Allow me to add to the chorus of others complimenting you on gainful employment. Well done.

Your remarks do raise an issue that I hadn't put much thought towards: I now realize that Ada's adventures were probably written and posted before, just not here. Is there any place I can go that has the complete story, without having to go to the Bethesda run forums? I hate that place, and really only went to read Foxy's guide for combat (which still needs to get posted here...)

As for the story itself: Have you ever thought that the Travel-Stained Pants were stained with the same chemicals normally processed to form dyes in brown, black, and various 'earthy' colors?

Alternatively, why not go with the stains of the blood of enemies? I generally find the "Wallpaper provided by Leonidas and his 300" motif a cool decorating option. Why not extend it to clothing?

Great work with the Creeper. Truly one of my favorite parts of Morrowind, and his conversion to a companion dog in one's pack in Oblivion was a true shame. Funny guy though, and you captured his spirit perfectly.

I believe it's posted on FanFiction.net.

Here. No screenshots unfortunately.

She is also on the Bethesda Forum WITH screenshots! Helena can provide the link more easily than I can, lol.


@ Helena - oh yeah, getting up early when you have become used to sleeping later - the first week is the killer, the first day the worst of them all - hope you nailed it !!!

Thanks. Though I'll probably still remain here for the screen shots. Maybe I should go back and start adding those to mine...



No. No, no, noooo. No No N-No, No No No No N-No Nooo!

I refuse to go there. It's a horrible, dark place of doom and inane rules regarding thread length that frustrates me. So, No. I'll wait for screenies here rather than go...there.

Chapter 30: Where It All Began

I didn’t want to take any more Fighters’ Guild contracts from Lorbumol gro-Aglakh, but since none of the others had any work for me, I didn’t have much choice. His next contract was for a woman called Adraria Vandacia, who was hiding out in Seyda Neen – the village where I’d been dropped off by the prison ship. I probably should have gone to Percius Mercius first to ask him about the contract, but there wasn’t time before catching the overnight silt strider from Vivec.

It seemed strange to be back in Seyda Neen, the place where I’d caught my first glimpse of Morrowind. How much simpler things had seemed back then – before I’d got caught up with ancient conspiracies, warring religious cults, a fanatical theocratic government, a political tussle between Great House councillors, and a Guild with a deep dark secret. If only I’d just followed my instincts and jumped on board the first ship headed back West.

Problems started to crop up very quickly. Unfortunately, the warehouse where Adraria Vandacia was holed up belonged to the Census and Excise – and was locked, with the only door in plain view of the rest of the village. I had to skulk around the back for the better part of an hour before I got the chance to use an unlocking scroll. Once I got in, I immediately realised that the place wasn’t ‘shut up’ at all – there were people working there, including at least one guard. I’m actually surprised that no one stopped me as I walked through the building; presumably my Imperial uniform gave them the impression I was supposed to be there.

At the top of the stairs I found myself in a well-lit chamber. A middle-aged Imperial woman was sitting at a desk, studying some accounts. She was so obviously not an outlaw that I was completely at a loss for anything to say to her.

At that moment she looked up and saw me. “Yes?” she said rather sharply. “Can I help you?”

“Are you Adraria Vandacia?”

“I am. What do you want?”

Well, what was I supposed to say? “The Fighters’ Guild sent me to kill you; don’t suppose you have any idea why?” All at once I was struck by the ridiculousness of the situation. What the heck was I even doing here?

“I… nothing,” I said. “It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry to have bothered you, sera.”

Leaving a bewildered-looking Adraria behind me, I turned and walked straight out of the building. As soon as I was safely out of Seyda Neen, I cast Almsivi Intervention. It was time I had a long talk with Percius Mercius.

“Hello, Ada,” he said in surprise, when I marched into the Ald’ruhn Fighters’ Guild. “Have you made Guardian yet?”

“No, I haven’t,” I said. “Because the only person who’ll give me duties is Lorbumol gro-Aglakh, and the things he’s asking me to do are completely insane. He just sent me to Seyda Neen to kill a woman named Adraria Vandacia, and when I got there I found she was a bloody Census and Excise employee!”

Percius frowned. “Adraria Vandacia is an Imperial tax agent. I don’t know why Lorbumol would give you a bounty on her.”

“Exactly,” I said. “Percius, I’m going to be frank with you. Either you’re going to have to promote me to Guardian yourself, or you’ll just have to tell me what’s going on anyway. I’m not doing any more missions for Lorbumol.”

“Oh, very well,” he said with a sigh. “You’re a Guardian. Now, come to my room so that we can talk in private.”

He led me into a small bedroom at the back of the Guild. “Sjoring Hard-Heart is trying to make deals with the Camonna Tong,” he said bluntly, as soon as the door closed behind him. “He thinks he’s using them, but I think it’s the other way around. These Camonna Tong bosses have been working here in Morrowind since before the Empire came, and I don’t think we can fool them. When I was the Master of the Fighters Guild here, I stayed out of local politics.”

I sank down onto the bed. Obviously I’d known something very shady was going on, but I hadn’t realised it was quite as bad as this. “So all this time, I’ve basically been working for the Camonna Tong?”

Percius nodded grimly. “The only way to save the Fighters Guild is to get rid of Sjoring Hard-Heart and those loyal to him. You’ll need to kill his chief supporters, Lorbumol and Eydis Fire-Eye… and after that, you’ll have to deal with Hard-Heart himself.”

I didn’t know what to say. I’d no love for Lorbumol gro-Aglakh, but Eydis… I remembered how friendly she’d been when I’d first arrived in Vvardenfell, and how she’d helped me when I’d had nowhere else to go.

“Do I really have to kill them?” I asked. “You don’t think there’s any way I get them to change their minds? He just looked sad.

“You’ll need good armour if you’re going to have a chance,” he said at last. “Let me show you something.” He opened up one of the storage chests standing against the wall, and I saw that it was full of Orcish armour. “This was a gift from an Imperial Legionnaire stationed here several years ago. He was unjustly accused of murder, and I was able to find out the truth and free him. And this” – he showed me another chest, containing glass armour – “was another gift, from Athyn Sarethi of House Redoran. He had the armour made for me after I enlisted the Fighters Guild to help clean up the last outbreak of Blighted creatures back in ’24 that nearly destroyed Maar Gan.”

“Really?” I asked. “Is Athyn the lord of Maar Gan, then?” I could have sworn he’d told me his lands were in the South Gash, the area south of Ald’ruhn.

“No,” he said, with a wry smile. “That would be Lady Brara Morvayn – the widow of Remas Morvayn. He was in charge of Maar Gan at the time.”

“Then… I don’t understand.”

“You will, once you’ve been in Ald’ruhn a bit longer. ‘On behalf of the Council’ was what Sarethi said, but I could read between the lines well enough.” He shook his head. “Anyway, take any of this, if you want it. It might help you fight Sjoring Hard-Heart.”

I suspected I did understand what he meant about the Council, and it made me very angry. That was just like Athyn, I thought. I could only imagine how much it had cost him to have a full set of glass armour forged for Percius. No wonder the Sarethi family had ‘fallen on hard times’, as he put it, if he kept doing things like that.

“I don’t know,” I said at last. “I’ll have to think about it, Percius. I mean, killing outlaws or bandits is one thing, but our own people…”

“I understand. Well, think it over.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder, and patted it a couple of times before leaving the room.

I left the Fighters’ Guild, deep in thought. I was still pretty reluctant to get involved in this any further, and I decided to mull it over for a while before taking any action. With a week left before the first stage of my Redoran stronghold was completed, I decided to see if the Legion had anything else for me to do.

Frald the White in Ebonheart was willing to oblige. “Not a pleasant business, though, I’m afraid,” he told me. “An Ordinator named Suryn Athones has been spreading lies about the Order of Ebonheart. Someone needs to stop his slanders.”

By now I was coming to understand how these things worked. “Stop his slanders ‘with extreme prejudice’, you mean?”

“Right you are,” he said, baring his teeth in a rather unpleasant grin. “Find him and silence his lying mouth with blood.”

Talos, this was just as bad as the Fighters’ Guild business. Why did people have to act like this when they knew it could only lead to bloodshed? I only hoped I could knock some sense into the guy’s head before I ended up having to kill him.

I found Athones with a couple of other Ordinators in a small, cramped office of Vivec’s Temple canton. None of them seemed exactly pleased to see a Legion soldier there, but that was hardly surprising. “I’ve been sent here by Frald the White,” I told Suryn, getting straight to the point. “He tells me you’ve been spreading lies about our Order.”

“I spoke nothing but the truth,” he said, with a snort. “The Legion is just a mob of blunt-eared apes playing at being soldiers. Is it just your cowardice? Or the incompetence of your so-called Knights? Or is it just the way you smell?”

“Nice to see the mature tone of the debate being preserved here,” I said sarcastically, resisting the urge to knee him hard in his heavily-protected groin area. “Since we’re so cowardly and incompetent, I take it you won’t mind duelling me to prove your unquestionable superiority?” He said nothing. “Or could it be that you’re the coward, perhaps?”

Behind the golden mask, I saw his eyes flash. “So be it, n’wah. You’ve chosen your own death.”

We drew our swords. I’d never fought an Ordinator before, but I wasn’t foolish enough to imagine this would be an easy fight. Just finding a place to hit him was difficult enough, as he was almost completely covered in armour. Those flashy uniforms might look like overkill, but they served a purpose.

My practice against Hrundi had paid off, however. I fought defensively rather than aggressively, waiting for him to tire himself out, and then devoted my efforts to knocking his weapon from his hand. At last I succeeded, and within seconds I had him pinned up against the wall, the tip of my blade to his exposed throat.

“Care to take back those slanders now?” I asked him.

He glowered at me from under his mask. “I would rather die!”

“I hope you mean that, Suryn,” I said wearily, “because this is your last chance. Is that your final answer?” He was silent. “Speak now, or forever hold your peace.”

In answer, he spat in my face. I was beginning to realise this guy probably wasn’t entirely sane, but I could hardly back down after the threat I’d just made.

I couldn’t see the other Ordinators’ expressions as I left the room, but then I didn’t need to. I’d killed one of their own, and I knew that from that moment onwards they’d be out for my blood. Unbelievably, my chances of being recognised as the Nerevarine had just got even slimmer.

By the time I’d cleaned myself up, eaten and got back to Ebonheart, I was feeling even more depressed than before. It was all so pointless, I thought. A man had just died because he couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge that a foreigner could be equal to him – not even ‘better’, just ‘equal’. He’d seen with his own eyes that I was neither a coward, nor incompetent, and yet he couldn’t accept it. What was wrong with these people?

So when I ran into Varvur on the plaza near the docks, I was surprised by how quickly my black mood vanished. My heart leapt, and I felt a buzz of happiness and excitement that was almost enough to drive the thought of Suryn Athones out of my head. I hadn’t felt like this since my days of teenage crushes.

Varvur’s eyes lit up when he saw me. “Ada,” he said, hurrying over to greet me. “We seem to meet everywhere, no? What are you doing in Ebonheart?”

“Just some Legion business. How about you?”

“I have been to deliver a message to Llerar Mandas at the Council chambers.” He hesitated. “I was about to leave, but… well, you helped me with my Redoran business. Perhaps I could help you with your tasks for the Legion?”

I didn’t have any idea what Frald might ask me to do next, but I didn’t see how it could hurt. “Sure! Why not?” I said blithely.

Unfortunately my good mood didn’t last long. As it turned out, Frald’s next task for me was even more unpleasant than the last. It seemed that a fellow Knight, Saprius Entius, had been accused of murder and was hiding out from the Ordinators in Vivec.

“The Ordinators are too prejudiced to give him a fair trial,” Frald said bluntly. After what I’d just been through, I found that hard to argue. “I know a way to get him to the mainland where he will be tried with Imperial justice. Find him before the Ordinators do, and bring him back to me.”

As he spoke, I felt my heart sink. The Ordinators would already be out to get me after the business with Suryn Athones; the last thing I needed was another job that would put me directly in conflict with them. If I got caught trying to help Saprius, I’d be arrested or even killed. I agreed to take on the job, but only reluctantly.

I didn’t think Varvur would be happy to hear what I’d been asked to do, but I hadn’t expected him to object quite so violently. By the time I’d finished explaining he was looking distinctly grim. “So the Legion wants you to help a murderer escape justice?”

“No, of course not! Frald said he’ll be tried once they get him back to Cyrodiil.”

“And you believe this?” He didn’t bother to hide the flash of scorn in his eyes.

“Yes, I do, actually,” I said. “I know Frald, and I don’t think he’s a liar. Besides, why else would they be trying to get him out of the country?”

Varvur threw up his hands in disgust. “So that he can avoid being tried for murder, of course! Everyone knows the Empire prefers to cover up the crimes of their own people where it might embarrass them. Even you cannot deny this!”

I felt a growing knot of anger in my stomach. “Are you saying my people aren’t capable of giving him a fair trial?”

“It seems to me that you are saying my people cannot. If the crime was committed in Morrowind, why should he not be tried here?”

“He won’t get a trial here! Varvur, this is the Ordinators we’re talking about. They’ll stick you in the Ministry of Truth just for looking at them funny, and you expect me to believe they won’t just kill him on sight?”

“I don’t believe they will. And in truth, I don’t even care so much. If he is a murderer, he deserves to die that way.”

“Because no one was ever falsely accused of murder, I suppose,” I snapped. Varvur stiffened, and his lips turned slightly white. I’d been thinking of myself, of course, but at that moment I realised it could just as easily apply to him. Oops.

We spent the rest of the journey back to Vivec in silence. “I take it you’re not coming with me?” I asked Varvur, as we were stepping off the quay. He shook his head. “Well, see you around, Varvur.”

“Goodbye,” he said stiffly, and turned away without another word. My throat ached, and I felt a sudden wild urge to run after him and apologise – at least explain what I’d meant by that last comment. But, being the stiff-necked idiot I was, I didn’t.

