Sleeper in the Cave, a Morrowind fanfic Options

[Kazaera]

@treydog - I guess I wasn't the only one who thought it was a fitting time to come out of hiding! Am glad you're enjoying it, especially the technical magery (if it were up to Adryn she'd spend this whole story wandering from alchemy lab to library) and the convo with Anhaedra with all its Implications. That one was very fun to write. As for the looming smack-down... this update should make a little clearer what's going on there. Anyway, thanks so much for commenting!

Last installment, Adryn had a very disconcerting encounter with a dremora. It seemed to think it should warn her about the Temple in general and Methal in particular as a favour to Azura. Adryn is pretty sure it has the wrong person.

Chapter 16.5
*****

Ervesa steered me briskly out of the antechamber. The corridors passed me by in a blur, the greetings of the people we passed an indistinct babble. I was dimly aware that I was trembling.

"There. Drink." I blinked, realising I was back in the kitchen. Miraculously, considering the bustle of the day, it was empty except for the two of us. I was seated at the table, an opened vial in front of me. Ervesa was watching me from next to the hearth.

Last I remembered, I'd been walking. I seemed to have lost the events of the last few minutes. That was probably a bad sign.

"Drink. Before you keel over."

Although I'd deny it to my death-day, a sufficiently commanding voice did have the desired effect when I was sufficiently out of it. Later, I'd blame the orphanage. For now, I obediently lifted the vial to my mouth. I had to hold it in both hands to keep it steady enough not to spill.

Scathecraw, bittergreen, trama root... frightfully bitter, but more importantly rejuvenating, a restorative of mental capacity. A genuine Morrowind treatment for shock, in fact. I'd made it with Ajira only a few days ago, fulfilling an order from Fort Moonmoth.

"Thanks, Ervesa," I said hoarsely when the vial was empty.

She gave me a critical look. Apparently my appearance still didn't meet with her approval, because she frowned.

"You're still far too pale. Here, have some soup." A bowl was placed in front of my nose.

Potions are all well and good, but sometimes even an alchemist has to admit that there's no substitute for the old-fashioned non-magical remedies. The earthy liquid chased away the last bitterness of the restorative to curl warm in my belly. Finally, I felt myself relax.

"Much better." The intense feeling of Ervesa's eyes on me faded. When I looked up, she'd joined me with her own bowl. "It was probably time we had a break anyway. Especially you, considering yesterday. Still, I have to ask. What in Vivec's name did Anhaedra say to you?"

Not in Vivec's name. That was part of the problem, in fact.

"He..."

He seemed to have some demented idea that the Temple had it out for me, he must have me confused with someone else but it was still remarkably disturbing...

The words built up in my throat, eager to be spilt, for me to share the events of the past half an hour with someone who could appreciate their absurdity – who'd be able to help me laugh them off.

They stayed there, locked away by some hitherto unknown caution. Something about the dremora's intensity had stuck with me. I still couldn't believe there was any truth to his warnings – what could I have possibly done to earn the Temple's ire, after all – but all the same...

It couldn't hurt to be careful, right?

"Adryn?" A warm hand covered my own where it rested on the table. I blinked, realising I'd been staring off into space.

"Sorry, Ervesa. Um. I was just remembering." I licked my lips. "He... drew me into a conversation. I know I shouldn't have responded, but he was trying to get a rise out of me and I'm... pretty easy when it comes to that kind of thing. He got angry about being trapped here, started talking about what he wanted to happen to the ones responsible. The imagery was... very vivid."

None of it a lie... except that I was leaving out some crucial details.

Ervesa hadn't shifted her hand, fingers still wrapped around mine. Now, she squeezed lightly. The sensation made tingles spread up my arm. My life didn't exactly involve an abundance of being touched these days. Usually, that suited me well enough. Still, I... didn't mind this.

"I'm sorry, I think we're all a little too used to Anhaedra. He doesn't usually go after a single person like that, but he sometimes gets into moods. We should have warned you about him."

"It's all right. I'd gathered he was dangerous, I shouldn't have responded." Really shouldn't have responded. Nonsensical as they were, I had a horrible feeling the dremora's words would stay with me for a while. "Why do you even have a Daedra bound to the place, anyway?" I decided to kill two rats with one trap by changing the subject to something I'd wondered about since I first saw the creature.

"Well. It's Lord Vivec's doing, so no one knows exactly. Perhaps it's to prove the Tribunal's strength to the House of Troubles – Molag Bal, Mehrunes Dagon, Malacath and Sheogorath," she elaborated in response to my questioning look. "Perhaps Anhaedra has some part to play here which my lord in his wisdom foresaw. Perhaps as a sign to the people of Maar Gan." She shrugged. "Or perhaps he thought it would be funny. Or perhaps all of those and more. 'Vivec is a letter written in uncertainty,' as the saying goes." Ervesa sounded distinctly proud at the idea of having such a confusing god.

Sounds like Vivec, indeed.

I shook off the strange thought. "Well, that clarifies things. Or rather, it doesn't, but at least I know I'm not the only one wondering."

"Trust me, people have been wondering about Vivec since long before either of us were born!" Ervesa's laugh rang out, bright as a bell.

It immediately attracted trouble.

"Ervesa, er- newcomer-"

"Adryn," I supplied to Scarecrow, who was now standing in the doorway and looking rather frazzled. I generously decided to forgive him having forgotten my name on grounds of him clearly having enough on his mind already – never to mention that it would make me quite the hypocrite to hold it against him.

"My apologies for abandoning you, Salen," Ervesa said. "Adryn had something of a run-in with Anhaedra and wasn't feeling particularly well afterwards. However, I think she's recovered enough to continue now, or?" She shot me a glance.

"Yes, thank you Ervesa." And thank you for phrasing that in a way that made it near impossible to say 'no', as well. I levered myself up with a sigh. It had been a nice break while it lasted. "Where do you need us?"

*****

[A ciphered letter sent to Arch-canon Tholer Saryoni at the close of the Third Era. There is no signature, however marks made by the Couriers' Guild indicate the letter originated in Maar Gan.]

To my beloved friend,

Lord Vivec has gifted me with his luck, it seems. Mere days after we spoke of the new possible N., I chanced across her on one of my journeys. Of course, I took advantage of the opportunity and performed some tests. She passed them all, or perhaps that should be failed them all? In any case, I no longer have any doubt about the matter.

(One of said tests involved the propylon index I mentioned. I hope you were not too attached to it? I know you expressed interest, but it is not as if it is more than a glorified paperweight in our hands, and I admit to some curiosity as to what she will make of it.)

I took the liberty of performing a preliminary threat and asset assessment. My conclusion as far as the former is concerned: negligible. She is completely untrained in combat, which is rather ironic but quite useful at this junction. As for the latter, although my initial inquiry was unsuccessful, I still believe there is potential there. We have found her early, this time: she is young, lonely, and wants to belong. There are several cracks that clever enough words might slip inside, and my words can be very clever indeed.

The weather continues frightful. The storms are worse than ever, and several of the townspeople have confided they hear voices on the winds. I wish I could believe it was so simple a thing as an ill omen, if only I could not feel the Sharmat's hand at work. One of the Armigers goes to seek out the corruption, but I fear it is a losing battle – there are too many nooks and crannies in the wastes where Dagoth's creatures may hide.

My friend, if our lord wishes to hear his servant's meager wisdom, this is it: these are desperate times, and in such times any tool that comes to hand is good. As such things go, the girl looks to sit in the palm well enough and better than her predecessors. Discarding her without even testing her edge would be a waste.

Of course, I bow to your leadership, and to our lord's unknowable divinity. If you would have me do differently in the matter, you must but send word. I stand ready and willing to act in the usual manner if it is desired.

I remain, as always, yours in faith and brotherhood,

M.

*****
End of chapter

Notes: ...

Although, more seriously now:

You lot are basically my story guinea pigs, as I only post on other sites after it's been published here. I'd very much appreciate hearing what you think of the glimpse we get into Methal and his motivations here! I waffled quite a bit on whether to include the letter or leave the readers as ignorant as Adryn about what's going on with him.

[Grits]

Yikes, Anhaedra sounds suitably irritable for a Dremora bound against his will.

