under there, you're pretty thoroughly stuck in place. No, I had to move. And the moment when the gang leader decided to destroy everyone's night vision seemed like a good time to me.

In the small things if not the big, Nocturnal was with me. Crito had set up his bed at the very edge of the camp, away from the bedrolls spread by the other bandits. The side of the bed I'd now reached came out on haphazardly stacked crates. Although I felt in some danger of being crushed by them toppling over, they were at least distinctly unlikely to raise an alarm.

And, more to the point, the gap between those two looked wide enough to crawl through.

It was only once I'd managed to make it behind the crates that I dared sit up. I felt raw and scratched from the grit I'd dragged myself through, I doubted my poor shirt would ever recover, and my heart had been in my throat every agonised inch – but it couldn't be helped. I hadn't dare move in a way that might make me visible from the main part of the camp. Distracted, hungover and half-blinded the bandits might be, but there is nothing that focuses an eye like movement.

Which, admittedly, made the whole question of getting back to the entrance – the sole, ludicrously exposed, difficult to reach entrance where the door could wake the dead, if not the drugged – rather... tricky.

Well, first things first.

With a moment of concentration and a twist of magicka, I sent my consciousness outwards. It took a little more focus to tune the Detection spell for what I wanted to look for, but soon I was feeling the pulse of life from the camp, eleven distinct signatures. I noted with resignation that only three were still muted with sleep – the remnants of my drug had not stood up well to Crito's determination. More to the point, none of them were making their way toward me. I was still hidden.

(Well, unless one of them cast a detection spell of their own. Rule Twelve: never forget that your targets also have access to magic. Many an aspiring thief who thought they'd found safe refuge has been most unpleasantly surprised that way. Thankfully, people don't generally start off their mornings magically scanning their surroundings for hidden enemies – especially when they're hungover.)

Keeping a mental 'eye' on the life-signatures of the looters, I turned to my pack.

Amazingly, I'd managed to keep it with me so far. Its contents had not, however, survived the night's adventures wholely unscathed: judging by the wet spot on the bottom, at least one of the vials had broken. I brushed the sticky residue, lifted it to my finger and sniffed. An energising potion. It would have come in handy now, considering that even high on nervous energy I was starting to feel my exhaustion. I supposed I should just be grateful it hadn't been a smoke-bomb – that would definitely have drawn attention I'd like to avoid.

It really was only one broken potion; I'd tried to cushion the vials using one of my robes, and that had apparently paid off. All the same, I'd been expecting more Dwemer automata and fewer bandits, and the contents of my pack reflected that. There were quite a few potions to accelerate corrosion and rust which I'd created in the hopes that they might immobilise a centurion. They might even have worked quite well for their intended purpose, but they were of sadly limited use in the present situation. At least, I didn't think being stabbed by a rusty sword was much of an improvement over being stabbed by a polished one. I did pack a few sleeping potions, but those had all gone into the alcohol. There were a few of those smoke potions, one improvised flashbang, those had potential... also the vial of off-violet liquid I'd brewed following one of Ajira's recipes which should give me the power of levitation. A possible way up to the ledge? Except that it'd be no use if I immediately had eight angry bandits on my tail...

But maybe one?

I'd been listening to the grumbling bandits with half an ear. Although by the sounds of it everyone was feeling like death right now and some were still insensible, no one seemed suspicious of the way everyone had lost consciousness yesterday. No suspicion was good. If they only posted a single person on watch tonight... I was all out of sleeping potions, but I might be able to use the smoke potions to confuse them, levitate up to the ledge and hightail it out before they could mobilise, then lose any pursuers in the dark...

It wasn't a great plan, especially since by tonight I'd have gone one and a half days without sleep and that is, to put it mildly, not a state in which it's particularly wise to rely on your razor-sharp intellect and keen reflexes. But it was the only plan I had.

I'd just have to hunker down today, hope nothing happened to put them on alert-

One of the life-signatures was approaching me.