Instead I went to the Fighters’ Guild and removed my armour. If I started asking about Saprius Entius while dressed in full Legion armour, people were bound to get suspicious. Rather than ask at the Guild, where people knew me, I went outside the canton and asked a few of the more shady-looking types if they’d heard the name. “I did see one of your kind over by the Arena,” one of them offered at last.

I took a gondola to the Arena and made some more enquiries. Finally I discovered that Saprius was hiding out in a storeroom somewhere in the canalworks. I made my way there, doing my best to avoid the Ordinators as I went, and finally found Saprius – still dressed in his Imperial uniform – inside one of the small, dusty storage cellars. He must have had an ally, because there was a bedroll set up there and someone had obviously been bringing him food.

When I entered the room, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He was on his feet in an instant, his fingers closing around the handle of a large warhammer. “Who are you? Are you in the Imperial Legion?”

I nodded. “The Ordinators have been looking for me,” he whispered. “I’ve done a terrible thing. Can you...” Suddenly his eyes filled with horror. “Look out! Behind you!”

Before I even had the chance to respond, a blast of magicka sent me sprawling forward onto the bedroll. I rolled over to see two heavily-armed Ordinators bearing down on us. Saprius was trying desperately to hold them back, but he could only handle one of them at once. As I lay there, still stunned by the effects of the magicka, the other one advanced on me with sword drawn.

I grasped wildly for my own sword and just managed to parry the blow, but I knew I couldn’t hold out for long. My hands and arms were weak, I had no armour, and I couldn’t get up from a sitting position while still defending myself. Just as I was beginning to think it was hopeless, the impossible happened: the man stumbled suddenly, and dropped his sword. He sank to his knees, clutching at the back of his neck.

As Saprius finished off the other Ordinator with a heavy blow from his hammer, a young man stepped through the doorway, blood dripping from his sword. It was Varvur.

“Varvur?” I gasped, thinking I must be dreaming. “What are you doing here?”

“I changed my mind. When I saw you going towards the Arena, I decided to come after you and apologise.” He shook his head. “But then I realised some Ordinators were following you, so I stayed behind them, and saw what happened. And… well, I could not let them kill you.”

I closed my eyes, trying to sort out my jumbled thoughts. “Okay… right now, we just need to get out of here. Saprius, take this amulet.” I handed him my Divine Intervention amulet. “Varvur, how are you going to get out of here? The Ordinators –”

“It’s all right. I think I can get out of the canton without being seen by them.” He gave my arm a quick squeeze. “I will see you at the Ebonheart docks.”

He hurried off before I had the chance to object. Saprius wasted no time in casting the enchantment, so all I could do was follow him to Ebonheart, leaving Varvur to face the wrath of the Ordinators.

The next few minutes were some of the worst of my entire life. All I could think was that Saprius and I had basically murdered two Ordinators – and what was worse, I’d got Varvur mixed up in it as well. I could only imagine what it would do to his family, and to the House, if it was discovered that Athyn Sarethi’s son had been involved in those deaths. And if he was caught by the guards at the Arena… I didn’t want to think about it.

“If my friend dies because of you, I’ll kill you myself,” I snarled at Saprius. He looked genuinely scared.

Frald thanked me warmly when we both reached Fort Hawkmoth. “This helm was my father’s when he served in the Legions,” he said, handing me an old Legion helmet with a spell reflection enchantment. “He had it enchanted and gave it to me – now I’m giving it to you. And while we’re about it, I think this merits a promotion to Knight Protector.”

I tried to look happy about the promotion, and the extra pieces of Templar armour that came with it, but my heart wasn’t in it. All I could think about was Varvur. When I finally reached the docks, and found him standing near the boat that had just arrived from Vivec, I nearly cried with relief.

“You were right about the Ordinators,” he said quietly.

I flung my arms around him and squeezed him tightly. “Sorry,” I choked. He didn’t say anything more, just hugged me back. It was dark already, and there weren’t many other people around to see us, but at that moment I wouldn’t have cared if they did.

We boarded the ship just before it departed for Vivec. “Why did you come after me?” I asked softly, as we sat alone in the hold, leaning against some packing crates. “You must have known the risk you were running.”

“How could I not? You saved my life and my honour. I always wished there was something I could do for you in return.” He stretched out a hand and, when I didn’t react, cautiously laid it on mine. “Now we are a little more equal.”

Once again I felt my eyes smart. “Thanks,” I mumbled. “Well, you’ve certainly more than repaid me for it. You’re a good friend, Varvur.”

If he’d wanted to kiss me, that would have been the perfect moment. And for a moment, I honestly thought he was going to – but for some reason he seemed to hesitate. “Ada…”

“Yes?”

Our eyes met. For a second we just looked at each other, and then suddenly his gaze fell away. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

I looked away, trying not to show how disappointed I was. Normally I’d have had no problem making the first move in a relationship, but this was different. This was Athyn Sarethi’s son, a Redoran noble. If he wasn’t prepared to take the initiative, there was no way I could do it for him.

We ended up going to the Flowers of Gold to share a meal and drown our sorrows. As we ate and drank, we discussed the day’s events. “I was very stupid,” he said, referring to my comment about people being falsely accused of murder. “I thought you said it to be hurtful. But of course, later I realised you were thinking of yourself, not of me. I am sorry.”

“Forget it. None of it matters.”

He shook his head. “I cannot understand why the Ordinators would do this. I know that they sometimes can be… over-zealous, but they have always treated me with respect.”

“You’re a Redoran Councillor’s son,” I said with a sigh. “Of course they’re going to treat you well. If you’re a commoner – or, gods forbid, an outlander – they think they can insult you as much as they like. The one I met this morning told me that Imperials were ‘blunt-eared apes.”

“Apes? He really said this?”

“Yup. Also that our soldiers are cowardly and incompetent… oh, and we smell, apparently.”

Varvur drew in breath sharply. “He will regret it. Only tell me his name, and –”

“It’s OK,” I interrupted. “I already fought him myself. He refused to surrender even when I had my sword at his throat.” I slumped back in my chair, shaking my head.

Varvur stared down moodily into his tankard of ale. He didn’t say anything more, but I could see that he was still angry. “Why do they hate us so much?” I asked eventually. “The Ordinators, I mean?”

He shrugged. “They are Indoril.”

“Like Nerevar?” I asked before I could stop myself.

“Yes.” He looked up in surprise. “You know of Nerevar, then?”

“Not much,” I said hastily. “Just what I’ve read in books here and there. Anyway, what’s that got to do with hating the Legions?”

“Well, House Indoril is very close to the Temple… and the Temple does not at all like the Empire. Did you know that many Indorils committed suicide after the Armistice?”

I stared. “You’re kidding.”

“Not at all. They are known for being… I can’t think of the word in your language. Very, very deeply religious?”

“Fanatical?” He nodded.

I took a long draught from my glass of shein. “So in that case, why does the Temple dislike us so much? Okay, we worship different gods, but…”

“There are many reasons, I think. The Empire is a threat to their power, of course, but also…” Varvur paused, looking a bit uncomfortable. “If I tried to explain, I’m afraid that it would offend you.”

“Go on,” I told him. “It can’t be worse than anything I’ve heard already.”

“Well… they believe that Imperials are greedy and unscrupulous.” He cringed slightly, avoiding my eyes. “They… they say that you worship Fortune.”

“Worship Fortune?” I had a sudden vision of chapelgoers kneeling in prayer before a huge pile of gold coins. (Actually, in a few cases that wouldn’t be too far off the mark.) “What do you mean?”

“One of the Nine Divines… the god Zenithar?”

I frowned. “Zenithar’s the god of commerce. It’s not the same thing.”

“No?”

“He sets down the rules for honest trading. It’s not just about making as much money as possible.” I explained about the oath I’d once sworn to Zenithar, and how no one would trade with me until I’d fulfilled it.

“I see,” Varvur said eventually. “I did not know this. But…” He looked as if he were choosing his words very carefully. “Zenithar may teach these rules, but not all Imperials follow them. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“And do all Dunmer follow the Tribunal’s teachings?” I asked, a little defensively.

“Of course not, but the difference is that you are strangers here. Many Dunmer wish that the Empire had never come to Morrowind. And when people see Imperials who lie, and cheat, and abuse their power…” He exhaled wearily. “It is much easier to believe these stories, that say they care for nothing but gold.”

There was a long, awkward silence. “I’m sorry,” he said at last. “I knew it would offend you.”

“Nah, it’s OK,” I said, shrugging. “I’m not offended.” I could see his point, to be honest. But the fact was, that brief conversation had brought back all those nagging doubts I’d been trying desperately to ignore. Once again I could hear that treacherous little voice in my head: You don’t belong here. They’ll never accept you as Nerevarine.

To take my mind off it, I ended up drinking rather more than I should. A lot more, in fact. Somewhere towards midnight I got the bright idea of teaching Varvur some Cyrodiilic drinking songs – and I’m reliably informed that what my voice lacks in tunefulness, it makes up for in loudness. By the time I’d finished ‘Oh, Cyrodiil’ and ‘Green and Gracious Land’, I think the entire tavern was staring at us.

Someone at a nearby table shook his head. “What is it with you outlanders? You come here to Morrowind, and then spend all your time singing about how much better it is back home. Why don’t you just go back there?”

“Can’t,” I mumbled, slurping at my glass. “ ’m the Neverevereveragaine.”

The man groaned. “Almsivi preserve us. Not another one.”

“What is it?” asked a second voice.

“Another outlander who thinks she’s the Nerevarine.” He sighed. “Must be Tirdas again.”

By this time Varvur was looking distinctly worried. “Ada, it is getting late. I think we should leave.” He slid his arms around me and tugged me gently to my feet, guiding me towards the exit. When I stood up, it felt like the whole room was slowly spinning.

“Don’ believe me, huh?” I slurred, as we passed the first man’s table. “Well, I’ll show you. Got a, uh, magic ring thingy… Moon-’n-Star.” I pulled off my glove to show him, but unfortunately I’d forgotten that I wasn’t wearing it right now. “Well… ’shere somewhere.”

“Come, Ada.” Varvur practically dragged me towards the door of the tavern. As he bundled me out, I heard somebody say, “If she’s the Nerevarine, Almsivi help us all.”

Outside, he propped me up against a wall just around the corner from the tavern. I vaguely hoped that he might try to make out with me – though I was starting to feel a bit sick, to be honest – but he didn’t seem to be in the mood. “I must go to an alchemist,” he told me. “Wait for me here… and please, try not to do anything foolish.”

I have no idea how he managed to find an alchemist’s shop that was still open at that time of night, but a few minutes later he was back, clutching a potion in his hand. “Drink this,” he told me. I gulped down the contents of the small vial, and immediately sobered up.

“Ugh. Thanks,” I said. “Went a bit overboard there, I think.”

Varvur was shaking his head. “Ada, are you insane? Why did you tell those people that you are the Nerevarine?”

“Oh sh*t. I did, didn’t I?” He nodded. “Well, never mind. I don't think any of them noticed.”

“Ada, please. I know you love to joke, but try to be serious just this once.” He looked genuinely distressed. “You must understand how dangerous it is to say things like that, even in jest. I know it must seem strange to you, as your culture is so different, but – ”

I held up a hand. “I already know these things, Varvur. Look… I think perhaps you should speak to your father.”

“My father? Why?” Suddenly his face turned several shades paler. “You… surely you are not serious?”

“Let me show you something.” I glanced around to check that no one else was nearby, then opened up my pouch. Carefully I took out the Moon-and-Star, holding it between my thumb and forefinger, and held it out to Varvur.

For a moment he just stared at it blankly. Then, as I turned it slightly so that the moon and star decoration was uppermost, realisation dawned. He jumped back as if it had scorched him, and uttered a word in Dunmeris that I’d never even heard before. “Ada… is that…?”

I nodded. “But how – but where did you…?” Suddenly his furrowed brow cleared a little. “That was why you were visiting the Ashlanders!”

He caught on quickly, I had to give him that. I nodded again. “Then… you truly believe that you are the Nerevarine? But – but you are –”

“An outlander, yeah. It’s in the prophecy.”

Varvur seemed to be struggling to take this in. “But… Ada, why didn’t you tell me this?”

“Why do you think? I haven’t told anyone yet apart from your father – and I only told him because I was at my wits’ end.” I leaned back against the wall, closing my eyes briefly. “Varvur… I really think you should speak to him about it. It’s just that it’s getting very late, and it’s a long story, and I really, really don’t feel up to explaining the whole thing right now.”

“I understand. I will speak to him.” He hesitated, shaking his head. “I’m sorry… this is just so hard to believe. Almost like a dream.”

“I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you before,” I said. “But… you can see why, right? After what you were just telling me…”

“Yes, I can. Well… I will see you in Ald’ruhn, perhaps.” There was a new light in his eyes when he looked at me, something between awe and fear, with perhaps just a touch of hurt. I got the feeling I’d just scotched any remaining chance of a relationship between us. Not that I could really blame him – I think I’d have got cold feet if a potential boyfriend revealed himself as a reincarnated Indoril warlord.

“Bye, Varvur.” I slipped the ring back into my pouch, and held out my arms to him. He hugged me, very tentatively this time, and then we went our separate ways. I don’t think anyone could have guessed how hard I was trying not to cry.

I love this:




It really separates Dunmer and Imperial language and culture.

Oh, I remember this chapter !!! Poor Ada !!!

Stupid over-zealous Ordinators, always screwing things up. They're definitely people that can't seem to let something go. I myself made the mistake of once forgetting to take off the helmet and cuirass that you get for a reward after killing that Dreamer lady in the underworks, and after that they wouldn't stop attacking me. Never chose that reward again, always opted for the magic belt they gave you instead.