Methal’s letter confirms what your clues have been hinting about him. Perhaps include it if you want readers to be 100% sure what he’s up to, but it’s hard to say without knowing what he’s going to do next. Will there be a better time to reveal him? Bear in mind I haven’t played Morrowind much at all, so I don’t have a lot of game context. (And your clues so far were good enough to let me guess his intentions.)

[treydog]

Potions are all well and good, but sometimes even an alchemist has to admit that there's no substitute for the old-fashioned non-magical remedies. The earthy liquid chased away the last bitterness of the restorative to curl warm in my belly.

That image warmed me as I read it... and it is a lesson Athlain should learn....

Ervesa is just a wonderful character, as well as a wonderful person.

As to your question regarding an explicit revelation of Methal's motives... it was clear beforehand that he was testing Adryn, and his Temple affiliation explains his purpose- if one is paying attention. That said, to second the estimable Grits- is there a better (in terms of the story) time to reveal him or his letter? For me, it works quite well at this point, and there is a certain glee (which probably reveals a deep character flaw on MY part) in watching poor Adryn's lack of awareness. And for some (again- probably sociopathic) readers- knowing things of which the main character is unaware provides some level of satisfaction.

[ghastley]

Ok, now I've caught up with the latest little flurry of updates.

I'd go with the inclusion of the letter. Some readers may need the extra help, because they skipped over other parts too quickly, or just plain didn't understand them a the time. You're not writing a detective novel, so repeated info won't be treated as a deliberate attempt to mislead.

[Kazaera]

@all - thanks a lot for your feedback re: the letter! It's reassured me that including it was the right decision - the next sections will lose something if a reader doesn't put together the clues that he can't be trusted, and there's no great place to reveal him for a while after this.

@Grits - thanks! And yes, Anhaedra is not a happy dremora. To be fair, we can't really blame him... especially considering his function at the Maar Gan shrine (which we'll see a glimpse of later, but for the full details I refer you to the game/the wiki.)

@treydog - thanks for the comment! As it happens, the sociopathic glee/sheer horror of seeing Adryn wander around with no clue is definitely what I'm aiming for here. And I'm glad you like Ervesa, it's hardly a surprise she's going to be one of the recurring characters by now.

@ghastley - thanks a lot for the feedback! I was basically torn as to whether I could expect readers to figure it out from the hints I'd been dropping, so it was just what I needed to hear.

And now, with no further ado...

Last chapter, Adryn spent in the Temple recovering after her unpleasant experiences the day before. She helped prepare for an ash storm, had a very disconcerting encounter with a dremora, and ended up on reasonably friendly terms with the priest Methal - especially after he gifted her with a strange crystal that seemed somehow familiar. Of course, Methal has ulterior motives of his own...

Chapter 17.1
*****

Standing in the entrance to Indoranyon's propylon chamber, I nodded in approval. Zammusibael Siddurnanit might speak disparagingly of magic at Council, but apparently he could follow instructions when it suited. Everything had been set up as I'd specified, the diagrams sketched on the floor with admirable precision, the crystals I'd requested lined up by size on a nearby workbench. A simple touch proved that they had the requisite magical properties, too – which mage must Siddurnanit have hired to ensure that, and how hard did he gnash his teeth?

For a moment, I wondered what would have happened if I'd requested something far more exotic – for the diagram to be drawn in an elder vampire's blood, perhaps, or the crystals to be of pure diamond. It was probably for the best I hadn't. By the look of it, old Siddurnanit would have done it, and he'd never had much of a sense of humour.

Who are you calling old, Nerevar?

I ignored the whisper at the back of my mind with the studied obliviousness of a man who does not want to think about the grey hairs he's recently been finding in his hairbrush, thank you very much.

"Um. Sir?"

Surprised, I glanced back at the doorway where a figure stood. The sunlight streaming in behind him made it hard to make out more than a silhouette, but that and the voice were enough to make clear my visitor couldn't be much older than twelve.

"Well, this is a surprise. I wasn't expecting company." I made sure to keep my voice light and friendly. Children always put me in mind of Vivec as he'd been, embarrassed as Vivec himself would surely be to hear that.

"Ah... my master said he wanted to introduce us..."

As the boy came further inside, more details became apparent. Older than Vivec had been when we'd met, on the cusp of adolescence, and certainly doing better for himself than Vivec had so long ago. The plumpness in his cheeks spoke of a childhood without hunger, and the blue robes were good quality, especially for a youngster.

"Your master? Who-" An embroidered sigil on the right shoulder of the robe, in the position of patronage, caught my eye. The breaking wave; sotha. "Oh, of course. Sotha Sil. I should have realised, he mentioned that he'd taken on an apprentice."

I rifled through my memory. It had been just a paragraph, and I'd been more interested by his commentary on Nchum's latest work at the time, but centuries of politics and diplomacy had done wonders for my ability to remember names. "Divayth, wasn't it?"

Judging by the way the boy's eyes widened, I'd hit the mark. "Ah- yes! Of clan Fyr, my lord, it's an honour." Then, after a moment, "Master Sotha mentioned me?"

I had to smile at the hopeful voice. "He did," I agreed, deciding not to mention the proportion of the letter young Divayth had taken up. "He said you were clever enough, and... interested in extraplanar travel, was it?"

Which would explain why Sil had wanted to introduce the two of us. I was something of an expert when it came to magical travel on this plane, and the same principles could be applied to transport outside the bounds of Mundus – although I personally had never been particularly interested in taking my work in that direction. Instantaneous transport from Indoranyon to Rotheran is useful; transport from Indoranyon to Coldharbour distinctly less so. At least I certainly failed to see the appeal of the horde of angry Daedra that would await.

Judging by the light in young Divayth's face, he was of the same bent as Sil and so many others in that he disagreed with me. "Imagine what we could discover, if we could set foot into Oblivion! So much potential within our grasp!"

For a moment, he reminded me of nothing and no one so much as Kagrenac... Kagrenac, and the reasons he and I had never quite gotten on. For a moment I was tempted to let loose a harsh remark, but I felt the ring on my finger warm and thought better of it. Over the course of my life – occasionally with enchanted assistance – I'd learned that if you're going to utter such things at all, it's generally best to keep such things to the person they're actually meant for.

Instead, I changed the subject. "So where is Sil, anyway? He surely didn't send you here alone."

"He said he'd show me around, but then we ran into Lady Almalexia. He told me to wait, then they went off together." There was a hint of a whine in the young voice, one that intensified as the boy went on. "Probably they're talking about politics things that are too secret for an apprentice to listen in on." His arms crossed in a sulk.

I, on the other hand, had a very good idea of what Sil and my wife were up to, and Divayth was miles off. Which was for the best, of course. Not only was there the scandal and political implications to consider, Divayth was still too young for such things.

Sometimes I wished I still was, myself.

For a moment, I let myself imagine Sil and Almalexia lying entwined together, shadows playing over golden skin. I should, I knew, feel jealousy. Anger. And, of course, lust. Instead, I only felt cold and small, crushed beneath the weight of secrets, duty and my own inadequacy.

"I'm sure you're right. Almalexia did mention to me she had something important to discuss with Sil." The lie tasted bitter in my mouth. Really, what was Sil thinking, abandoning the boy to go roll in the sheets with his lover? To think he used to lecture me on responsibility.

Let it go, Nerevar.

I pushed the thoughts out of my mind and turned back to Divayth. "I hope you'll consider me adequate as a temporary substitute for your master. I was about to link Indoranyon to the propylon network, and I'd welcome a helping pair of hands."

The boy's eyes widened. "Really? You mean it? Thank you, my lord!" The excitement was clear in his face, the pout gone as if it had never been there. Ah, the changeable moods of the young.

In all honesty, I was glad for the company. The propylon network wasn't easy to work with, true, but this was the fifth chamber I'd set up – and that wasn't even counting all the experimentation I'd done to get the magic to work in the first place. At this point, the whole thing was familiar enough that I could let my mind drift as I worked... and after our conversation just now, I knew where my thoughts would go if I did. I'd disapproved of brooding even when I'd been of an age more suited to it, doing it now would just be embarrassing.

Divayth proved an excellent distraction. I quickly worked out why the notoriously misanthropic Sil had been willing to take him on – in fact, if I had enough time to spend on research to justify an apprentice, I'd be tempted to try to steal him. The boy was smart, curious and not afraid to ask questions, all traits that were rarer than they should be.