I froze into stillness, hardly daring to breathe. Footsteps neared along with the burning sensation of life... stopped. Still some steps away, I noted with relief, if not as many as I'd like. By the bed, and wasn't I glad I'd left that hiding place.

"Hey." It was Crito, and his voice was ominously calm. "Where's the cube?"

Sometimes I wondered why I even bothered getting up in the morning.

Rummaging noises came from the other side of the crates. "The cube?" Crito raised his voice. "You know, the extremely rare item our kind benefactor is paying us large amounts of money to deliver? The entire reason we're even in these ruins in the first place? The cube I know for a fact was on my nightstand yesterday evening?"

How was it that, despite significant temptation (primarily in the form of rare ingredients), I'd stolen one single solitary item and yet it was immediately missed? Seriously, what Daedra had I insulted to explain this kind of luck?

A second life-signature joined Crito's. "Keep your voice down, will you?" The voice was female, tinged with some Cyrodiilic accent – Nibeynese, I thought – and sounded as if the owner was definitely contemplating murder. "I'm having a hard enough time keeping my skull from exploding without you yelling loud enough to bring back the Dwemer. Have you checked under the bed?"

Really glad I'd left that hiding place.

A rustle. "Nothing." Crito's voice was quieter now. He pitched it even lower as he continued. "Livia, I told the Knight-Protector we'd have it for him today. Apparently his... patron has been getting impatient. If it's gone, he'll have our heads-"

"Don't be such a coward, it's not a good look for you," apparently-Livia hissed in response. "Besides, do you think the thing grew legs and ran away? Nobody's left since yesterday, Bato is guarding the entrance-"

"And I told you I was worried about competition! Curse Bato for not being able to keep his mouth shut when he's drunk, at this point I expect even the Telvanni have heard about the cube. Damn Dwemer-obsessed mages, Granius told me there was a chit from the Mages' Guild sniffing around yesterday-"

Well. This had proven an unexpectedly informative hiding place. If I had this right, I'd learned not just how Antabolis had known about the cube but also how the looters could afford to be so open with their presence next to an Imperial fort. I'd be happy, except that in retrospect I'd really have preferred to stay ignorant of the last one. So the Knight-Protector at the local fort was corrupt and I didn't have a single shred of proof for that. I had no idea what I could even do with that knowledge, apart from get myself killed.

An ostentatious yawn. Livia. "I have to point out that you're crying about thieves and mages and Telvanni without even having searched for the thing. Chances are Bato crated it with the rest of the loot when you weren't around to stop him. Have a look around, will you?"

...why was I worrying about hypotheticals when there were so many ways to get myself killed right here?

"I'm not so confident, but I guess it can't hurt to look." Crito raised his voice again. "Cockroaches! I want to see all of you hard at work searching our outgoing shipments for the cube! Anyone who lags has to eat the leftover polenta tonight!"

So my hiding place no longer seemed nearly as safe and secure as it had a few minutes earlier. True, no one was making motions towards it right now – Crito and Livia apparently preferring to stand and supervise – but it could only be a matter of time. I'd try to relocate except that judging by the way the looters were fanning out, no hiding place in the whole ruin was safe. (That leftover polenta must be a truly dire threat.) There was no way I'd be able to keep away from them all day. Plan A was out.

...it'd help if I had a plan B.

Could I fit the new information I'd just learned into any of this? Crito thought knowledge of the cube was widespread, was – correctly – worried about someone stealing it, although his suspicion seemed to fall more on mages than on members of the Fighter's Guild with a keen historical interest. He'd mentioned the guild and the Telvanni, who Varvur had told me were magic users-

Bolvyn Venim had thought I was Telvanni, that had been the context, and Varvur hadn't thought it strange. What had he said, again? You do look rather Telvanni, come to think of it...

And with that, plan B sprung into my head. It was even riskier than plan A, but sometimes you just don't have much of a choice about these things.

*****

[haute ecole rider]

Plan B? surely this IS the morning after? LOL

anyways, I am a little curious (and more than a little anxious) to see how Adryn uses the information about Telvanni and mages and whatnot to come up with Plan B (which I suppose is NOT the morning after pill . . .)