But it does give me a useful joke for Morrowind:

A young tourist straight from Cyrodiil enters a bar in Balmora, and notices that the only empty seats are next to a lonesome, scarred man sitting by himself at the end of the bar. With nowhere else to sit, he takes a spot next to the man, and buys him a drink.

"Thanks lad," says the scarred fellow, and with a quick glance the other patrons stop giving the young boy evil looks.

"There a reason they all don't seem to like you?" asks the tourist.

"Comes from me' name," says the scarred one.

"What's that?"

"Well, I was named Ace by me' ma', but that ain't all of it."

"What do you mean?" asks the tourist.

"Well, I fulfilled them Nerevarine prophecies 'bout a year ago, but do they call me 'Ace the Nerevarine'? NO!"

"No?" asks the tourist, realizing who he's sitting with.

"No," says the man, sipping his sujamma. "And I killed Sjoring Hard-Heart, became local Master o' the Guild of Fighters. But do they call me 'Ace the Guild-Master'?"

"No?" ventures the tourist.

"No!" says Ace. "And I beat Trebonius in a magical duel, became Arch-Mage for all of Vvardenfell. But do they call me 'Arch-Mage Ace'?!?"

"No..." says the younger one, more slowly this time.

"NO!" Now fuming, Ace takes a long swig, emptying his drink. "But you wake up next to one dead Ordinator..."

Hee. I suspect Ada will have collected a good deal of unsavoury nicknames by the end of her career...

It's time for me to stop my lurking and actually comment.

I love this story, love it to bits. Each character you introduce us too is well thought out and their actions and expressions seem natural and right. And Ada's no nonesense approach, coupled with her human flaws and trepedation make her such a relatable figure.

You're ability to work through each situation and make it both entertaining and truly realistic is fantastic, and I always wait on the edge of my seat for the next instalment...

Ahem, well thats enough gushing from me.

Thanks, Ahrenil! I'm glad you're enjoying the story so much.

Chapter 31: Dead Men’s Shoes

When I went to see Athyn Sarethi the next morning, Varvur wasn’t at home. Athyn confirmed that Varvur had been to see him and that he’d told him my story. I got the impression he hadn’t taken it very well.

“He was… perhaps a little overwhelmed,” Athyn said carefully, and it was pretty obvious that this was an understatement. “You must remember that most Dunmer believe these prophecies to be nothing more than ancient legend. I’m afraid you will face shock and disbelief from many people once you reveal yourself openly.”

I felt a dull ache somewhere deep in my chest, but I forced myself to ignore it. The last thing I needed was for Athyn to know that I had some stupid crush on his son. “I expect he’ll come around soon enough,” I said, as lightly as possible.

“I’m sure he will. But tell me, have you had any success in persuading Hlaren Ramoran to support our cause?”

I explained what I’d done for Hlaren (tactfully leaving out the part where I set him up with his servant Nalvyna). “He asked you to find Nalvilie Saren?” Athyn asked with interest. “I often wondered what happened to Nalvilie myself. I already had a daughter her age when she was on the arms of more men than was proper...”

“I take it they were engaged at some point?” I asked, unable to suppress my curiosity.

He nodded. “Poor Hlaren. We all tried to warn him that she and he would not suit, but he would persist in falling in love with the most unsuitable – ” He broke off. “Well. It was many years ago, and perhaps best forgotten.”

I couldn’t help wondering what Athyn would think if he knew Ramoran was contemplating marriage to his much-younger female bodyguard. Ah well, I’d leave him to break that bit of news to his fellow Councillors.

After leaving the manor I turned to the matter of the Fighters’ Guild, and spent a long time thinking over what Percius Mercius had said. The rest of the day, in fact, and by nightfall I was still no closer to knowing what I should do. Of course I understood that things couldn’t go on like this, but at the same time I was really unhappy about being asked to do Percius’ dirty work. If he’d decided that all these people had to die, why couldn’t he be the one to act as executioner?

The answer came to me soon enough: he wanted to take over as Guildmaster again when Sjoring Hard-Heart was dead. And that would be pretty difficult for him when he’d just slaughtered half of the Guild’s most senior officers, wouldn’t it? Far better to have a lackey like me carry out the ‘purge’, and keep his own hands relatively clean. I understood, but I still didn’t like it.

Finally, just before I drifted off to sleep, I decided to go and discuss the whole business with Eydis Fire-Eye. She’d seemed like a reasonable person for the little time I knew her, and who knew, perhaps my magical Nerevapersuasion powers would help me to talk her around. Perhaps.

Unfortunately things didn’t quite work out like that. The delay turned out to have been a bad idea: somehow, over that couple of days, both Eydis and Lorbumol had got word of what I was up to. And when I arrived in Balmora the next morning, she was waiting for me.

“I see you’ve risen to Guardian, Ada,” she said, her eyes filled with malice. “Word on the street is that you’ve become Mercius’ lapdog, and he’s sent you to kill me.”

“Eydis – ”

But she wasn’t about to listen. “I’m afraid I can’t let that happen,” she said sweetly, patting the heavy Dwarven mace she carried. “You were always a disappointment.”

Ouch. I wouldn’t have minded so much, but that really stung. Naturally she didn’t give me any chance to explain (though it probably didn’t help when I roared, “I don’t WANT to kill you, you stupid umbrella seller!”). She just swung at me, and didn’t stop swinging until she was dead.

I ran straight out of the Guild, knowing I had to get to Lorbumol gro-Aglakh before anyone could warn him. Masalinie Merian at the Mages’ Guild looked shocked to see Eydis’ blood on my armour, but she knew better than to ask me any questions at a time like that. From the Vivec Mages’ Guild I ran to the Fighters, and down to the training area in the basement – where Lorbumol looked up from mending some armour, saw me, and leapt to his feet with a truly ugly expression on his face. He was completely unarmoured, dressed only in pants and boots.

“I see you’ve risen to Guardian, Ventura,” he spat. “I also heard you’ve been sent to kill me. I’m the only one who’ll be taking over as Guildmaster, and I won’t let you take my rank in the Guild!”

Do I even need to say that he didn’t give me a chance to protest? He just grabbed the nearest thing to hand, a dreugh-bone club, and attacked me. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t Athyn Sarethi, and taking on a heavily-armoured opponent without a proper weapon did not work to his advantage. Even a magically-induced berserk rage – a natural talent of the Orcs – wasn’t enough to give him the edge.

When Lorbumol finally fell beneath my blade, I barely had time to mop my brow and swallow a stamina potion before a heavily-armed Nord man ran out of a nearby room. “What the hell is going on here?” he roared, barging past several other Guild members who’d come to see what was causing all the rumpus. I guessed that this was the Guildmaster Sjoring Hard-Heart.

“I might as well ask you the same thing,” I said coldly. “Why the hell are you making deals with the Camonna Tong?”

“What do you know about that?” he snarled. “Been talking to Mercius, have you? So that’s why you’re killing my best men. Well, you’ll not get any more of them!”

He ended that last sentence by swinging his heavy steel warhammer at my face. It was a good thing I’d anticipated it and jumped back in time to avoid it.

Hard-Heart was a much tougher opponent than Lorbumol. He was well-armed, for one thing, and a pretty formidable warrior on top of that. What was more, as a Nord he was completely immune to frost magicka, so the hits I managed to land on his armour didn’t do much good.

If I hadn’t been wearing my strength-enhancing gauntlets, I think he’d have defeated me easily. In fact, his over-confidence was what did for him in the end – he was relying on his strength, and wasn’t expecting an Imperial woman a foot shorter than he was to be a match for him. A few clumsy swings, a misstep – and the fight finally ended when he stumbled, leaving his head and neck exposed for a crucial second.

I swung round, my heart still pounding, as Hard-Heart’s body clattered to the ground. The other Guild members were standing there open-mouthed, staring from me to the bodies on the blood-spattered floor. I wanted to say something – anything – but there was absolutely nothing adequate to what had just happened. I turned, without a word, and walked out of the room.

The ‘purge’ was complete, but it would take me a long, long time to get the vile taste of that day’s events out of my mouth. I decided not to go back to Percius for now; he’d find out what had happened soon enough. Instead I returned to the Hawkmoth Legion fort, and went to bed that night in the knowledge that my career in the Fighters’ Guild was pretty much over. Who’d want to work with me now, even if I had acted for the best?

The next day I asked Frald the White for Legion duties, hoping it would take my mind off everything else. “Have you forgotten?” he said, his eyes twinkling. “You’re the same rank as me now. I can’t give you duties any more.”

“Oh… yeah.” I had forgotten, to tell the truth. Promotions in the Legion had come so thick and fast that I was having trouble keeping up.

“If you want more duties, you’ll have to speak to Varus Vantinius,” he continued. “He’s the head of the Legions here in Morrowind, and Knight of the Imperial Dragon. You can find him with Duke Dren over in the Grand Council chambers.”

Varus Vantinius was an Imperial man of around forty, tall and solidly built, with a piercing gaze. His impressive silver cuirass marked him out as a member of the Duke’s personal guard – the one I’d be joining if I managed to impress him enough. Unfortunately he seemed just a bit skeptical when I tried to explain how I’d become a Knight Protector in just over two months.

“Yes, Frald has told me about you,” he said, interrupting me. “I’m not sure what to make of it all, to be honest. You’re very young, aren’t you?”

Something in his tone and expression rubbed me up the wrong way. I got the impression he thought I’d bribed my way up the ranks by shagging Frald or something. “Twenty-three,” I answered shortly.

“Hmph. And you really think you’re ready for the Duke’s Guard?”

Once again I felt a twinge of irritation at his cynical stare. “Is there anything I can do to prove myself to you, sir?”

“Well, now that you mention it… perhaps.” He thought for a moment. “Have you heard of the Lord’s Mail?”

I vaguely remembered reading the story of the Mail as a kid. It was a very powerful enchanted cuirass, said to have been created by the goddess Kynareth for her champion Morihaus. I said as much to Vantinius, who nodded.

“It has been kept in a Shrine on the lower level of the Imperial Commission here, but was recently stolen. I want you to investigate. Take this key” – he handed me a large door key – “and use it to enter the Shrine. If you manage to find the Mail, there may be a place for you in our Order.”

Detective work, eh? I ignored his emphasis on the ‘if’, glad to have a task that hopefully wouldn’t involve any deaths. I had to have killed more people since arriving in Morrowind than in my entire life up to then.

I went to the Imperial Commission, in a building just off the Council chambers, and made my way down to the Imperial Cult shrine. At first I couldn’t see anything unusual, but after looking around for a few minutes I noticed some traces of mud on the ground. After careful analysis of the colour, texture and consistency, I determined that it was… mud. Of some sort.

The trail led from the altar to one of the walls and then vanished. I spoke to the two guards outside the door, but they assured me that no one had been in or out while they were there, and muttered darkly about ‘foul magicka’. Either they were lying, and the theft was an inside job – or there was another way into the shrine.

Back inside the small room, I took another look at the stone walls. Now that I looked more closely I could see loose mortar around some of the stones, and a small, perfectly round hole in one of them that looked man-made. I pushed and prodded at the wall for a while, even trying an unlocking spell, but nothing happened. Finally I called in the guards to show them what I’d found, but they couldn’t shift the stones either.

“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” I said at last. “Do you know of anyone who had a reason to steal the Mail?”

Both men thought for a minute. “Talk to Rufinus Alleius, the magistrate,” one of them said at last. “He’s upstairs in the Commission. He keeps his ears open.”

Rufinius did have a hunch, as it turned out. “Furius Acilius,” he said at once. “He was banished from the Legion some time ago, but he spoke of the armour before his leave, and of secret caves below the castle. Ask about him at the Imperial Guard Garrison.”

Talos. The Legion knew all this, and yet no one had bothered to investigate it before now? No wonder I’d managed to rise to Knight Protector so quickly – I was the only one who ever seemed to do any work around here.

Down in the Guard garrison, I asked around a bit and found out which room had belonged to Furius (heh) before he was kicked out. It seemed Rufinus had guessed correctly: a quick search of the room revealed a small key, expertly hidden… under Furius’ pillow. Yes, his pillow. This was starting to remind me of the ‘treasure hunt’ my parents had organised as a treat for my sixth birthday.

I went back to the shrine and tried the key in that small round hole I’d noticed earlier. After wiggling it around a bit, I heard a sudden ‘click’. I pushed gently on the wall – and an entire section slid backwards and sideways, leaving a large gap which revealed a cramped, dark passageway.

I crept through the hole as noiselessly as possible, letting the stone ‘door’ slide shut behind me. A short way ahead was a normal wooden door, this one unlocked. It led into a damp-looking cave lit only by glowing mushrooms – presumably the ‘secret caves’ Acilius had described.

For a moment I considered going straight back to tell the guards what I’d found, but I decided to scout out the place first. It did seem Alleius’ theory about Furius Acilius was correct, but I couldn’t be sure if he had allies. I slipped my trusty Chameleon amulet around my neck and cast the enchantment, then hurried down the gloomy passageway.

Further into the caves I came across a clearing of sorts, where a bald-headed Imperial man was sitting by a fire. Could this be Furius? Acting on instinct, I crouched down behind him and cast my Star of the West power. As he slumped back against me, unconscious, I caught him and I laid his body down beside me on the floor.

The enchanted cuirass he wore glowed faintly in the firelight. Was this really the Lord’s Mail, I wondered? It certainly wasn’t like any other armour I’d seen, but it didn’t look like the gift of a Goddess either – the metal was strong but dull and tarnished, and the carvings on the front were faded. It looked… ancient.

I rolled Acilius onto his side to unbuckle the cuirass from his limp body – then nearly dropped the armour when it literally changed shape in my hands, to something more suited to my size and figure. Maybe it was something special after all.