He also followed my explanations well enough, which too was an infrequent occurrence these days. The linked magical arts of teleportation and detection I'd developed with the help of Sil, Nchum, Mithand and (early on) Kagrenac were slowly being supplanted by the new school developed by the Psijics and brought from Artaeum to Resdayn by travelers. The two were similar on a superficial level but different in the fundamentals, exemplified by the fact that I'd found myself utterly unable to get the hang of the Psijic school – Sil suspected a mental block, but if so it was one I hadn't been able to overcome. This proved a problem when I was faced with students whose only training was in the new magics. Divayth, praise to Azura, was conversant in both.

"Master insisted. I didn't understand at the time, there's a lot of overlap in the spells, but there are things it's possible to do with one but not the other... right?"

"You'd have to ask someone else for the detailed comparison," I said wryly. "I'll just say that no spell for anchoring a teleportation between fixed points has come from Artaeum, although it's quite possible they simply haven't been interested. Now, stand over here and-"

With Divayth's help we made faster time with the ritual than expected, although not so fast that I wasn't more than ready for a break by the time we finished. Divayth himself was definitely drooping, and I felt a moment of guilt. Had I pushed him too far? He'd seemed eager, but perhaps I should have forced us to stop and rest? I didn't really know how to care for children, not having any of my own.

And that, as with Almalexia and Sotha Sil, was not a thought for the brightness of day, nor to be mulled over when in company.

For all his clear exhaustion, Divayth shook his head firmly when I mentioned stopping.

"Can we test it first? Please?"

I raised an eyebrow. Dedicated, too. Sil should count himself lucky that I wasn't in the market for an apprentice right now, really.

"All right, then." I was about to suggest leaving the chamber when a moment of whimsy struck me. I fished in my pocket- there.

Divayth's eyes widened when I withdrew a crystal that was twin to the one he was holding, the one we'd just spent at least an hour slaving over. "Is that-"

"Pay attention, now." I rested my free hand on the boy's shoulder. Physical contact would make this easier. "A propylon index isn't enchanted like Trueflame, or the Moon-and-Star, or-" I owned an embarrassing amount of famous, named artifacts for someone who'd grown up in a yurt. "-that amulet you're wearing. It doesn't have its own store of magicka. Instead, it carries a... set of instructions, if you will, for shaping a connection back to the propylon chamber it belongs to, which does contain a store of magicka. But you have to prime it to get the spell to work. Feed it just a trickle of your magicka. Like..."

Let your power seep into the crystal, flow the way it's meant to go-

"-this."

Air moved around us, stirring the hem of Divayth's robes and sprinkling dust over my boots.

At first, one might think that we hadn't moved at all. However, a second glance put paid to that. This chamber was smaller and more oval than Indoranyon's, the stone darker, and there was a steady stream of people moving past the propped-open double doors where in Indoranyon it'd been only the two of us.

"Are we- we're really-"

I gave Divayth a little shove; the surprise seemed to have rooted him to the spot, but staying on the receiving pedestal for too long would make whoever was travelling after us distinctly annoyed. He resisted for a moment, then sped forward. I followed as he pushed his way through the crowds, amused, to find him staring out at the many islands of the Sheogorad.

"We're in Rotheran." The boy's voice was filled with awe. Then it changed. "We're in Rotheran. That's days away from Indoranyon! And Master Sil has no idea where I am!"

"Well, then, I guess we simply have to hope we did our work correctly." I chuckled at the look Divayth shot my way. The indignation was so funny on his face, I opted not to mention the fact that in the unlikely event that we hadn't, I had a few other tricks up my sleeve that could get us back. "What? I thought you wanted to test it?"

*****

Notes: Originally, I was planning to include Divayth Fyr in a cameo role at most during the Tribunal Era flashbacks, and not have him interact with Nerevar directly. Then I read his dialogue in ESO, in which it's made clear that he was a student of Sotha Sil and might have known Nerevar - at the very least, he certainly seems to think highly of the man. At that point I couldn't resist, so you're getting baby Divayth Fyr - twelve years old and already planning expeditions to Oblivion, isn't he just darling!

[ghastley]

Are you allowed children in a Morrowind fan-fic? I thought you had to wait for Skyrim for that (unless you're Emma).

This post has been edited by ghastley: Jan 14 2019, 08:06 PM

[Grits]

Ooo, young Divayth Fyr! And he wants to set foot into Oblivion. That was fun to read!

[Kazaera]

@ghastley - Adryn's world is modded in a few ways I'm guessing she has Children Of Morrowind installed, hmm? Let's hope we never have to find out if the kids in Adrynverse automatically recall home on attack...

@Grits - pursuing his interests early, he is!

Last installment, Nerevar set up a propylon chamber with the help of one rather small and adorable assistant by the name of Divayth Fyr, Sotha Sil's apprentice who was interested in travelling to Oblivion. Hmm, sure we've never heard of him before, and there's no chance of Adryn ever running into him again... but for now, let's see what Adryn is up to in Maar Gan.

Chapter 17.2
*****

I bade Ervesa farewell at the gates of Maar Gan, autumn sunlight lighting the ashy wastes with a golden glow. The skies were clear today, as if in apology for the storm the previous day. If so, I wasn't inclined to accept it. The evidence of the storm's misdeeds were everywhere to be seen – fresh drifts of ash against buildings, many of the large clay pots Morrowind natives kept outside their homes smashed and overturned by the wind, one hut's roof collapsed...

...and, of course, the distinct lack of the silhouette of a silt strider against the horizon.

Ervesa didn't seem inclined to let it stop her. "Now's the best time for travelling, really," she said as she pinned her braids to her head, the movements so deft even without a mirror it was clear she'd had a lot of practice. "A lot of the beasts will be hunkering down after a storm... a lot of the more person-shaped ones as well. And the storm shifts a lot of the ash around... you never know what might have been uncovered."

Ervesa, who'd gotten more and more antsy as yesterday went on, sounded positively giddy at leaving the safety of city walls for an ashy hellscape beset with dangerous beasts. Well, I supposed a total lack of lunacy would be too much to ask for – I should find myself grateful it didn't affect more.

The helmet went on, replacing Ervesa by the giant insect I'd first met near Lake Amaya once again. "You'll be careful?" giant insect asked, voice distinctly muffled.

"Me?" I frowned, taken aback. "What do I have to be careful about? I'm going to sit snug in the Temple until the silt strider service is running again. Wash dishes, make porridge, help Methal with identifying items... or Tashpi with her healing potions." The offer had come yesterday evening, and although Tashpi had sounded rather offhand about it I was planning to jump on the opportunity with both feet. "You're the one who's going to be throwing yourself headfirst into danger, shouldn't I be telling you to be careful?"

"Possibly you should! But I won't take it back in any case." Gauntleted hands planted themselves on armoured hips. "Adryn – every single time we've met so far, you've been in trouble. Trouble which you generally got yourself into while trying to rescue someone. Forgive me if I'm not entirely convinced when you claim you'll keep out of it this time."

I steadfastly refused to look Ervesa in the eye, a task made significantly easier by the helmet. "Do you and Athyn Sarethi talk? Because it should be forbidden, if so. Banned. I'll petition King Helseth to make it a royal decree."

The giant insect ignored my grumbling, instead bending to lift her pack to her shoulders. "So! We'll see each other soon, I hope, I should be passing through Ald'ruhn pretty regularly. Do try to make it back there safely, without any escapades involving saving pilgrims from rogue Ashlanders or the like, will you?"

"I promise I have every intention of leaving any and all saving to you." I felt that farewell missed a certain something, so I awkwardly added, "Take care out there. Don't die, all right?"

"Obviously I'm not going to die. Who'd save you from your heroism then?"

Before I could get the last word in, Ervesa gave me a wave over her shoulder as she turned her back. I watched her grow smaller and smaller until the brownish-grey of her armour began to blend into the ash-grey of her surroundings, then turned to trudge back to the Temple.

Rescue a pilgrim from Ashlanders. Honestly.

*****

I passed the morning at Tashpi's shell-house (about the size of Huleen's or Hanarai's, although standing in contrast to both of those in its tasteful decor and lack of both Daedra and nightmarish cannibalistic ash-statue cellars), shucking saltrice, sifting wickwheat, decanting beakers, heating roobrush pulp and listening to Tashpi explain why each of these steps was necessary. She proved not just an engaging conversationalist, but also an excellent teacher when she put her mind to it and a true expert when it came to potions for healing or curing poisons or illnesses – even if I did suspect her alchemical pursuits didn't range far beyond those. All in all, the morning passed in a pleasant haze of alchemy.