Before returning to the Commission I had a quick look around the cave, and was soon glad I’d taken the time. Amongst Furius’ other possessions I found a beautiful glass longsword, with a frost enchantment like the one on my current weapon. Glass weapons are slightly more brittle than silver or steel, but very good quality, with an edge that can cut through even some of the heavier armours. I decided I deserved a reward for all my hard work (cough) in exposing the thief’s fiendishly sneaky plot (cough).

I took the glass sword for myself and left my own weapon in its place. Leaving the unconscious Acilius for the guards to pick up, I returned to the Commission to explain what had happened, and then to the Council chambers. I was quite pleased with how that had gone: the Mystery of the Missing Mail solved in under an hour, and not a drop of blood spilled.

Varus Vantinius didn’t look quite so pleased, unfortunately. For some reason he seemed to have taken a dislike to me, and my success in finding the Mail only seemed to make things worse. To do him justice, though, he kept to his word.

“Well done, Knight Protector,” he said grudgingly. “Very well: as reward, you are welcome in our Order as a Knight of the Garland. I will have a cuirass made for you, but first I have another task: I want you to find Chrysamere.”

“Chrysamere?”

“A sword of legend, sometimes called the Paladin’s Blade. It was in the possession of the Legion for many years, but was stolen by a treacherous Knight. Our spies have heard rumours that it is now in the possession of Draramu Hloran, a powerful sorceress near Sadrith Mora.”

Why did I get the feeling he didn’t much care if I survived the encounter with this ‘powerful sorceress’? Well, I’d show him.

After my midday meal I set off for Sadrith Mora. It took a while to find any of the none-too-friendly townsfolk who were willing to speak about Draramu Hloran, but it turned out she was living in a cave on one of the nearby islands. By this point I’d learned to cast Water Walking, a pretty simple spell, fairly consistently – it was still a bit touch and go, but I managed to reach the cave of Abanabi without getting wet.

The cave itself turned out to be full of Daedra. A month or two ago this would have had me in a serious panic, but now, with enchanted armour for protection and a powerful weapon, I felt much better able to take them on. My main worry was that the sounds of battle would alert Hloran and any friends she had with her, but when I finally found her, she was alone in a remote part of the cavern.

I concealed myself behind a large crystal formation and wondered what to do. Draramu was standing on a wooden platform high above an underground lake, and the only way to reach her was over a narrow rock bridge. I could have snuck up on her using my Amulet of Shadows, but I couldn’t cast the Star of the West spell a second time in one day. I could have used arrows, but if she wasn’t killed outright she’d probably just start flinging spells at me. Besides, I really didn’t want to kill her – not because I imagined she didn’t deserve it, but because I was just so sick of killing people.

After a minute’s thought, I put on my Chameleon and Divine Intervention amulets and cast the Chameleon enchantment, then walked across to Draramu. She was carrying a magnificent claymore which had to be Chrysamere – though frankly I was surprised she even had the strength to lift it. Crouching down behind her, I picked up a small pebble from the ground and threw it across the room as hard as I could. She muttered something under her breath, looked around sharply for a few seconds, and then set off in the direction of the sound.

Just as she stepped onto the narrow bridge, I grabbed her arms – easily wrenching the sword out of her hands – and gave her a hard shove. With an outraged shriek she toppled over into the water below. Instantly I cast the Divine Intervention enchantment, and within minutes I was back in Ebonheart presenting Chrysamere to Varus Vantinius – who was now wearing the Lord’s Mail himself, I noticed.

“So you have found Chrysamere.” He was smiling thinly, but his eyes glittered with anger. “And a fine blade it is! Come on, hand it over.”

Gods, what was his problem? After all I’d done for the Legion, chasing after artifacts they’d been stupid enough to lose, you’d think a little politeness wouldn’t kill him. “Do I get another promotion for this?” I asked, unable to resist the chance to rub it in.

He gave a short laugh. “Looking to go even further, are you? I might have known.”

“Is there any reason why not?” I asked coldly. “With all due respect, sir, I think I’ve earned it.”

Varus just… stared at me, a strange expression on his face. “There can only be one Knight of the Imperial Dragon on Vvardenfell,” he said at last. “But so be it. To take my place, you must defeat me in an honourable duel in the Arena.”

It took a second or two for the full meaning of his words to sink in. Only then did I realise what a hideous mistake I’d made. Why hadn’t I realised that his rank was the next one up from mine? “A… a duel?” I murmured, trying to hide my shock.

“Yes.” A look of scorn flickered across Vantinius’ face. “Or did you imagine I would simply stand aside and let you take my rank?”

My mind was working frantically. Okay, so I’d screwed up here. There was no way I could realistically beat Vantinius in a duel – especially when he had two of the most powerful artifacts in Tamriel to help him! – but however stupid I would look trying to fight him, I’d look even more stupid if I tried to back down now. Best to just go along with the duel, and surrender gracefully when things got too much for me.

“No, sir.” I straightened up. “I accept your challenge.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You are the challenger, are you not? Very well. I’ll tell you now that I’d rather die than lose my position as Knight of the Imperial Dragon. Meet me in the Arena in Vivec, tomorrow morning, for a duel to the death.”

Before I could say anything, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room – leaving me staring after him, aghast. A duel to the death? Surely he couldn’t be serious?

I wheeled round to look at the other people in the room. All of them, the Duke included, were looking at me as if I were completely and utterly mad. I couldn’t entirely blame them.

Suddenly I felt a rush of anger. Vantinius knew I had no chance against him, and yet he’d all but tricked me into a fight I couldn’t possibly win. I could see how arrogant and obnoxious I must have looked, with my demands for promotion to his rank – but on top of challenging me to an unwinnable duel just to humiliate me, he had to try to kill me as well? It made no sense until I suddenly realised that was why he’d disliked me to start with – he thought I was a threat to his position, and in his mind I’d just proved it.

I walked slowly back to the Hawkmoth garrison, my mind in a whirl. What was I going to do? Maybe if I used the money from the ring I’d sold to buy some really good armour, Daedric or ebony or something like that… but I didn’t have a clue where to get that kind of stuff. Besides, those armours were hideously expensive – a cuirass alone would probably cost more than the 25,000 gold I had left.

It took me ages to get to sleep that night. I lay awake for hours, mentally beating myself up for being so incredibly stupid. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about without turning the head of my own Order into an enemy! I didn’t even want his rank, for crying out loud!

By the time I woke up, early the next morning, I still hadn’t thought of anything. I couldn’t back out now even if I wanted to – not only would the Redorans crucify me, but I’d certainly lose any chance of ever becoming Nerevarine. It seemed my only hope was for Azura to step in and strike Vantinius down with a heart attack or something.

And then, just when everything seemed hopeless, an idea came to me. A truly evil, sneaky, underhanded, blasphemous idea.

I bathed, and dressed, and then walked down to the basement where the Legion smith was setting up for the day. “Excuse me,” I said to him. “Do you know anything about the Arena, by any chance?”

He hesitated for a couple of seconds before answering. “What do you want to know?”

“Am I right in thinking you can use any type of magic you like for a duel? There aren’t any restrictions?”

“None that I know of, no.”

“Okay. Thanks,” I said. As he turned away, I cast Divine Intervention and landed in front of the High Fane on Vivec’s Temple canton. There was no one around; the priestess who usually sold Rising Force potions hadn’t turned up yet.

I walked over to Vivec’s Shrine to Stop the Moon and removed one of my own potions from my bag. Nervously I glanced over at the Palace of Vivec, where the god himself was said to live, watching over the city and its people. What would he think of this, I wondered?

“Sorry,” I murmured, and placed the potion on the shrine. With a flash of light it cast the usual 24-hour Levitation spell.

I didn’t fly off immediately. Instead I walked to the Arena, ate some breakfast, and then spent my time practising in one of the training rooms until the duel was due to begin. As I walked to the pit area, I felt a bit sick – but not with fear.

As soon as I walked through the door and saw Vantinius, I knew there wasn’t much chance of him showing mercy. He wore the Lord’s Mail and carried Chrysamere, and his mouth was set in a hard line. Almost no one was there to see us – apparently he hadn’t thought this rather pathetic fight worth mentioning to anyone.

The announcer called for the duel to begin, and Vantinius ran at me brandishing Chrysamere. I stood my ground, waiting until he was almost within reach – and then I leapt upwards, rising high above his head.

I’ll never forget the look of fury and disbelief on Vantinius’ face. To be fair, he still put up a pretty good fight – but what could he do against an opponent with that kind of advantage? He defended himself quite well, but he never managed to land a blow on me. All I had to do was jab him with my sword a few times and let the frost magicka do its work.

I didn’t feel any triumph when he lay dead – only a crushing sense of guilt and sadness. I knew perfectly well that this hadn’t been a fair fight, even if there was technically nothing in the rulebook about not using constant-effect Levitation spells in a fight. I’d cheated, and I’d killed a good man. But what else could I have done?

Carefully I unbuckled the Lord’s Mail from his body and picked up Chrysamere, then cast Divine Intervention to take me back to Ebonheart. I honestly think Duke Dren was pretty near to fainting when he saw me. Clearly he hadn’t ever expected to see me again, let alone carrying Vantinius’ weapon and armour.

“You… have defeated Varus?” he said hoarsely. “You took those from him?”

I nodded, laying the artifacts down on one of the chairs. “I see.” He swallowed visibly. “Then you are the new Knight of the Imperial Dragon. Congratulations, sera.”

Dear Talos… I was, wasn’t I? That was why we were fighting in the first place – because he thought I wanted his rank. I, Ada Ventura, was now the head of the Imperial Legion in Vvardenfell.

Suppressing a choke of slightly hysterical laughter, I thanked the Duke and left as quickly as possible. I knew one thing: I had to tell Athyn about this as quickly as possible. Better to tell him myself than have him hear about it third-hand and think I’d kept it from him.

In Sarethi Manor, I went to Athyn’s study and told him the whole sorry story. As always, he listened patiently, but this time I could sense that he really wasn’t happy.

“I will answer you plainly,” he said at last. “Yes, it was wrong of him to challenge you knowing that you had little chance against him. But what you did was very far from honourable.”

I felt the blood rush to my face. I knew he was right, of course, and that made me all the more defensive. “Are you saying I should just have walked in there like a lamb to the slaughter?” I demanded. “When he had the Paladin’s Blade and the Armour of Morihaus to help him?”

“I don’t blame you for wishing to even the odds, but surely you must see that your actions went far beyond this? Besides, the duel should never have taken place.”

I blinked. “Are you saying I should have refused to fight him?”

“No, you could hardly have refused the duel. But…” Athyn shook his head. “Ada, I must speak very seriously to you. I know that you are young, and not so familiar with our culture… but you’ve been here long enough to understand how careless words can lead you into trouble. It was you who first issued a challenge to Vantinius, even if you did not mean to.”

“But – ”

“No, no more excuses. Ada, you claim to be the Nerevarine – yet a good man is dead because you spoke without thinking.” He spoke gently, but his expression was very grave. “Is this what makes you a worthy successor to Nerevar? I cannot say this strongly enough: If you wish to rise high in House Redoran, and become our Hortator, you must learn to control your tongue and your temper.”

I felt about eight inches tall. Having him lose his temper and yell at me would be far and away preferable to this; at least it wouldn’t make me feel quite so guilty and ashamed. “I do not say this to be cruel,” he went on, “or because I’m angry with you. I say it as advice, and as a warning. If you were to defeat a Redoran in such a duel, the House would not easily forgive you.”

For a long time I just stared at the floor. “You’re not going to punish me?” I said at last, in a small voice.

“No. What purpose would it serve? You already know you have done wrong, else you would not be here. It is as I have always told my own children: If you are a true Redoran, and you know you have acted dishonourably, your own conscience will be your worst punishment.”

I forced myself to look up at him. “Surely you’re not still willing to declare me Hortator after this?”

“Not yet.” Athyn began to gather together the papers on his desk. “I will, but first I wish you to become Hortator of Houses Hlaalu and Telvanni. Prove to me that you can be cunning and diplomatic, and use persuasion as well as weapons. Being a good fighter is not enough.”

I froze in horror. Athyn shrugged, a rueful smile on his lips. “A difficult task, I know,” he said. “But if you truly are Nerevar reborn, you must succeed.”

Somehow I managed to pull myself together. “All right,” I said, trying to sound rather more confident than I felt. “I’ll try. Do you have any idea who I should speak with to become Hortator?”

“Be careful when dealing with the Telvanni,” he warned. “They are all powerful, and the power drives some of them mad. Of the ones I have dealt with, Master Aryon of Tel Vos seems the most honest. As for the Hlaalu, I do not know of any who would treat you honourably and fairly… but I do know that Crassius Curio in Vivec holds some degree of power.” Again he smiled faintly, seeing the horrified expression on my face. “Yes, my friend. Perhaps this will teach you to be more careful of throwing vases in future.”

“Anyone else?” I asked desperately. “Anyone?”

“Well… Orvas Dren is not officially a member of House Hlaalu, but he holds at least as much sway over the Hlaalu Council.”

Oh, great. So my choice was between the head of the Camonna Tong, and the guy whose face I’d smashed in with a vase? Yet more proof that someone up there really hated me.

I thanked Athyn for his kindness, but left the manor in a lower mood than I’d felt for weeks. I’d hoped to smooth my way with the Hlaalu and Telvanni by getting Redoran to declare me Hortator first, but now that was impossible. And I had the satisfaction of knowing it was entirely my own fault. It wasn’t a good start to my efforts to fulfil the Fourth Trial.

You make intrigues become child's play, and then later a misunderstanding becomes literally a matter of life and death.

Ok, just gotta ask: the title Dead Man's Shoes. Does it, in any way, reflect knowing about the tradition of "Dead Men's Pointy Shoes" from the awesome terry Pratchett?

"Dead men's pointy shoes" is just a play on the phrase "waiting for dead men's shoes" (i.e. having to wait until someone else dies before you can be promoted), so it's more the other way round. But it's true that both the wizards and Ada are rather more... direct about achieving that promotion.

Screenshots:
A totally fair fight.
Another totally fair fight.
Totally fair fight #3.

This guy looks like Modryn Oreyn but with tusks and green, lol.

And an even worse personality.

Good news: The next chapter of 'The Neveragaine Strikes Back' is close to being finished. In the meantime, here's another chapter (I've changed the original title, which I never liked, to a better one).


Chapter 32: Holding Out For A Hero

Athyn had made things clear enough: to gain his support I had to prove that I was a Responsible Adult, not a stroppy vase-throwing brat. And the first step on that path, I thought, was to face up to my responsibilities as Knight of the Imperial Dragon. Frankly I found the whole idea a bit terrifying, but having so thoroughly made my own bed, I didn’t have much choice but to lie on it.

I went to Ebonheart to seek a special audience with Duke Dren. To my enormous relief, he quickly made it clear that this was pretty much a figurehead position. As long as I checked in with him and the Imperial high-ups every now and then, I was quite free to leave the real work up to everyone else (I always suspected that most high-ranking jobs were like that).

And to think people back home used to say I’d never amount to anything. If they could see me now, eh?

Since the next phase of my stronghold wasn’t finished yet, I decided to get cracking with the Hortator business – it was about time, after all. Although I knew the Telvanni would probably be the most difficult to persuade, I just couldn’t bring myself to face Crassius Curio right now, so I finally decided to visit Master Aryon in Tel Vos. Luckily I’d set a Mark near the town earlier on, so I could travel there instantly instead of spending days cooped up in a boat. (Well, almost instantly – it was still taking me well over a minute to actually cast the Recall spell.)

I’d hoped that Aryon’s newfangled Western-style castle might include modern design innovations such as ‘stairs’, but no such luck. His private quarters were still in a mushroom pod that could only be reached by levitation. I hid in an alcove to change into Peakstar’s scuzzy pants, hoping Aryon wouldn’t be put off by my appalling fashion sense, then levitated up to his chambers. I was rather surprised to be met by an Imperial in heavy Western-style armour.

“Welcome to Tel Vos,” he said, without missing a beat. “I’m Turedus Talanian, chief of Master Aryon’s mercenary guard… and from the looks of you, adventuring is your trade. Maybe you’d be interested in a little work?”

“Possibly,” I said cautiously. “But first I need to see Master Aryon on a very important matter of business.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Your name?”

“Ada Ventura.”

“And do you know Master Aryon?”

“No… but it’s possible he may have heard of me,” I said, remembering the Fighters’ Guild jobs I’d done near to Vos. “Please could you tell him that I’d like to speak to him, if he’s not too busy?”

Talanian looked skeptical, but headed upstairs to speak to Aryon, returning a minute later. “All right, he’ll see you. Go on up.”

I made my way up the winding staircase to Master Aryon’s chamber. He sat on a throne-like seat and was absorbed in a book, but laid it down on his lap as soon as I approached. For a few uncomfortable seconds he looked me over with detached interest, the way you might look at a museum exhibit or a piece of pottery.

Aryon was another of those Dunmer who seemed strangely ageless. He wasn’t young exactly, and yet he certainly looked a lot younger than Divayth Fyr. The smile he gave me was friendly, but slightly cryptic, giving the impression that he knew something I didn’t. It made me a bit suspicious of him.

“Ah yes. Sera Ventura.” He spoke flawless, near-accentless Tamrielic. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last. I assume you’ve come here because you wish to be the Telvanni Hortator?”

My heart skipped a beat. “How – ”

“Oh, quite easily,” he interrupted. “I know of you by reputation, of course. The rising star of House Redoran. The scourge of the Fighters’ Guild… or certain elements within the Guild, at least. And – correct me if I’m wrong – the new Knight of the Imperial Dragon?”

Good gods, how had a reclusive Telvanni wizard out in the Grazelands got to hear about that so quickly? Either he could read minds – and I wouldn’t rule anything out where the Telvanni were concerned – or he had really good spies in the main cities. “You’ve been creating quite a stir in Vvardenfell,” he went on. “Combine that with the rumours of a reborn Nerevar amongst the Ashlanders, and… well.” He smiled. “It’s not difficult to ‘put two and two together’, as you Cyrodiils say.”

Realising I was still gaping at him, I picked my jaw up off the floor with an effort. “Perhaps I’d better tell you the whole story?”

“Yes, I think perhaps you had.”

So I told him. He listened carefully as I ran through my story, just as I’d done with Athyn Sarethi, and showed him the Moon-and-Star. At first his expression showed nothing but faint amusement, but by the time I finished he was looking genuinely interested.

“Yes, I understand,” he said at last. “You are willing to take the responsibility, and I am willing to vote for you as Hortator.”

“Really?” I hadn’t expected him to agree this easily.

“Yes, really. And I think the other Telvanni councillors will also cooperate, though some might need a little… persuading.” He leaned back in his chair, musing out loud. “Master Neloth is ill-tempered, and Mistress Therana is losing her mind. You are not a male, so Mistress Dratha will like you. Archmagister Gothren is another problem – he will not refuse you directly, but will delay indefinitely. I recommend that you kill Gothren.”

My mouth dropped open. Aryon’s face broke into a smile. “I’ll tell you plainly: I stand to gain if Archmagister Gothren dies. I say this so you won’t think I’m trying to trick you, but my advice is still good. Gothren won’t name you Hortator, but he’ll never come out and say so. And in House Telvanni it is customary to settle disputes in this manner.”

Once again I found myself thanking the Divines that I hadn’t joined House Telvanni. “We’ll see,” I said at last. “So… you’re really prepared to support me as Hortator?”

“As I said.”

I looked at him through narrowed eyes. “I want it in writing.”

“Ah, a true Imperial,” he said with a sigh. “Very well, give me a moment.”

He scribbled a short note on a piece of paper and signed his name to it with a flourish. “Will this satisfy you?”

I still wasn’t sure whether I could trust Aryon, but from what I could see, his declaration seemed pretty watertight. I couldn’t see any way he could wriggle out of it – but then again, if he planned to do that, he’d probably find a way to do it anyway. And I had to admit that he’d been pretty helpful.

“It’s fine,” I said. “Thank you for your help, Master Aryon. I hope you’re wrong about Gothren.”

“I believe I may know him better than you do,” he said with a shrug. “But we shall see.”

As I was leaving, Captain Talanian came up to speak to me. “I hope your meeting with Master Aryon was productive,” he said politely. I nodded. “Now, about that work… would you happen to be visiting the Zainab Ashlander camp in the near future?”

“Er, yes, at some point.”

“Then perhaps you’d able to help us? We’ve been trying to establish trade links with the Zainab. I’ll pay you 100 drakes to visit the camp and find out what goods the tribe would be interested in trading for.”

100 drakes wasn’t much, but I guessed this was his way of asking payment for Aryon’s little ‘favour’. “Of course,” I said immediately, getting out my journal. “I’m not sure exactly when I’ll be visiting the camp, but I’ll definitely speak to them about it.”

“Good,” he said. “But remember, dealing with the Zainab is tricky. You’ll need sharp wits, a silver tongue, and a good knowledge of the Ashlanders.” Now he told me…

My next point of call was Tel Mora, just across the water. This was the home of Mistress Dratha, the oldest living Telvanni councillor. There were rumours that she kept herself alive through the necromantic arts, and when I saw her, I could certainly see why. She looked so old and shrivelled-up that I could have taken her for a walking corpse herself.

“Are you the new serving girl?” she asked, as soon as I entered the room. I shook my head. “No? Who are you, then?”

“My name is Ada Ventura, sera.” I took a deep breath. “I’ve come to ask you to support me as Telvanni Hortator.”

She frowned. “Are you a Telvanni? You don’t look like one.”

“I’m afraid not,” I admitted. “I’m actually a Redoran.”

“Then what makes you think I’d be willing to name you Hortator? I don’t appreciate having my time wasted.”

“Well, it’s a bit of a long story.” I paused. “I don’t suppose you’d happen to have half an hour to spare?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Okay. Well, in that case” – I began to pull off my left gauntlet – “perhaps I should just show you this.”

“By Azura. Is that…?” For the first time I saw a spark of interest in her eyes. “Yes, I believe it is. Well.” She shook her head. “It seems there is something to you after all, Ada Ventura. Perhaps you’d like to tell me just how you got hold of that ring?”

Like Aryon, she listened to my story with rapt attention. I had to say this for the Telvanni: they might be a bit crazy, but they were at least open-minded. Most people would have dismissed me as a lunatic before I’d even finished speaking the word ‘Hortator’.

“Hmm,” she said, when I was done. “So there’s something to those old prophecies after all? Pig-headed Battlemages don’t pay attention to Lady Azura’s portents as they should.” She shook her head, cackling wheezily. “And you are the foretold Nerevarine? Quite a shock to those mallet-headed House Fathers, eh? Nerevar comes back... as a woman? Haw!” I decided I rather liked Mistress Dratha.

“Certainly,” she continued. “I’m quite happy to name you Hortator. Here. Take these scrolls with you. Never know when they’ll come in handy.”

She gave me four scrolls that could be used to summon a Golden Saint from Oblivion. I was pretty impressed, I had to admit. I usually avoid summoning Daedra – there’s no telling when the damn things might turn on you – but there was no denying that a few Golden Saint allies could come in very useful in a fight.

I was a little nervous about asking for her signature, but she signed her name to Aryon’s declaration very happily. “I just wish I could see Berel Sala’s face when he hears that you have been named Hortator by all three Great Houses,” she chuckled. “The captain of the Watch, I mean. I’m confident that you can earn the votes of the other councillors... well, except maybe Gothren. Someone ought to ‘retire’ him quietly.”

Dislike of Gothren seemed to be a common theme among the other Telvanni councillors. I wondered why they didn’t just band together to get rid of him, until I realised they probably all hated each other nearly as much.

Pleased with the day’s work, I decided to stay in Tel Mora for the night. I rented a room at the local inn and spent the rest of the day exploring the village, admiring the bizarre architecture and the strange crab-shell helmets worn by the guards. I’d begun to notice that each of the Great Houses had their own fashions: they all wore bonemold armour, for instance, but the styles were distinctively different. In terms of clothing, the Redorans preferred loose robes of silk or satin in rich colours, while the Telvanni went for enchanted robes and Hlaalu clothes were closer to the Western style.

Sleeping inside one of those buildings was a slightly weird experience, but not as bad as I’d expected. Apart from a slightly musty smell – one you get used to if you live in a mushroom, I suppose – the room was quite comfortable, though I did spend a few seconds wondering where the hell I was when I woke up next morning. I was planning to go and visit the other Telvanni councillors that day, but then I realised that as the Ahemmusa camp was nearby, this would be a good time to visit them and ask them to declare me Nerevarine.

I might have known things wouldn’t be as simple as that. As soon as I got near the camp, I was accosted by a very elderly woman wearing a magnificent feather headdress. “Stranger!” she called. “Stop! I believe you are the one I have seen in my dreams and visions.”

All I could think was ‘oh no, not again’. “Are you the wise woman of this tribe, by any chance?” I asked.

She nodded. “I am a wise woman, yes… but you must listen to me. The past seven nights, I have had dreams of a White Guar, sent by the gods to help my tribe. We have been suffering greatly from disease, and none of my magic will cure the ailment. Find this White Guar for us, stranger, and let it lead you to a new hope for my people.”

A white guar? I’d never even heard of anything like that before. I wasn’t quite as skeptical of ‘dreams and visions’ as I used to be, but this woman still seemed pretty unbalanced.

“Well, I guess I could try,” I said uncertainly, “but wouldn’t it be easier if I just walked to town and bought you some potions?”

“Potions?” She frowned, then shook her head. “Only the Guar can help us.”

“No, seriously,” I said. “I’ve plenty of money – I can bring you all the cure potions you like. As a gift,” I added, remembering how much the Ashlanders liked gifts.

She shook her head impatiently. “No! The White Guar must be found.”

Oh, sod this. I’d hoped to have a quick conversation with the tribal leaders, wave my Moon-and-Star around in their faces, and get declared Nerevarine in time to return to Vos for lunch. And some old crone had to choose this moment to send me off on a wild… er, guar chase?

Cunning and diplomacy, I reminded myself. Cunning and diplomacy. “If I do this, will you allow me to speak with your ashkhan?”

“We have no ashkhan.”

“No ashkhan?”

“Our chief wise woman, Sinnammu Mirpal, leads the tribe. But things are very bad for us now, outlander.” She sighed – a little theatrically, I thought. “Soul sickness, blight storms, blight-sick animals, blight monsters come down from Red Mountain. They kill our men, eat our herds, and bring disease and famine. We must have help, or there will be nothing left.”

Good grief. I hadn’t realised things were as bad as that – the place actually looked quite pleasant compared to the Ashlands or Molag Amur.

“The ‘corprus men’ crawl out from under the mountain, and prey in the night like demons,” she continued. “Our hunters and herders are scared to go out on the land. Lands to the west belong to the Urshilaku, lands to the south to the Zainab… and to the north? Water and monsters.” She shook her head mournfully. “No safe haven for the Ahemmusa.”

“Okay, I get the picture,” I said hurriedly. “I’ll just, er, go and find your white guar for you.”

Her eyes lit up. “I knew you were the one! I am certain this animal will appear for you. In my vision, I saw it where the path was forked, where the rocks grow from the earth like fingers on a hand.”

I only hoped she was right, or I’d be wandering the Grazelands for weeks. I managed to find the road to the west without much difficulty, but after walking for a quarter of an hour, I was beginning to suspect that she’d been having me on. For all I knew, the tribe pulled this ‘white guar’ stunt on outlanders all the time.

However, a few minutes later I reached a fork in the path – and sure enough, right there behind a row of five stones, was a white guar. Well, I say ‘white’ – ‘smudgy grey’ was really a better description, but close enough. It turned its head towards me with a look of mild interest, but didn’t move.