It also proved quite informative in other ways.

"Oh, Methal and his little games." Tashpi shook her head. "Although in truth, I shouldn't complain. There's enough in the higher ranks of any organisation, Temple included, who're bloated with their own importance and demanding all must bow and scrape to them. It makes a nice change to have one who'd just prefer to be treated like a novice fresh from the pilgrimages."

"So he's high-ranking, then?" I carefully let five drops of marshmerrow extract fall into my bubbling mixture. Given the far longer shelf life and greater efficacy of the extract, it was hardly a surprise Tashpi had opted for it over leaves or pulp, but its use did mean I had to be very precise with the amounts.

"Oh, yes. Diviner – a step above a Disciple, only below the Temple masters and the Archcanon himself."

I couldn't deny I'd suspected something of the sort, but the level still came as a shock. He outranked the woman who'd so coolly taken charge of me and Ervesa in Vivec?

"More to the point," Tashpi continued as she shifted her pestle from her right hand to her left, then continued grinding, "he's a master of Conjuration, and I mean that in the technical sense of the word."

Seriously? But...

So I didn't know much about Temple ranks, or how quickly people generally rose through them. I did, however, know some things about what it took to earn a magical mastery. The time period involved, among others. It being about a decade longer than Methal looked to have been alive.

"But he's so young!"

"Looks young," was Tashpi's correction. "But rumour has it he converted, oh, five or so decades ago, looking much as he does now." Her lips pursed. "Maybe he's lucky – some mers' aging begins to slow early, although his would be the earliest I've ever seen. Or maybe... well, not many people have a mastery in one school without also being near it in at least some of the others. Now, life-extension magics are a well-kept secret... but no one really knows who Methal was or what he was doing before he converted."

"Um." I licked my lips. For all that I'd worked out there was more to Methal than his first appearance, this still came as something of a surprise. "I... guess I should be more polite to him, then."

"Oh, don't worry about it. He's a decent sort, whatever came before. Likes being treated normally. And he can't very well complain about not being treated like a Diviner if he's actively pretending not to be one." Tashpi, who'd finished grinding wickwheat, stretched and then walked over to where I was keeping a careful eye on three simmering beakers. "This is good work," she said after her inspection. "Nice and precise, especially with the marshmerrow extract. Now, the next step in the process..."

I was happy enough to leave the topic of high-ranking Conjuration masters who liked mingling with us common rabble aside in favour of learning more about the tricks of brewing healing potions with Morrowind ingredients.

Of course, all good things must come to an end, and so it was that not long after our lunch of toasted bread with scuttle that a knock came on Tashpi's front door. The boy, perhaps nine or so years of age, opted to deliver his message in Dunmeris. Once he had gone, Tashpi translated.

"Seems some of our storm refugees from yesterday have fallen ill." Her face was unusually grim. "I was worried about this, but they all seemed fine when I looked in on them this morning and so I hoped... well, nothing for it. I'll have to go check up on them, and pray to my ancestors that it's not the Blight. I don't suppose you have healer's training, in addition to the alchemist's?"

I shook my head. "Just a minor self-healing spell, and I've barely used it." Perhaps she'd be willing to let me stay to continue brewing instead?

"Well, I'm sure Salen will have something for you to do," Tashpi said, dashing my hopes. I supposed it was too much to expect her to leave a near-stranger performing volatile, potentially explosive tasks in her home unsupervised. "Help carry my bag, will you?"

*****

Notes: Methal is another character where readers could have "spoiled" themselves by reading up on him on UESP - he's the master trainer of Conjuration in Morrowind, and his rank is canon. He's not involved in any quests, though - I'm guessing the "canon" Nerevarine didn't catch his attention for whatever reason. All things told, this is probably a good thing for them.

[Grits]

I enjoyed the alchemy session in Tashpi’s tastefully decorated shell-house. A nice break for Adryn from the ash and crowd. I confess, I’m getting a little crush on Ervesa!

[Kazaera]

@Grits - I'm glad you like the alchemy - I have to give Adryn a little break in between horrifying death-defying escapades or she'll go on strike - and Ervesa! She does make for a nice hero, doesn't she? Adryn thinks so too, although she'd never admit it.

Last installment, Adryn found herself still stuck in Maar Gan after the ash storm. She did get to chat with Ervesa and squeeze in some alchemy with Tashpi, a healer she met, but the latter was sadly cut short as Tashpi was called back to the Temple, Adryn going with her...

Chapter 17.3
*****

The afternoon was spent doing chores around the temple while avoiding the dremora and the sick ward. This was significantly less interesting than the morning - sweeping couldn't really compare to alchemy - but there was something of a bright side. During the times we were working side-by-side, Scarecrow decided to liven things up by attempting to teach me some basics of Dunmeris. By that evening, I'd learned such essentials as "hello", "thank you", "excuse me", and "my sincere apologies, good gentleperson, but I don't speak Dunmeris."

No silt-strider was spotted from Maar Gan that day.

The second day passed similarly, although with even less alchemy. Tashpi was still occupied in the sick ward, and although she didn't say a word about the illness her grim face made me suspect her fears had been realised. I kept my distance - the guar had been more than enough Blight disease for me - and hoped that any quarantine would confine itself to the sickroom and leave those of us in the rest of the Temple out of it.

In the meantime, my Dunmeris vocabulary expanded to introducing myself and talking about the weather. Scarecrow (whose name the lessons in introductions had proved to be Salen Ravel, but the nickname was now stuck in my head) praised my pronunciation, and also praised the cleanliness of the Temple. I suspected I'd removed years' worth of dust in some places.

No silt-strider made its way across the horizon that day either, and I could see worry in some of the faces at dinner.

After breakfast on the third day found me back in the storage room where I'd been staying. Although the first night after the storm I'd shared the glorified cupboard with three other storm refugees, they'd drifted away over the last few days - one finding a room in the tradehouse, the other two banding together with some of the other stranded pilgrims to travel together - and now it was just me again.

On the one hand, the space was welcome, never to mention not needing to sleep mere feet from the woman who I'd only ever be able to think of as The Snorer. On the other, the slow dispersal of all the others made me wonder if, with the unexpectedly long absence of the strider, I was also expected to find other accommodation - or worse, try to make my way back to Ald'ruhn on foot. That worry was one of the reasons I'd volunteered for cleaning duties.

Cleaning duties I was currently taking a break from. Scarecrow was across town meeting with the headsman of Maar Gan and hadn't suggested anything for me to do before he left. I'd have taken advantage of the unexpected reprieve, except that I also had nothing else to do.

Tashpi was still occupied in the sick room, face grimmer every time I saw her and lately half-covered by an enchanted cloth mask. Methal, too, was busy. Apparently he'd heard about my altercation with the Daedra somehow (I blamed Scarecrow, personally). Thankfully, he left off probing about what exactly had occurred when I made clear that I would not be answering any questions on the subject, thank you very much. Still, he professed himself concerned about the creature's misbehaviour and was now giving the spells that bound it harmlessly to this realm a closer look. Needless to mention, I was not going to be involving myself in that either.

I probably shouldn't mind being separated from Methal. His declared intention of converting me had been uncomfortable enough when I'd thought he was a perfectly ordinary person like me; knowing his true rank left me with a cold feeling in my stomach. I didn't like important people knowing who I was. I didn't like important people having plans involving me.

But truly, I told myself, what harm could he possibly be intending? Here in Morrowind I was no one. In Skyrim it might once have been otherwise, but of all the things Methal might still be hiding I doubted a connection to any of the Skyrim Thieves' Guilds was one. I was simply too unimportant to be more than a bit player in whatever scheme Methal might be running. This taken into account, Methal was at least fun to talk to, and - given that he'd probably forgotten more magic than I'd ever known - someone it might be very instructive for me to spend time with.

I sat down on the cot, kicking my boots off so I could stretch out my legs without needing to feel guilty. Pulling my pack up into my lap, I began to rifle through it in search of something - anything - to occupy my mind. Potions... a clean tunic...

I couldn't have considered bringing a book, could I?

More potions... a stack of linen pads... aha.

Cool crystal met my fingers. I pulled out the strange not-enchanted stone Methal had given me during the storm.