At this point a slight problem occurred to me: I hadn’t bothered to think of how I’d get the guar back to the camp. I could hardly hoist it up onto my shoulders and carry it there. If I’d had a rope I could have tried a makeshift lasso, but I didn’t.

“Here, boy,” I said cautiously, taking a few steps towards the animal. It backed away immediately.

“Good guar. Nice guar.” I took another step forward, and again it backed away from me. “Come with me and I’ll give you some nice… er…” What did guar like to eat, anyway?

I was just wondering what to do when the guar turned its back to me and began to lope off up a grassy slope. A few moments later it stopped and turned its head towards me expectantly, almost as if it wanted me to follow. Maybe it had found a kid trapped down a well somewhere.

I set off after the guar, which led on a short distance ahead of me, never letting me get quite close enough to touch it. At long last it stopped in front of a tree surrounded by rocks. As I drew closer, I saw a pair of legs poking out from behind a large stone.

The body of a young Dunmer woman lay behind the rock, her eyes staring blankly up at the sky. I couldn’t see any injuries on her body, and she couldn’t have been dead for long as the corpse hadn’t decayed at all. She must be one of the Ahemmusa, I thought. But why hadn’t the wise woman told me about her?

I quickly searched the body for clues to her identity, and found an amulet inscribed with the name ‘Ashamanu’. It had an enchantment on it that looked like it could cure disease.

I took the amulet from her body and slipped it into my pouch. The guar was still hovering nearby. “Well, thanks for your help,” I said, and immediately felt like an idiot for thinking it would understand. Though as I struggled to cast the Recall spell to get back to the camp, I could swear it was smirking at me.

Although I wondering how I was going to explain things to the wise woman, it turned out I didn’t need to. “I have seen your journey in a vision,” she said as soon as she saw me. “I know what the white guar led you to, and I know who she was. Ashamanu was a healer many, many years ago, who gave her own life to save the lives of others. You have witnessed a miracle, my child; you now hold the Amulet of Ashamanu.”

Okay, so she’d been right about the guar. I still thought it would be easier just to have bought some potions – or sent a couple of healers to learn a healing spell at one of the nearby wizard settlements. Why did people always have to make things so complicated?

“Glad to be of service, sera,” I said solemnly, handing her the amulet. “I hope it helps your people. Now that I’ve done this for you, may I please speak to your chief wise woman?”

“If you wish,” she said. “But first, you must show respect, and speak to one of our gulakhans. And take this shield in return for the amulet – it is a shield of legend among my people, the Shield of the Undaunted. Use it, and you will feel the strength return to weary limbs.”

She gave me a chitin shield, similar to the ones carried by Ashlander tribesmen, but enchanted. I was running out of places to store all the magical presents people had given me since I arrived in Morrowind.

I stopped to eat lunch in the camp before going any further. While I was there I had a quick look around, and noticed that the people there did seem a bit thin and pale. The children in particular looked undernourished, and sat listlessly in front of their yurts, rather than scampering around like the ones I’d seen in other camps. And some of the animals were no more than skin and bone.

Why didn’t they just go to the cities? I’d seen other Ashlanders who’d settled and found jobs there, people like Hassour Zainsubani. Okay, I could see how it would be a wrench to leave their ancestral homelands, but surely that was better than letting your kids starve? I didn’t think I’d ever truly understand these people.

Afterwards I spoke to one of the gulakhans to explain what I’d just done for the tribe, and tell him my Nerevarine story. “You must forgive us,” he said bluntly. “Perhaps these are great days, perhaps the prophecies are fulfilled – but to the Ahemmusa, all we know is that hunger and disease stalks us, and monsters prey upon us. Speak to the wise woman, Sinnammu Mirpal, and tell her you will find a safe place for our tribe.”

A safe place? Where was I supposed to find a place to relocate an entire tribe? Maybe a Dwemer ruin or something… but they could hardly do much herding and hunting in a place like that. I could only hope Sinnammu Mirpal would have some ideas.

It turned out she did – though nothing like what I’d expected. “In seasons past, when threatened, the Ahemmusa could take shelter in the Daedric ruins of Ald Daedroth,” she told me. “But now the priestess Hlireni Indavel has come and restored the shrine, and worshippers of Sheogorath dwell there, protected by terrible sorceries and summonings.”

I nearly choked. “You use a shrine to Sheogorath as a place to shelter?!”

“Indeed.” The way she spoke, you’d think it was perfectly normal to camp out in Daedric shrines for months on end. “First, you will go to Ald Daedroth and make it safe for the Ahemmusa. Then you will return, and I will accompany you there, and if Ald Daedroth is a safe place for my people, then I will name you Nerevarine.”

I wanted to object, but what could I say? It wasn’t like I had any better ideas… well, in my view almost anything would be better than sheltering in a shrine to a crazed demonic overlord, but Sinnammu clearly thought differently. If they really were so badly off, I guess things couldn’t get much worse then they were already.

“How do I get there?” I asked. “And how can I make it safe for you?”

“The surface ruins are on an island a great distance north as the racer flies. If I may pass in safety to the old sanctuary and see the great statue in the inner shrine, then the place is safe for my people.” She looked at me sternly. “I have not the arts of war, but I have courage. I wager my life against the safety of my people. But if Ald Daedroth is not safe, if I die on my journey… remember, you will not be named Ahemmusa Nerevarine.”

With that dire warning, she shooed me out of the tent. After checking my gear, and making sure I had enough food, scrolls and potions, I set off to look for Ald Daedroth.

Sinnammu hadn’t been exaggerating when she talked about ‘a great distance’. I had to water-walk several miles to the north, and though I managed to stop on several smaller islands along the way, I only just avoided a salt-water bath. By the time I reached Ald Daedroth, the sun was sinking low in the sky and a cold wind nipped at my face. And it seemed that someone had got there before me.

I could hear the sounds of battle even before I reached the island. Once ashore, I stayed well out of the way until the spells stopped flying and then walked cautiously towards the shrine, sword drawn. A little way up the sloping shore stood a man in a priest’s robe, who looked at me with deep suspicion.

“Who are you, outlander, and what are you doing here?” His expression darkened. “Are you here to worship at this foul shrine?”

The words ‘foul shrine’ told me that ‘yes’ was probably the wrong answer. “Me?” I blurted out. “I’m just here to look for treasure.”

His face relaxed a little. “All right then, we don’t care about that. In fact, you’ll be doing us a favour if you kill a few witches and warlocks in the process. Just be careful, leave us alone, and we’ll leave you alone.”

Realisation dawned on me. “Are you guys Ordinators, by any chance?”

“Witchhunters,” he said, with a grim smile. “We’re here to clean out this den of Daedra worshippers. Just stay out of our way, and you’ll be fine.”

Gods. This complicated things a bit. I wondered how the Ahemmusa would feel about having to share their ‘safe haven’ with a bunch of Temple zealots.

The good part about the Ordinators’ presence was that it meant I didn’t have to do much actual fighting. Inside the shrine, I watched them duke it out with the Sheogorath cultists while keeping out of the way as much as possible (though occasionally I’d intervene if it looked like the Ordinators were getting the worst of it). Luckily they seemed to be quite competent.

The ‘inner shrine’ Sinnammu had mentioned was a large chamber flooded with seawater. On a raised platform in the centre was a huge statue of Sheogorath, the Madgod. Strangely enough, instead of some hideous monstrosity, it portrayed a well-dressed old gentleman with a cane – the better to fool unsuspecting mortals, so they say. Needless to say, I stayed well away from it – having one Daedra Lord take an unsolicited interest in me was bad enough.

Since this part of the shrine was clear, it occurred to me that technically I could go back to Sinnammu and tell her I’d done what she asked. But I just couldn’t do it – it would be blatant cheating, and I’d done quite enough of that recently. Besides, there were lives at stake here.

I waded on through the shrine until I reached a staircase leading to the upper level. Picking my way past dead bodies, I made my way up to the top floor, which the Daedra worshippers seemed to be using as living quarters. They even had a pet scamp there, like the one I’d seen in Caldera. I wondered if this one could talk.

An Orc in bonemold armour was standing close by. On the broken pillar next to him was a pile of moon sugar and a bottle of Cyrodiilic brandy. He spotted me looking at him, and scowled. “What? You never seen a Khajiit before?”

“Khajiit?”

“That’s right. Ra’Gruzgob the Khajiit.” He patted the seat of his pants. “How do you like my tail?”

“Um.” Ought I to play along? “You… look more like an Orc to me.”

“Orc? Ra’Gruzgob is no Orc! Ra’Gruzgob is Khajiit!”

Sigh. Worshippers of the God of Madness have to keep up appearances, I guess.

A robed Dark Elf woman drifted over from the far corner. There was a strangely vacant, dreamy expression on her face: although she could clearly see and hear me, she didn’t seem ‘all there’ if you know what I mean. I suspected she’d been hitting the moon sugar pretty hard, just like ‘Ra’Gruzgob’.

“Hlireni Indavel?” I asked, guessing that this was the priestess Sinnammu had mentioned.

A smile spread across her face. “Well, well, well. What do we have here? Do you have your invitation? Are you a Player of the Game, or just a humble Spectator?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She sighed. “Dance with your partner. Swing the axe and mace. Rough and tumble, the spice of life and death. Don’t you understand? Or do you want to die like a farmer?”

“I wasn’t planning on dying at all,” I said. “Or dancing, for that matter. I’ve come here because the Ahemmusa tribe need shelter in this shrine, and you’re in their way.”

Her smile widened. “So sad,” she cooed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “We all shed a tear for the poor little savages. It’s a terrible world for the little helpless things. But... life must have its little tragedies, mustn’t it?”

I don’t care what Athyn said, I wasn’t in the mood for polite negotiations. “How about you leave them alone, and I don’t kill you?”

There was a tense silence. Hlireni’s smile faded as she looked me over, noting my weapons and armour and grim expression.

“So the game is ‘Challenge and Bluff,” she said at last. “And, given the apparent high level of your skills, I hesitate to call your bluff. So… you win. I concede.”

“You’ll let the Ahemmusa stay here?”

She nodded. “I can’t speak for the Ordinators, of course, but I promise you may bring the Ahemmusa here, and my followers will not harm them. I swear on the Mad God.”

Good enough, I suppose. “Make sure you don’t,” I told her. “Because if anything happens to them, I’ll come back here and gut you like a baby slaughterfish. Have a nice day.”

With that nice parting shot, I cast a Recall spell – which fizzled out without doing anything. So did the second attempt – and now I was out of magicka. Oops.

“Ahem.” I said. “Excuse me.” Hlireni watched with narrowed eyes as I fished a magicka restoration potion out of my pack. I think it may have spoiled the effect slightly.

I finally managed to cast the spell correctly and return to the camp, where I told Sinnammu Mirpal what had happened, and we agreed to travel to Ald Daedroth together the next morning. She let me sleep in her tent that night, as I was too tired to walk back to Vos. As we were making preparations to leave the next day, I wondered how she was going to get across to the island. “Can you water-walk?” I asked her.

She nodded. “I have not the arts of war, but I am a wise woman, and not without power. I can walk upon the water... perhaps not so fast as a great witch-warrior, but fast enough.”

Probably better than me, in other words. I just hoped I could manage the journey again without running out of magicka.

All went well until about half-way through our journey, when a couple of cliff racers swooped in on us as we were crossing the water. I leapt in front of the unarmed Sinnammu to fight them off, and in all the excitement I forgot to recast the Water Walking spell. Just as we were setting off again, the spell wore off and I plunged into the sea.

I resurfaced, coughing and spluttering, and hurriedly recast the spell before the icy water could freeze my hands. “Thought I saw a slaughterfish,” I explained to Sinnammu, with an ‘I totally meant to do that’ expression. I’m not sure she was entirely convinced, but she didn’t say anything.

Luckily the Ordinators had left by the time we reached the shrine (I’d been wondering how I was going to explain that one). I led Sinnammu into the inner shrine to show her that it was safe… at least, as safe as a shrine to the Daedric Prince of Madness could ever be. She looked around at the spiked ceiling, the twisted, jagged pillars, the knee-deep water covering the floor… and then she smiled.

“You have made this place safe for the Ahemmusa,” she said, turning back to me. “And so, if you wish, I shall name you Nerevarine.”

I could think of a thousand objections. How would the Ahemmusa drain out the floodwater to make the place liveable? Where were they going to get food and fresh water? How would they handle sharing their new home with a bunch of Sheogorath worshippers? But in the end, it wasn’t really any of my business. If she wanted to bring her tribe here, that was up to her.

“Thank you, Sinnammu,” I said at last, hoping I was doing the right thing. “It’s an honour. I’m glad I could help you, and… I hope things will improve for you once you and your people move in here.”

Just, whatever you do, don’t touch that statue…

Good advice...just ask Wrothken!

As do I, or your rendition of her at least (since I haven't played the game, lol).








ROFL !!! Love these lines !!!

Chapter 33: Cooking The Books

So the Ahemmusa were moving into their new holiday home, and now I’d been declared Nerevarine by two of the Ashlander tribes. I only hoped they’d be OK in there with all the mad cultists and Daedric statues and whatnot. Sinnammu rewarded me with an amulet called the ‘Madstone of the Ahemmusa’, but forgot to tell me that it had a ‘sound’ enchantment designed to confuse and disorient people. I accidentally cast it on myself, and had ringing in my ears for the rest of the day.

I’d been planning to visit my stronghold that day, but got back to Ald’ruhn to find myself in the middle of the worst ashstorm I’d ever seen. It was late in Sun’s Dusk now, and the freezing winter wind was nearly as bad as the dust clouds lashing my face. There was no way I could go out to Bal Isra in a storm like that – just walking from the Temple to the Mages’ Guild was difficult enough.