Possibly of Dwemer make, he'd said. That hadn't rung true to me at the time and still didn't now, although I didn't (yet) have any great expertise as far as the Dwemer went to support my intuition in the matter. Living in Markarth did not count, thank you Edwinna.

Letting my fingers trace the inscription on the crystal, I let my mind drift. For all my boredom, this was an excellent opportunity to think on things... particularly certain things I was usually too enmeshed in to be able to take a step back from. Stuck in Maar Gan with nothing to do and no one I knew around, I was able to look at things, I thought, a little more objectively.

The Mages' Guild was beginning to become a problem.

Trebonius with his Dwemer, Ranis Athrys and her mad plans involving the guild guide network... even Ajira and her flowers, much as I hated to think it. I'd hoped Edwinna would be better, but even if she hadn't intended it this errand of hers had certainly put me in harm's way. You'd think that an alchemist and aspiring mage would fit perfectly into the guild, but so far the main things I seemed to be gaining from the experience were completely unsuitable tasks often involving life-threatening danger, learning disabilities, no room for working on alchemy at all, and - of course - no steady income.

Should I let the guild go? Quit and strike out on my own? I was no longer as lost as in my first days in the island, I knew to make something of the native ingredients, I even had contacts of a sort. Tashpi had mentioned a not insignificant portion of her custom came from healing potions. If I kept an eye out for independent alchemists who could use an extra supplier... or apothecaries in need of steady custom...

But I liked the guild. Ajira, obviously, but also jesting with Marayn and Uleni over breakfast, trading barbs with Galbedir, helping Masalinie - being part of a community again, however frustrating it might sometimes prove. I'd been on my own since my time in Windhelm had come to such an abrupt and horrifying conclusion, and I was only now realising how much I'd missed being part of a group.

And... even if I could strike out on my own now, I hadn't been in any shape to do so when I'd arrived. The guild had taken me in, given me safe haven. Didn't I owe them something for that?

As my mind wandered, so did my magicka. Not really thinking about it, I began to probe the curious object in my hand. It wasn't enchanted, had no magicka of its own I could draw on, but there was something I couldn't quite put my finger on. Some trick to it...

You have to prime the spell, Divayth, feed it just a trickle... like so...

The first indication I had that I'd done something came when the cot vanished under me.

*****

This post has been edited by Kazaera: May 16 2020, 03:02 PM

[Grits]

Nice to see Adryn learning some Dunmeris. Ooo, I love how her boredom and mental meanderings led to accidentally activating the crystal!

[haute ecole rider]

uh, whups!

I'm sure she is now experiencing the same feeling I felt when my horse disappeared from beneath me . . .

[ghastley]

Let's hope she's not at a dizzying height this time.

[Kazaera]

@Grits - I've actually wanted to get Adryn started on learning Dunmeris for a while! It didn't quite come together until now, though. Possibly for the best, considering she immediately teleports herself off somewhere

@haute ecole rider - probably! I don't ride myself, but I can imagine having something solid you're relying on be replaced by air is remarkably disconcerting! At least, Adryn thinks so.

@ghastley - let's hope! Adryn does wear her Slowfall amulet religiously these days, but she'd still prefer to avoid a repeat.

Last installment, Adryn was bored in Maar Gan. Being bored in Maar Gan resulted in her playing with the strange crystal Methal had given her. Unfortunately, it looks like the crystal in question has powers Adryn wasn't expecting, and she set them off by accident. Let's see what they are...

Chapter 17.4
*****

Luckily, I'd been sitting up, arms resting on my knees. As such, my skull did not make harsh and unexpected contact with the stone ground. That was where my luck ended, because my tailbone did and the resulting blaze of pain meant I was unable to think about my sudden displacement - or, for that matter, anything other than ow - for quite some time.

"Tulen, if this is supposed to be a joke, I'm not laughing," I growled when I could make noise other than whimpering. Scarecrow's son had made an appearance yesterday evening, and I for one heartily distrusted his blend of a love for practical jokes and minor skill at Alteration. "If you think vanishing occupied furniture is funny-"

I looked up, and my voice trailed off mid-sentence.

I was sitting on a raised platform in the middle of a large square windowless room made out of some dark stone. To either side were two lower platforms, each with a large crystal floating over it. Light danced through the air, slow-moving white sparks that arced upwards from one crystal to stream along the ceiling to the other. A vibrating hum rose from the ground into my bones.

In short, I was now in a place that didn't even remotely resemble the one I'd been in a minute ago.

I took a moment to soak in the sheer unfairness of the universe. I hadn't even been trying to teleport this time!

Leather shifted in my lap as I drew my legs under me. Apparently, although the cot hadn't made the journey with me, my pack was a different matter. And one thing I'd been smart enough to bring with me this time...

A matter of moments had the map unrolled, a few more and I'd mustered the necessary concentration to activate its enchantment. The glowing dot formed north-north-east of Maar Gan, halfway between it and the coast. It rested directly next to a tiny label. I brought the map right up to my face and read...

Falasmaryon.

"You have got to be kidding me," I said flatly.

Alas, squeezing my eyes shut and hoping very firmly that this was a dream did not have the hoped-for effect. Nor did repeating the operation. I grudgingly accepted that this was, in fact, happening, and levered myself to my feet.

Grit dug into my socks, and I remembered with a sinking feeling that I'd taken my boots off in order to relax on the bed.

I wasn't just stranded in the wilderness, I was stranded in the wilderness with no shoes.

Why did these things keep happening to me?

I rifled through my pack again, rather more desperately than I'd looked for something to occupy my mind earlier. The air had been crisp in the mornings of late, so I'd bought...

My new cloak was green wool, worn a little thin in places but still sinfully soft. It wouldn't have been warm enough for Windhelm but should, I'd judged from asking around, more than suffice for Vvardenfell unless I suddenly developed a burning desire to visit the northernmost, desolate Sheogorad region. I'd used the excuse of a near-invisible stain near the bottom and a mended hole at the shoulder to haggle Ra'Virr of the pawn shop down to five drakes for it and left well-pleased with my prize, secure in my preparations for winter.

Life makes fools of us all. I winced as I took out my knife and began cutting strips off my lovely new cloak.

Old memory rose around me as I worked. We'd been so poor, Charon and I, lost in Markarth after the Warp. To Edwinna, Markarth might be the Dwemer. To me Markarth was the Warrens, Markarth was shivering around a paltry fire in threadbare clothes as the blizzard howled outside, Markarth was payday on Fredas with each coin carefully scrimped and stretched through the week and yet my stomach gnawing at itself every Turdas all the same. Although Charon had chanced upon a holey, worn-out pair of boots deposited in the rubbish heap that could be salvaged, my narrow elven feet weren't so lucky. There hadn't been near enough money to pay a cobbler, so instead I'd tear old rags into strips and wrap them around my feet. I rather fancied I'd caught the trick to it, as time went on. At least, I'd never lost toes to frostbite... something not all of our neighbours had been able to say.

Feet firmly wrapped, I carefully made my way to the only door, leaving the weight of memory behind.

At first, I thought the door was locked. Then I put a bit more force into my push, and it came unstuck with a metallic screech - the sound, I suspected, of hinges that had not been required to do their job for centuries and were displeased at this sudden end to their vacation. Sunlight streamed in the open doorway, and I blinked, half-blinded after the dark.

For a moment I thought I saw a small sillhouette outlined against the glare, but when I blinked again it was gone.

I stepped out to find myself standing on a flat, tiled surface raised off the ground, having just exited from what looked like a tower. Across from me, another building rose from the plateau, to the right stairs led down to the ground. Everything was made from the same dark stone.

Especially combined with the ash-grey of our surroundings, it should probably have given the scene an ominous, oppressive feel. Instead, it felt... lonely, and not a little bit sad. Somehow, some part of me was convinced this place should be teeming with life, streams of people passing through the doors, a forest of yurts down below. Seeing it abandoned like this made my heart ache.

I shook my head to dismiss my flight of fancy. It was all well and nice to go visit an ancient Chimer fortress, but if it had truly been so necessary I could have made my own travel arrangements. I really hadn't needed to be deposited on top of one by yet another magical mishap, thank you universe.

Now, the question was - investigate, or leave?

On the one hand, Maar Gan was quite some distance away, the stretch between it and me most likely beset by wild beasts, Blighted creatures, bandits and other such unsavouries. It was not a trek I was looking forward to making on my lonesome.

On the other, given the nature of what lived in the wilderness, if there was anyone living in the building opposite they almost certainly wouldn't be friendly. Hadn't Ervesa said something about that, in fact?

Of course, I was - if I did say so myself - a highly accomplished pickpocket and sneak-thief. It wouldn't particularly matter whether any hypothetical inhabitants were friendly or not if they never learned I was there.

Also, they might have boots.

Still thinking about it, I began to approach the wooden doors. I'd taken only a few steps when I noticed something that made me stop.

Like most places in this area of the island, everything here was covered in a thin layer of ash... ash that made an excellent canvas for footprints. Mine were the only ones that approached the tower with the crystals (and I certainly hoped the single set of footprints leaving, with none entering, proved a mystery for any future visitors). In contrast, there was a clear track from the stairs to the entrance of the larger building. There was no question that it was inhabited.

But that wasn't what had made me stop.

What had made me stop was... well, I might be imagining things, seeing as I was hardly a trained tracker and there were a number of prints layered on top of each other, but...

Some of the footprints looked wrong.

And suddenly "ominous and oppressive" felt like a very accurate term for this place after all.

What in Onsi's name do you think you're doing, Adryn?

"Something very stupid, Charon," I whispered. "But I can take a hint when my mind decides to hit me over the head with it." I'd survived this far, I could survive a trek through the Ashlands, surely. And there were probably no shoes to be found in there anyway.

I was about to turn to leave when the door I'd been walking towards creaked open. The person that stepped out was...

Well. First of all, person was almost certainly the wrong word for it.

Most of it looked distinctly person-shaped, true. Two arms and legs, a bald head with pointed ears, skin the colour of the ash around us - or, in other words, the colour of my own. It could have been a Dunmer man, if one who'd apparently decided wandering around in a desolate region in nothing but a loincloth was appropriate... except for the face.

In the place where, on your average person, one might expect such features as eyes or a nose this creature sported a gaping, bloody hole. It stretched from one ear to another, began high on the forehead and ended just above thin lips, was in short large enough to make clear that the creature's skull was entirely hollow.

I'd never tease Varvur about not having a brain again.

The creature hissed and took a step forward, the horror that passed for its face turning from side to side as though seeking something. Despite the strong, nearly irresistible temptation to run screaming, or possibly bend over and vomit, I stayed very, very still.

This... thing... was almost certainly not friendly, and I didn't like my chances in a chase. However, although it seemed to suspect my presence, it certainly wasn't reacting as if it knew where I was. And, of course, it was glaringly, in fact grotesquely obvious that it was lacking anything one could recognise as eyes. If it was blind, reliant on hearing, then perhaps if I stayed very, very quiet...

Something crunched beneath a grey foot as the thing took another, hesitant step in my direction, head still swivelling. I held my breath as it stopped. It seemed confused.

There's no one here, I willed. You can't hear anything, go away, there's no one here...

After what felt like an eternity, the creature turned around. Dragging footsteps carried it back into the building, the door falling shut behind it with a loud thud. My lungs were beginning to burn, but I didn't dare exhale. I couldn't quite believe that had worked.

"Ni, vyn! Llon tetha!"

The hissed whisper came from my side. I whirled around, breath leaving me in a gasp.

The man standing in the shadow of the tower I'd emerged from was wearing chitin armour, the same as I'd seen Ervesa don that morning. He'd left off the helm, which meant I could easily see that he (Nine be praised) had all the facial features one would expect in the appropriate locations. He held a bow with an arrow nocked, but the string was relaxed, the arrow pointing at the ground.

He frowned at whatever he saw on my face. "Outlander." His voice had the heaviest accent I'd heard yet in Morrowind. "Get over here. Before it comes back."

He didn't have to tell me twice.

*****

Notes: Have I mentioned I find the Sixth House indescribably creepy and disturbing recently? No?

I'm using Hrafnir's language creation attempt as a basis for Dunmeris, because I did not want to write either complete gibberish or try creating a conlang from scratch. Mysterious Dunmer is saying something along the lines of "You, woman! Get over here!"

This post has been edited by Kazaera: May 16 2020, 03:03 PM

[Grits]

Standing ovation for the section with Adryn wrapping her feet and remembering Markarth. That was simply beautiful. Yikes, the creature is horrifying!

[Kazaera]

@Grits - *blushing* Thanks!! I was very proud of that section and am delighted it worked for you. And... yep, the Sixth House is horrifying! That creature, and all the other ones that will come up, are canon, and it's heavily implied that the way they come into being is... well. I'll just let you read the next bit, shall I?

Last installment, Adryn accidentally teleported herself to Falasmaryon - with her pack, but without her shoes, a lack she is quickly coming to regret. She'd barely left the chamber she teleported into before she had a close call with a strange eyeless monster. Thankfully, the creature missed her, and after it left a far less hostile Dunmer entered the scene. Let's see who he is and what he knows about what's going on here...

Chapter 17.5
*****

The man, who tersely introduced himself as one Missun Akin, led me to a small yurt made of chitin, bone and guarhide hidden between tumbled boulders in the shadow of the fortress. I hadn't exactly grown up around nomads – the Skyrim climate wasn't particularly suited to the lifestyle – so it surprised me how homely and familiar the little tent felt. Perhaps it was a matter of contrast. After all, in comparison to the fortress and its inhabitants, a wind-scoured crag of rock would qualify as welcoming.

If so, my companion was probably similar. Akin struck me as dour, his responses curt and his glances at me definitely disapproving. If I'd met him in Balmora, or Ald'ruhn, we would probably not have gotten on. In Falasmaryon, such details of attitude were minor foibles, too trivial to consider, compared to the fact that he clearly shared my beliefs regarding the possession of facial features.

He also gained points for the way he'd stopped after closing the yurt's entrance-flap to whisper a word that made green light flash in its corners. After a moment's reflexive terror, I recognised a Muffle enchantment. Given the sort of things that were out and about here, making sure our voices wouldn't carry was an example of good sense I felt I could get behind.

"Here." A flask was thrust my way. "Drink."

I found myself obeying blindly, all alchemical curiosity – as well as worry about the contents – burned away by shock. My hands were still shaking.

Luckily for courtesy (in the form of me not spitting out a gift of hospitality), it wasn't alcohol. Rather, it was some chilled tea. Tongue-curlingly bitter – there was definitely scathecraw in there – it was nevertheless refreshing... and, more importantly, calming. If Ajira and I hadn't already worked out that scathecraw was a mental restorative, this would have proved it. After only a few gulps, my racing heart slowed. A few more, and the tremor that had seized me was easing.

The mer watched me drink with an inscrutable expression. "I am used to outlanders being stupid," he said after some moments, "but exploring Falasmaryon after an ash storm, this is stupid enough to come as a surprise. You have no idea how lucky you were. What were you even thinking?"

"It wasn't exactly intentional." My feeling of friendship, comraderie and brotherhood among all people who believed in cranial organs had definitely been dented by that remark. "It was a teleportation accident," oh, and I really wanted to never need to say those words ever again. "I was studying a magical item and suddenly- poof! I was sitting in the middle of that big crystal chamber."

"Ah." There was a definite thaw in Akin's gaze (easily visible due to him possessing that most wondrous of things, eyes). "Interesting. I have wondered about that chamber, and there are tales told of the ancestors travelling between fortresses in the blink of an eye. I would ask you for details, except," his voice grew dry, "that the ash monsters make any such travel too unsafe to risk at the moment."

"Believe me, I noticed." Then, proving I'd not had enough horror for the day, I asked, "Ash monsters?"

"It is what we Velothi call them. They have begun appearing, in caves and fortresses and hidden places deep in the Ashlands. When I learned that Falasmaryon had been infested, I decided to investigate to see if I could discover the cause."

Akin held out a hand. After a moment, I realised what he wanted and handed back the flask. He took a long drink, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

I wasn't sure how I felt about the fact that this hard-bitten man clearly felt he needed fortification to continue talking about this. A wise person would almost certainly stop asking now. Alas for me, my allotted portion of wisdom had been replaced by more curiosity at birth. "And? What did you find out?"

Mere minutes later, I knew that although I was lacking in wisdom, I could at least boast of some foresight. I had been absolutely right: I should definitely have stopped asking.