The wind had died down a bit by the next day, but it was still extremely cold. I wrapped up warm and wore my closed ebony helmet – the one Llerar Mandas had given me for helping his son Arethan – just in case any more storms blew up. It was twice as heavy as my usual Legion helmet, and by the time I reached Bal Isra, my neck was aching from the weight.

The building site didn’t look all that different from the outside, though some of the construction materials had been removed or shifted around a bit. “Is the next stage complete yet?” I asked the foreman, who was sitting on a packing crate enjoying a tea break.

He nodded. “You want to see inside? Go ahead. Take a look.”

I entered the building cautiously, expecting to see the place strewn with building materials and covered in sawdust. The sight that greeted me was so astounding that for a moment I thought I must be imagining things.

The door opened onto a large entrance hall, not filled with junk and sawdust but clean, tidy – and furnished. A dining table stood in the centre, while chairs and benches had been placed around the walls. A small alcove at the back of the room held several urns, baskets and barrels. The floor was paved and the walls freshly decorated, with intricate patterns similar to those I’d seen in the mansions under Skar. There was a carpet on the floor.

There was absolutely no way this place had been built in two weeks. No way.

I was still gazing around in disbelief when a Dunmer man entered the room through a side-door. “What are you – ” he began, and then he saw my Redoran shield. “Ah. Are you here to inspect the building work?”

I nodded wordlessly. “Forgive me, sera. My name is Viras Guls. I will be the Hetman of this new settlement when it is complete.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I said mechanically.

There were a few seconds of awkward silence. “Would you like to see the rest of the manor?” he asked at last.

I nodded again, and he led me down the stairs into the main part of the building. If anything, this bit was even more unbelievable. It wasn’t fully furnished yet, but there were tables and chairs and shelves and storage containers – even a bar, for crying out loud.

How could I not have realised this before? Indarys Manor! This place hadn’t been built for me, had it?

I managed to calm down enough to thank the Hetman, and used my Intervention amulet to transport me back to Ald’ruhn. Minutes later I marched through the door of Galsa Gindu’s office under Skar. “Galsa? We need to talk about my stronghold.”

“Why – yes, the first stage of building should be complete.” She backed away slightly, seeing the expression on my face. “Is – is something the matter?”

“I went out there today to see the building. And I went into it.”

Her mouth snapped shut. “Ah.”

“I’m not an idiot, Galsa. And even if I were, I could still see that place wasn’t built in two weeks.” I took a step forward. “If this is some kind of joke you guys are playing on me – ”

“No! Listen to me, House Brother.” Galsa leapt up from her seat. “You’re quite right, the building work started several months ago. Please, just give me a chance to explain.”

I folded my arms, my eyes fixed grimly on her face. Galsa took a deep breath. “As you know, it’s forbidden to build new Great House settlements without a construction contract from the Duke. About eight months ago, we received… reliable information… that the other Houses had begun to build strongholds of their own without permission. We did not want them to gain an advantage over us, but at the time there were political problems which prevented us from obtaining a contract.”

“So you started to build one without a contract?”

She nodded. “The work was carried out in secret. We chose Bal Isra because of its remote location, far from the main cities.”

It was all starting to make sense now. That was why they’d chosen to build in the middle of nowhere, on a site that couldn’t even be seen from the nearest road. So much for all that talk about Redoran honour…

“The work was funded by a Redoran lord named Banden Indarys,” she continued. “But someone in House Hlaalu or Telvanni must have discovered our plans. Just as the main building was nearing completion, Lord Indarys met with an unfortunate… accident.” Ah. “And so the construction work was halted, until we could find another Redoran to head the settlement.”

“And the 5,000 drakes I paid – ”

“Were to restart construction. There are still the workers to be paid, and extra materials that must be purchased.” She sighed. “Forgive me for not telling you the whole truth before now. But I’m sure you’ll understand why we wished to keep the matter as quiet as possible.”

I opened my mouth to reply, then paused. I was still a bit pissed off about being lied to, but really, what could I say? I’d basically been given someone else’s stronghold at a knock-down price. Having it named after him was a pretty small price to pay.

“All right,” I said at last. “Well, thanks for explaining everything, Galsa. Does this mean I’m a target for assa- ahem, ‘unfortunate accidents’ now?”

She shook her head. “Now that the work is legal, they would not dare. They would be leaving themselves open to retaliation.”

She’d better be right about that, I thought. “Okay, fine. Is there anything else I need to do in the meantime?”

“If you wish to improve your stronghold, you must hire some guards. Percius Mercius at the local Guild of Fighters may know of some good Redoran fighters out of work.”

I hadn’t seen Percius since I killed the Guild leaders in Balmora and Vivec, and I still didn’t quite feel ready to face him again. “Okay, I’ll think about it,” I said, and left her to get on with her work.

On my way out of the Council halls I ran into Neminda, who was manning her usual spot by the entrance. “Ada!” she exclaimed. “I haven’t seen you in weeks. Getting too grand and important for us lesser minions?” she added with a wink.

“Of course not,” I said, hugging her. “I’ve just been… rather busy, that’s all.”

“Yes, I’ve heard… rumours.” Her brow furrowed slightly. “I hope you know what you’re getting into, Ada.”

My mouth felt very dry all of a sudden. “Rumours?”

“Well, I know Tuls Valen at the temple is very keen to speak to you,” she said. “If I were you, I’d go and talk to him. It can only make things worse for you if he thinks you’re hiding something from him.”

My heart sank, but I thanked her and agreed to visit the Temple as soon as I could. It was pretty clear that my secret was out, even if people weren’t yet sure whether to believe it. I suppose I might have expected this after what had happened recently.

I went to Sarethi Manor after lunch, hoping I might see Varvur, but he wasn’t there. His mother Domesea, her eyes shining with pride, told me that he’d volunteered for a week-long expedition in the Ashlands – in fact, he’d specifically asked to be sent along. He could hardly have made it clearer that he didn’t want to see me, and it felt like a slap in the face. He might not be interested in me any more – if he ever had been – but I’d hoped we could still stay friends.

Though Varvur wasn’t at home, his father was, so I took the opportunity to tell him all about the Great Stronghold Conspiracy. Half-way through I realised that he wasn’t looking at all surprised. “Athyn, did you know about this?”

“But of course, my friend. Did you think such a task could be undertaken without the Council’s knowledge?”

“But – ” I broke off, shaking my head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Athyn sighed. “Perhaps I should have done, but I feared you might take offence. You have pride, Ada, I know that.”

“Well, yes, but… oh, never mind. It doesn’t matter.” I couldn’t bring myself to quarrel with Athyn. “Anyway, I’ve found two other Councillors to support me, and built a stronghold. Is there anything more you need me to do for the House?”

“Not immediately, though I can raise you to the rank of House Father if you wish. You have certainly proven your skill in combat. If you wish to reach the next rank, you’ll need to improve your stronghold, and earn the support of two more Councillors – Miner Arobar and Garisa Llethri.”

A horrible suspicion gripped me. “Hold on a minute, what is the next rank? I’m not going to end up having to duel you to the death, am I?”

Athyn’s lips twitched, but he shook his head gravely. “No, indeed. It’s true that the next rank is that of Councillor, but ever since Arethan Mandas’… illness, there has been an empty seat on the Council.”

“The Council?” I winced. “I’m not sure, Athyn. It’s a great honour, I know, but… I really don’t know if I’m up to it, to be honest. I don’t really have any kind of political experience…”

“I understand. Still, I think you should seek the other Councillors’ support even if you don’t wish to join the Council yourself.” He paused. “I must warn you that people in town are beginning to talk about you and the prophecies. I don’t believe the rumours have reached the ears of my fellow councillors, but it can only be a matter of time.”

I nodded gloomily. “Athyn… when all this does become public, what happens then? Will you have to… suspend me from the House, or something?”

“No. I have promised you my support, and I will stand by that.” He smiled. “Try not to worry too much about it, Ada. Continue as you are, and all will be well.”

I hoped he was right, but I wasn’t convinced. Things seemed to be spiralling out of control – first the Legion, now House Redoran? To be honest, I couldn’t understand why Athyn would even want me on the Council – no matter how fond he was of me, he surely had to see that I wasn’t the political type. He’d said as much himself just a few days ago.

I put the thought aside and went to speak to Miner Arobar, Athyn’s fellow Councillor. I was kept waiting for quite a while before being allowed in to see him, and when I did finally meet him, he was looking tired and harassed. “What do you want, outlander?” he asked, as soon as I entered the room. “You must explain why you have come here, and quickly.”

“Right, well – ”

“No speeches or excuses,” he continued. “Use your words with care, for I am a councillor of House Redoran and a very busy man with many duties and responsibilities.”

“Okay, well – ”

“My time is precious, and cannot be wasted. I am not one to stand about idly while others chatter on and on about the most trivial of subjects.”

“WouldyougivemeyoursupportontheCouncilpleaseCouncillor?” I asked, all in one breath.

He blinked. “What was that you said? You want me to support you on the Council? You are a Redoran, then?”

His servant had clearly introduced me by my rank no more than ten seconds ago. “Yes, serjo,” I said, trying not to sound impatient. “I’m a House Father. Athyn Sarethi is my sponsor, and I’m having a stronghold built at Bal Isra.”

“Ah yes, I believe he did mention… Then you are the outlander Sarethi spoke of?” He stared at me in confusion, very obviously thinking ‘how did this Imperial chit get to be a House Father in two months?’ Not that I could blame him, really.

“I’m afraid I am unable to grant your request,” he said at last. “I respect you personally, but I cannot give you my support.”

What? He’d only just met me. “But – ”

He held up a hand. “No. I am not prepared to discuss this, sera. I have given you my answer; now please leave my manor.”

There wasn’t much I could do except bow politely and leave. In a way I was quite relieved – at least this gave me an excuse to put off becoming a Councillor – but I couldn’t help wondering what had made him turn against me so abruptly. Was it something I said?

The last Councillor on my ‘list’ was Garisa Llethri – the ‘Lord of the Northern Ashlands’, according to my Little Red Book. He was clearly doing well for himself, as his manor was almost as large and imposing as Archmaster Venim’s. Llethri himself seemed irritable and not particularly friendly, but he did at least seem willing to listen to me.

“If you want my support to make you a Councilman, you will have to perform a great service for House Redoran,” he told me, when I explained what I wanted. “The Caldera ebony mines are in our territory, but the charter was awarded to an Imperial company. I believe the mines should be shut down.”

I waited for him to elaborate. “First I want you to find evidence that there is corruption at the mines. Since they are run by the dishonourable House Hlaalu and the Empire, I am sure there is corruption. Do not take any other actions until you have delivered the evidence to me.”

I almost had to laugh at this – “Well, the Hlaalu and the Imperials run the place, so it must be corrupt.” Still, I presumed he did have some actual reason to believe this. “What sort of corruption are you thinking of, serjo?” I asked. “And where should I look for evidence?”

He shrugged. “Look for journals or record books. Interrogate the miners. I am sure there is corruption there, and I have faith that you will find it.” Gods, it was like working for Caius Cosades all over again.

By the time I got out of Skar, I have to admit that I was feeling a bit stumped. All I had to go on was that there was some kind of corruption at the Caldera mines, somewhere, possibly. I mean, were we talking major fraud here? Or just the kind of petty theft you’ll inevitably get in any large organisation? (“Serjo, I have clear evidence that the treacherous Hlaalu are stealing inkwells from the stationery cupboard.”)

At any event, it was obvious that I couldn’t just go in there and announce myself as a Redoran investigator. I briefly thought of going in my Legion capacity, but quickly realised that would make the entire office clam up like… well, clams. If only I belonged to something like the East Empire Company, I thought… and then the ghost of an idea began to form.

I spent the rest of the day mulling things over, and as I did, a plan gradually took shape. The next day I travelled to Vivec and made a couple of purchases: black hair-dye, and a jar of face make-up (the type that actors might use for a play). After that I went to visit the clothier Agrippina Herennia in the Foreign Quarter, hoping she might have some Cyrodiilic imports for sale. Luckily she had exactly what I wanted, though it was hideously expensive.

The next part was more complicated. I dug out the list of Blades trainers Caius had given me long ago, and went to see the Caldera representative, a Breton mage named Surane Leoriane. She confirmed that the Blades were keeping an eye on the Caldera Mining Company for the Empire, and suspected them of corruption.

“We all think something fishy is going on – probably several somethings,” she told me. “But we haven’t penetrated their operation. They’re probably skimming cash, or raw ebony, or both – but we’re not quite sure who ‘they’ are.”

“Suppose I were to try and find out for you,” I said. “Would you be willing to help me?”

After I explained what I wanted to do, she thought for a minute and finally nodded. “All right, I’ll help you – as long as you keep me informed. I don’t even mind you sharing this information with House Redoran, but you must bring it to me first. If you do find any evidence, I want to see it before you take it to your friends in the House.”

As the ranking Blades agent I could technically have refused, but I preferred the quiet life. “Okay. You’ve got a deal.”

She agreed to let me stay in her house overnight, as I didn’t want too many people to see me in my disguise. While Surane disappeared off to Ebonheart, I dyed my hair, styled it carefully, and tried on the clothes and make-up to check that they worked. Seeing my reflection in the mirror was almost scary – dressed in a fashionable Western-style gown, with dark hair and an olive complexion, I looked the picture of a Nibenese official fresh off the boat from Imperial City. I hardly recognised myself.

I was relying on Surane to provide the finishing touch, and she didn’t disappoint. She returned from Ebonheart that evening, bringing a set of impressively official-looking papers for me to show to the mine authorities. I don’t know how she got hold of them, and I preferred not to ask. After that she spent some time coaching me in how to play my ‘part’ – I just hoped I wouldn’t slip up and give myself away.