According to Akin, people sometimes came to the fortress. Regular people, like him and me, in possession of all their facial features. They had certain commonalities, though. For instance, they all – even the ones whose fine clothing proclaimed them nobles – looked to have come a long distance, on foot, through the ash. And they moved as though sleep-walking, taking no notice of Akin at all.

They entered the fortress. What left was... different.

"You are telling me," I said flatly, "that that thing used to be a person. One who, what, gouged out his own brain?"

How I wished that question was sarcastic. Alas, I meant it sincerely, and Akin answered it the same way.

"As far as I can tell, yes. At the start the hole only encompasses the eyes... and judging by the marks, yes, the afflicted tear them out themselves. It becomes larger until the upper half of the face is entirely gone. At that point, an appendage grows out of the cavity, similar to a netch's limb." Akin was looking at the flask as though wishing it held alcohol. "I would like to believe that is the final stage, but I doubt it. Once, from a distance, I saw a great robed being with many tentacles for a face. The growths looked... familiar."

"I am never eating again." Also, I cursed my vivid imagination. An uncreative mind sounded like an excellent thing right now.

"You were very lucky, you know. The state you saw is the one in which the creature is most unaware of its surroundings. They begin to gain magical senses soon after. I myself have had a few close calls with the later stages. If it had been one of those that went to investigate..."

I decided not to think about that possibility. Instead, I asked, "Have you informed the Temple about any of this? It seems to be connected to some things they're looking into. Strange statues ensorcelling people, controlling them to act against their nature... this might very well be where that leads."

For a moment, I forgot all the trouble the whole thing had caused me and was simply glad I'd chosen to help Varvur. Although (I couldn't lie) he was indeed ugly enough to make small children run crying, he'd look even worse with a trunk growing out of his face.

Akin scowled. It was an impressive expression. I inched backwards.

"You are an outlander," he said after a moment. "I suppose you cannot help being ignorant, so I will not take offense. But you had best learn quickly, because I am among the few that would not. Know this: the Temple is no friend to the Velothi."

The Temple is not your friend, you stupid creature-

I pushed the dremora's words out of my mind.

"Um. Would you mind elaborating? Because I promise no offense was intended, and I'd like to avoid similar... accidents in the future."

Akin looked at me for a long moment as if gauging my sincerity. I made sure to keep meeting his eyes, expression open and earnest. Personally, I thought it would be really nice if I could stop insulting people when I wasn't actively trying. Past experience also told me this feat would probably require divine intervention, but I could at least try.

"Very well. An outlander who wishes to learn is a rare thing. One must make the most of it."

Which was how I found myself getting a crash course in the culture of the Velothi tribes – Ashlanders, the settled ones called us, as if we choose to live in the desolate regions – and their interactions with the Tribunal Temple. Honestly, it sounded much like many stories of a poor culture trying to eke out an existence against a dominant majority. It reminded me of some of the stories Charon had told of life in the Alik'r, or the treatment of Reachmen in Markarth and its surroundings. The Morrowind version seemed to come with a side of religious oppression, and of course unlike in the Reach all involved were the same race, but the common themes were undeniable.

Although for all my world-weary cynicism, the matter sat badly with me – as though something within me rebelled at the thought of (the Chimer) the Dunmer thus divided.

I shook off the strange feeling and focused on things I had a slightly larger chance of influencing. "All right, I get that you don't like the Temple, and for good reason. But isn't this," I waved a hand in the general direction of the fortress, "grounds to put aside your grudges for the time being? I mean, there's some kind of malignant force ensorcelling people and turning them into twisted monstrous horror-things straight from Vaermina's realm. This sounds like a case for allying against a common threat, no matter what went before."

(A smoky room full of bearded faces watching me with suspicion, a gigantic hand engulfing my own-)

"I admire your optimism." All right, that officially made it the first time anyone had said those words to me. I felt vaguely insulted. "For myself, history tells me that if a Velothi goes to the priests bearing tales of such corruption, it does not go well for the Velothi."

"What about an outlander? Because if you don't mind, I am planning to make a line straight back to Maar Gan and spill this story to some priests I know. Er- long story, but I got tangled up in the ash statues on the other end of this in Ald'ruhn and should have some contacts and goodwill to call on from that experience. In Redoran as well," I spoke as the thought occurred to me. "I'm pretty sure Athyn Sarethi would be extremely interested to learn of this. I can keep your name out of it, of course."

Akin was looking at me as though he'd never quite seen anything like me before. "You have... interesting friends, outlander. The assouribael in Urshilaku have spoken well of the current clan-head of Sarethi. Very well, then."

He gave a stately nod as though granting me permission to discuss the matter. It was all for the best, considering that I'd been planning to do so regardless of his opinion.

After all, I liked to think of myself as in possession of a healthy dose of sanity, and doing anything other than running screaming to the nearest... actually, to every single person I felt able and willing to do something about this would thoroughly disprove that fact. Still, I felt it best to leave Akin the impression his disapproval would have made a difference. We were getting on so unusually well, it was a state of affairs I'd like to see continue.

"I suggest you leave soon, if you wish to make it to Maar Gan before nightfall," Akin said. "The creatures do not venture from Falasmaryon on a clear day. During storms, or in the dark, is a different matter."

I sighed. Part of me had been hoping... but Akin didn't sound inclined to escort me, and I wasn't inclined to ask.

"You're right. No point in wasting daylight. Um..." I stared at my ash-covered feet. "I don't suppose you could lend me a pair of shoes?"

*****

[Grits]

Oh. My Goodness. That was completely horrifying. I could use a swig of that scathecraw drink.

[ghastley]

What I do NOT want is any of whatever the person who thought up the Ash Monsters was using.

Was the reference to Vaermina a "dreams" one, or just nightmare? I.e does Adryn think at this point that Vaermina is involved? In ES:O the "dreamers" are Vaermina's thralls, and that's history for TES3's time.

This post has been edited by ghastley: Feb 15 2019, 06:37 PM

[Kazaera]

@Grits & @ghastley - see, these are the things I mean when I say that I find the Sixth House completely horrifying!

@ghastley - Vaermina was supposed to be simply a TES-esque version of "nightmarish", but this definitely gives me ideas! (I haven't played as much of TES:O Morrowind as I'd like and probably should fix that - as you say, it's history by Adryn's day.)

Last installment, Adryn spent some time talking with her rescuer, one Missun Akin. This involved learning not just about the Ashlanders and their treatment, but also about what, exactly, happened to those who vanished after being subjected to an ash statue. Alas, at some point Adryn does need to leave the safe yurt and make the trek back to Maar Gan...

Chapter 17.6
*****

Unfortunately for my soles, Akin could not lend me any footwear. I must have looked so pathetic at that revelation that he did take pity on me; no shoes were to be had, but he gave me some dried jerky and a waterskin to tide me over. He also mentioned that I might run into some cousins of his on the way to Maar Gan... although from his words, I wasn't sure if that qualified as a good thing.

"Fools. Harmless fools, at least. They may posture, seek to intimidate you. Pay them no heed." He looked me over for a moment, then sighed. "Although... they are not fond of the settled people, nor of outlanders, and young enough to be idiots about it. Tell them Missun permitted you to pass, if they decide to bare their teeth at you. That should serve to deflate them."

Thus warned, I left the little yurt along with the monster-ridden fortress looming over it behind me.

Walking through fresh ash was similar to doing so through loose snow: exhausting, each step a fight as I sunk in deep and needed to pull hard to free my foot again. In another situation, I might have considered going slowly, taking regular breaks to keep my strength up.

I liked the sound of that alternate situation, truth be told. Alternate Adryn had probably found herself in the middle of the Ashlands, nowhere near any buildings, no clue what sort of spell she'd dodged. Unfortunately for me, it wasn't the situation I was in, and for all Akin's words about how they stayed close to the fortress I wanted to get as much distance between myself and the things at Falasmaryon as possible. And so I struggled on, put foot in front of foot and ignored the burning in my thighs with the grim determination that comes with suppressed terror.

I'd have worried about losing my boots to the ash-drifts, but – of course – I wasn't wearing any. Silver linings, I supposed.

Another silver lining: at least the ash was comparatively warm. I wouldn't be losing toes to frostbite today, either, even if I suspected I'd never quite get the grit out from between them after this trip.

Time passed. I crested one hill, then another, then another. The sun rose higher in the sky, setting the wastes ablaze in light. My legs stayed at a steady throb, but I stumbled on despite them. My stomach began to growl, and I thought of the jerky Akin had given me as I left. It had been a kind gift, truly, considering that the man clearly didn't have much to his name. It also hadn't been very much – I'd finished it before I was even out of sight of the yurt. Why hadn't I packed something to eat?

Oh, because I hadn't planned to leave Maar Gan. I'd been debating even leaving the Temple.

I finally stopped for a breather beneath an old, dead tree. It was one of many that dotted the landscape.

This land must have been different, once – greener, lightly forested, with some semblance of plant and animal life. Now, it was ghostly quiet. I hadn't realised how much I took a certain level of background noise for granted until it was gone. The hum of activity in a city, birdsong in the wilderness, the lapping of waves at the shore. The closest I'd come to this desolation were the few times I'd been up in the mountains in midwinter, but even then... Skyrim in winter was a world in deep sleep. This land was closer to dead.

There weren't even any animals – fortunate, admittedly, since I hadn't been looking forward to tangling with cliff racers, guar, or kagouti, but disturbing nonetheless. Especially seeing as I knew I'd spotted some from the silt strider to Maar Gan. Perhaps they avoided the region around Falasmaryon, just as I was trying to do.

The advantage of the dead landscape, of course, was that with the skies clear and no forest to get in the way, I could see for miles. The brooding shape of Falasmaryon lay far, far behind me, nearly hidden behind a hill. And – Nine be praised – there was no sign of pursuit.

From that point on, I walked more slowly, even stopping on occasion to pick ingredients. As though the land wished to prove to me that it was not, in fact, dead, I passed scathecraw, fire fern, and a dark, thorny curling vine that I recognised as the trama root I'd chopped for yesterday's soup. Given that I knew for a fact it was edible when cooked – and that I was starving – I decided to experiment with my Firebite spell. The result was a little more charred than I'd have liked, but I managed to swallow it down and it soothed my rumbling stomach well enough.

Of course, I made sure to leave some of the root for later, alchemical use. I remembered from my work with Ajira that it was quite a useful ingredient, with not just a restorative effect that made it a prime candidate for the standard shock remedy but also forming part of the recipe for the levitation potion that had saved me in Arkngthand.

I really hoped I'd still be able to indulge in experimentation with Ajira, now that I was nominally a Dwemer scholar of the Ald'ruhn guild.

And that brought me right back to the thoughts I'd been wrestling with before my unplanned and unwanted displacement. Should I leave the guild?

No, I decided. For all that I was frustrated with how things had gone, I wasn't yet ready to give up on it. This excursion had been somewhat enlightening on that matter. I found myself missing the companionship with an ache so fierce it surprised me.

Besides, I'd just proved pretty thoroughly that I didn't need help to get myself into life-threatening situations.

Some time later, my ingredient vials were nearing full, the sun said it was nearing mid-afternoon, the landscape that I was about to enter a gorge, my map that this gorge was the Foyada Bani-Dad and that from here it wasn't far to Maar Gan, and I was suddenly hearing voices.

Voices speaking Dunmeris, from the sounds of it. My paltry knowledge of the language told me they probably weren't introducing themselves.

With a frown, I sent my magical senses spiralling outwards. My latest brush with teleportation misfortune had left me more aware of the dangers of doing so, but my Detection spells were so handy I wasn't willing to forgo them. I'd just have to be careful to steer them well clear of any crystals I might encounter – certainly of the one tucked into my pack.

Four people, one a little further than the other three, all a short distance ahead. I was still hidden from view, but would be in full sight once I rounded the next bend. More, the path descended steeply here as it met the foyada, cutting through a slope that could almost be termed a cliff – there was no way to avoid it. A quick consultation of my map proved there was no decent alternative route, either, not unless I felt like backtracking almost all the way to Falasmaryon.

Well. I'd have to hope that it was truly the cousins Akin had mentioned, and that they were as harmless as first promised.

I rounded the bend to see the path widen to a broad ledge. Scathecraw and trama bushes grew thick and heavy in the shadow of the hill, a veritable little grove that, combined with the sound of trickling water, pointed to a spring nearby. A yurt was tucked amidst the bushes, with three Dunmer – two men and a women – standing in front of it. All three were wearing what I recognised as netch leather armour, with the scarves and goggles of people who spent time in the Ashlands. More worryingly, all three were armed – a spear propped in arms'-reach here, a strung bow slung across the other's back, and of course sheathed daggers hung at all three belts.

They looked up as I approached. I was still too far distant to tell, but I hoped very hard said looks were friendly.

"Outlander!" the largest man called, then turned to his companions. "Look, Rasamsi, I told you word would get around and someone would come." Then, back to me, "You are here to pay the ransom, yes?"

"...ransom?" I hoped I didn't sound as utterly befuddled as I felt. Whatever I'd been expecting, this wasn't it.

The man shook his finger at me. "Ha, you pretend ignorance! A clever strategy, but I am cleverer." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the woman close her eyes as if in despair.

Don't argue with armed men, Adryn. "I'm sure you are," I offered, trying my very hardest to be diplomatic. "And I'm sure you won't mind telling me about this ransom, right? I somehow seem to have failed to hear of it, and I'm certain it's a very clever scheme indeed."

The second man's eyes narrowed, but the speaker's chest puffed up. I mentally dubbed him Peacock. I'd seen one once, in the menagerie attached to the Blue Palace (which I'd been passing through on perfectly legitimate business, thank you very much), and the way this man strutted reminded me very much of the bird showing off its plumed tail.

"I, the great Manat Shimmabadas," I silently tried that last name on for size and decided he could stay Peacock, "have taken a Redoran noble captive!"

"He was wandering lost and alone, with an ash storm on the way," the second man chimed in. "We rescued him, you should say. Sheltered him, gave him of our food and water. It's only right we should be rewarded for our work."

I cocked an eyebrow. That story was... odd. "A Redoran noble was wandering alone in the Ashlands? No guards?"

"See," the woman burst out, as though the words had been piling up inside her and couldn't be held back anymore, "even the outlander can smell the stink here! Manat, I told you-"

"Shut up, Rasamsi," Peacock said. There was an intonation to his words that made me think he said this (or the Dunmeris equivalent) a lot. "Obviously she is here to pay the ransom, and trying to cast doubt on his story so we let him go cheaply. Alas for her, I am too smart for such tricks! I could not consider letting the noble go for less than twenty septims."

Twenty. Septims.

Twenty septims?

Well, if it really was a noble they'd caught, it wasn't as unreasonable as it sounded. Twenty septims was probably pocket change to the likes of Athyn or Varvur Sarethi. Alas for Peacock, I really wasn't here to rescue anyone, and two thousand drakes was wildly beyond my paltry means.

"Somehow," the woman snapped, "I think if she were on an errand of rescue she would be wearing shoes."

I decided I liked her. She had sense, something that was clearly in short supply around here.

"A clever disguise, no doubt, just as the noble's. Meant to make us believe her poor, into lowering the ransom out of pity. Alas for your plan, I am too smart to be tricked so!"

Right.

"Um." I doubted Peacock would let me just walk past; no doubt he'd consider it another trick he was too clever to fall for.

Besides, if he really had kidnapped a noble, there might be opportunity there, I told myself. Athyn Sarethi had been grateful enough when I'd interceded for Varvur. Perhaps this time I'd be able to get a reward in the form of shiny coin.

"Could I have a word with your captive in private?"

Peacock hesitated.

"You can't possibly expect me to go on your word alone, with no proof of life or health. For all I know, you're not holding anyone captive at all. I need a bit more than that if you want me to even consider paying a ransom. And, of course, assurances of good treatment on your part... the kind I cannot possibly obtain with you listening in." Then, although it made me feel vaguely ill to say, "Come now, you're clearly an intelligent man. You must understand how these things work."

A muffled snort from the woman.

Peacock, bless him, fell for it completely. "Of course, of course. As you say, this is how these things work. I am quite experienced in these matters. Come, Rasamsi, Adairan, let us let the outlander and our guest have their chat."

*****

Notes: I have relocated Manat and co. slightly from their canonical location. I regret nothing.

[Grits]

I have no idea where the Peacock Gang is supposed to be or who their prisoner is, but I'm curious!