Walking to the Caldera mines the next morning was a slightly nerve-wracking experience. Usually I’d carry my sword everywhere, even if I wasn’t wearing armour, but it wouldn’t really have fitted in with my ‘disguise’. It’s a good thing I didn’t run into any bandits or wild animals, since all I had to fight them with was a small dagger lent to me by Surane.

But the scariest part by far was approaching the company offices at the entrance to the mine. Could I really pull this off? I guess this would prove once and for all whether I really could act. I breathed in deeply, trying to channel every obnoxious bureaucrat I’d ever met, and marched into the building.

A Dunmer man, who was eating breakfast at a small table, got hastily to his feet. “Yes, sera? May I help you?”

“Indeed you can.” I presented my papers with a flourish. “I am Messalina Borgia of the Imperial Audit Commission. Would you please direct me to the head of mining operations?”

The man’s face had turned rather pale. “Th- the Audit Commission?” he repeated, in a slightly strangled voice. “I – I didn’t – ” He turned abruptly towards the stairway leading to the upper floor. “Meanen!”

A few moments later, a well-dressed Altmer man appeared at the top of the stairs. For a moment I struggled to hide the reflexive awkwardness I always felt around Altmer. Surane’s words rang in my ears: “Whatever happens, remember this: You don’t give a damn about any of these people. They are beneath contempt. All you care about is finishing the job so you can get back to your nice cosy office in Talos Plaza.”

“Are you in charge here, sir?” I asked coldly, as Meanen (if that was his name) glided down the stairs. “I must admit, I was expecting to find things a little better organised.”

The Altmer’s mouth dropped open. “What – ” he began, and then recovered himself. “The mine owners are Cunius Pelelius and Odral Helvi. Both of them are in Caldera at present, but I’m sure we can answer any questions you may have. Now what exactly – ”

“She’s from the Audit Commission, Meanen,” the Dunmer cut in.

“Ah. I see.” Meanen glanced briefly at the papers I presented for his inspection. “Forgive me, my lady. I was… not informed that an inspection was imminent.”

“Well, of course you weren’t. Wouldn’t want to give you time to hide the evidence, would we?” I laughed heartily at my own joke. The others joined in, a little less enthusiastically.

“I assure you there is no ‘evidence’ for you to find, sera,” Meanen said at last. “Having you arrive at such short notice is… not entirely convenient, but I think you’ll find that everything is in order. I’m sure Stlennius here would be happy to show you around.”

By now his Dunmer friend seemed to have recovered a little. “Of course. Did you walk here from Caldera alone, my lady?” he asked me, as Meanen made his way back upstairs. “I’m surprised you would take the risk. Perhaps you haven’t heard that there are bandits on the roads who attack lone travellers?”

“Nonsense, my good man!” I said briskly. “They wouldn’t dare. Now where was I? Ah yes, the inspection. I’ll need to see all of your invoices, stock records, bank details, profit and loss accounts, and sales ledgers for the past two years.”

The colour was starting to drain from his face again. “Two years? I – many of those records are in storage, Sera Borgia. It will take quite some time to find them for you.”

I sighed in mock exasperation. “When will you people learn the importance of proper record-keeping? Very well. I’ll wait here for as long as it takes.” As he bowed apologetically, flushed with embarrassment, I hissed under my breath, “Provincials!”

The expression on Stlennius’ face defied description. I was starting to enjoy this.

He returned a short while later with crates and boxes full of financial records, and left me alone to examine them. It was such a massive task that I hardly knew where to start. Surane had given me a quick run-down of what went on at the mines, but there was still quite a lot I didn’t understand, so I didn’t want to ask too many probing questions.

I began to look through one of the recent ledgers, painstakingly adding up the figures to check for discrepancies. There weren’t any – the sums were perfect. In fact, almost too perfect.

When I was sixteen, my adoptive father – in a vain attempt to get me interested in his line of work – had arranged for me to work as a bookkeeper in one of his warehouses. I’d lasted two weeks before giving up, but in that time I’d learned that getting the sums exactly right was near impossible. There would always be a few little errors – but this ledger didn’t have any errors. What was more, the figures seemed a little too ‘neat’ – too many tidy, round sums with only vague descriptions.

Getting suspicious now, I chose a few entries at random and searched for the corresponding invoices. All but two of them were missing. This ledger is a fake, I thought. A pretty clever fake, but still a fake. But how could I prove it?

What I really needed was to get someone here to talk, but there wasn’t much chance of that. Unless, perhaps…

I went back to Stlennius, who by now was eating his midday meal. (What sort of work did he actually do, anyway?) “Very well, I’ve finished with the books,” I said curtly. “And now I need to check on your slaves, if you please.”

“To visit the slaves, my lady? What for?”

“Well, they are company assets, are they not? And of course, you’ve included their food and upkeep as tax-deductible expenses.” I narrowed my eyes. “Perhaps there’s some reason why you would not want me to see them?”

“Of course not,” he said hastily. “I’ll take you right away.”

He led me out of the office and into the miners’ bunkhouse, where a trapdoor in the floor led down to the slave huts. I followed, complaining loudly about the dust and uneven floors. Keeping up the ‘snotty Imperial lady’ act was getting quite tiresome.

“This is where you’ll find the head slave Dahleena,” he said, indicating one of the shacks. “She keeps the others in order. The rest will be in the mine at this time of day, if you want to see them.”

“I see. Well, thank you. You may go now,” I said graciously. He turned away, biting his lip.

I entered the miserable little shack, and found a half-naked Khajiit woman sitting on one of the bedrolls. Somehow she didn’t seem as downtrodden as most of the other slaves I’d seen – though she was thin and mangy, with worn patches of fur on her skin, there was a look of defiance in her eyes. She could be just what I needed.

“Hello, Dahleena,” I said cautiously. I knew that some slaves, for reasons I’d never really understood, were loyal to their masters. “I’ve come to inspect the mines. Are you okay here? Do your masters treat you well?”

A hiss of disgust was her only reply. I leaned forward, speaking in a low voice. “A friend of mine thinks there may be fraud and corruption at the mines. Do you know about anything like that? You might have heard some of the miners talk, perhaps?”

Her eyes lit up with a vicious glint. “Oh yes, they talk. You want evidence? You let Dahleena go free if she tells you this?”

I hesitated. I’d have loved to free her, but there could hardly have been a worse time for it. “I will,” I said at last. “I can’t do it now, but if you tell me what I want to know, I’ll come back later and free you.”

“And how can Dahleena be sure you will come back?”

I thought for a moment. Finally, with some reluctance, I slipped the Moon-and-Star ring off my finger. It was quite a risk, but I couldn’t think of anything else I could give her to make her trust me.

“This ring is very important to me,” I told her. “If you make sure to hide it carefully, I’ll let you keep it, and then you can give it back to me when I come to free you.”

She nodded. “Dahleena will hide it well. And now she tells you where to get your evidence. Odral Helvi has a chest on the second floor of the Governor’s Hall, in Caldera. Unlock the chest and you will find a book – a record book. Bring this book back to your friend, and watch his eyes when he smiles.”

“Thank you, Dahleena,” I said. “I promise I’ll come back as soon as I have the book.” First spying, and impersonating Imperial officials, and now stealing from the Governor of Caldera? The things I do for you, Azura, I thought.

I didn’t even think about trying to steal the book myself. I had some lockpicking skills, but I knew my limitations, and I wasn’t going to risk my neck trying to break into a heavily-guarded manor. Instead, once I’d assured a relieved Stlennius and Meanen that everything was in order, I went to Surane Leoriane to ask for advice.

“This business is more trouble than it’s worth,” she said in exasperation. “All right, I’ll try talking to some contacts in the Thieves’ Guild. But you’ll have to pay for it.”

I ended up handing over a thousand septims to pay the Guild. This ‘rooting out corruption’ business was getting bloody expensive. For a moment I wondered how Garisa Llethri would react if I asked him for expenses – certainly that was what ‘Messalina Borgia’ would have done.

The price was well worth it, though. Two days later, a parcel was hand-delivered to me at the Mages’ Guild in Ald’ruhn. It contained a ledger from the Caldera mines – a real one this time – showing a steady flow of raw ebony from the mines to something called the ‘Ashlands Management Fund’. It seemed I’d struck gold – or rather, ebony.

I took the ledger to Llethri Manor to show to Lord Llethri. While I was there, he introduced me to his wife Fathasa – the one who was rumoured to be having an affair with Bolvyn Venim. I noticed that she was both a lot younger than her husband, and a lot more attractive. She was very polite, but for some reason I got the feeling she didn’t like me very much.

Llethri himself was as short-tempered as ever, but he seemed almost cheerful when I showed him the ledger. “Good, yes, very good,” he said. “This book shows that the Hlaalu are taking more ebony than they report to the Empire. Now that I have this evidence, I want you to find a way to shut down the mines.”

“And if the owners find out we did it?”

“Then we can show them these books to justify our actions.” His expression darkened. “The Empire has taken enough of Red Mountain’s blood. The ebony belongs to the Dunmer.”

Maybe it ought to belong to the slaves who actually mined it, I thought sourly. Still, I’d promised to free Dahleena in any case; maybe she’d have some ideas on how to stop the mining.

That night, wearing Caius’ black clothes and my Chameleon-enchanted jewellery, I snuck out of Caldera after dark and made my way back to the mines. Dahleena and some of the other slaves were asleep in their hut, as guards with lanterns patrolled the grounds. They looked up at me in silent fear as I slipped in through the door of the shack.

“Dahleena?” I whispered.

She sat bolt upright. “Ah, friend! Here is your ring, quite safe. You have the key to free us?”

Drat, I’d forgotten about that. “Wait here a moment,” I told her. I headed outside, and hid in the shadows until a lone guard wandered past. Swiftly, I crept up behind him and used my Star of the West power to knock him out.

I dragged the body into the slave shack so it wouldn’t be found, and searched his pockets until I found the slave key. “One more thing before I free you,” I said to Dahleena. “My friend wants the mining to stop. Can you free the other slaves as well?”

She nodded her head fiercely. “Yes! Dahleena is head of all slaves. Let Dahleena go free and there will be no more mining!”

“Okay, I’ll trust you to do it,” I said, hoping she was telling the truth. “Good luck, Dahleena.” I removed her slave bracer and handed her the key, and quickly cast the Almsivi Intervention enchantment to take me back to Ald’ruhn.

When I went to see Garisa Llethri the next day, he was looking very pleased with himself. “It seems there was a slave revolt at the Caldera Mines last night,” he told me. “Perhaps you had something to do with this?”

I explained what I’d done the previous night. “Interesting choice,” he said, nodding slowly. “Good slaves are so hard to find these days... I expect the Hlaalu will not resume mining for at least a month. Well, you have earned my support on the Council, and I want you to keep these fine boots made from the blood of Red Mountain.”

I hardly knew what to say. The truth was that I didn’t really like Garisa Llethri all that much, but a gift of ebony boots was astoundingly generous, even from a guy as rich as he was. I was actually rather touched, especially after what he’d said earlier about the Empire. I could hardly ask him for expenses after this – those boots had to be worth five times what I’d paid out.

“Are you sure, serjo?” I asked. “Well… thank you. It’s extremely kind of you.”

I didn’t tell him about the Blades, of course. I couldn’t help wondering what they would do with the information – and what they would think about us Redorans keeping it to ourselves, rather than doing the honourable thing and reporting it to the Empire. Oh well, it was his problem, not mine... for the moment, at least.

It's a good thing that Dahleena didn't try on the Moon and Star ring, since it would have killed her!

Chapter 34: An Offer You Can’t Refuse

In all the excitement of industrial espionage in Caldera, I’d forgotten to visit Tuls Valen at the Temple. I hadn’t noticed it before – perhaps because there were so few people out in this terrible weather – but now that I thought about it, people did seem to be looking at me strangely as I walked through the streets. I attracted quite a few suspicious sidelong glances, and heard more than one whispered conversation as I passed by.

I went to see Tuls Valen immediately after my midday meal, but ended up wishing I hadn’t. He greeted me politely and asked after my health, but underneath it all, I could see that he was seething. “Cast your mind back a few months, Acolyte,” he said, his expression grim. “You may remember that I asked you to chastise a False Incarnate?”

“I remember,” I said quietly.

“Quite. And now I am hearing rumours that you are a False Incarnate.” His frown deepened. “Would you care to explain this?”

“It’s not true,” I said, holding his gaze steadily.

“Not true? There is no truth in it at all?”

“Well… partly true, perhaps,” I admitted.

“Partly true?”

“Yes,” I said. “Exactly one-half true, in fact. You see –”

Valen’s expression had turned distinctly ugly. “So this is a joke to you?” he interrupted, speaking through clenched teeth. “Well, I must tell you that I am not amused. A warning, Acolyte: You belong to the Temple, so we owe you courtesy. But others may not be so polite, and may choose weapons instead of speech.”

I opened my mouth to reply. “No, no excuses. I am not yet convinced, but I no longer trust you. Like Elvil Vidron, if your claim is true, you must prove it to Archcanon Saryoni in Vivec.”

He turned and stalked off without giving me a chance to respond. Well, that went well.

Something told this might be a good time to get out of Ald’ruhn. Like, now. Going to plead my case with the remaining Telvanni councillors was suddenly starting to look like a really good idea.

Archmagister Gothren’s wizard tower was Tel Aruhn, on an island near Sadrith Mora. I’d hoped to get a boat there from the city, but quickly got into an argument with a shipmaster who he said he couldn’t take me there. “What do you mean, you can’t go there? It’s less than a mile away! I can see it from here!”

He was unmoved. “I can take you to Dagon Fel, Ebonheart, Tel Mora or Tel Branora. That’s it.”

Exasperated, I teleported back to Wolverine Hall and used the Guild Guide to get to Vivec. I wasn’t going to waste yet more of my time and magicka on Water Walking, just because the Telvanni couldn’t organise transport between two towns right next to each other. After a quick trip to the High Fane to use the levitation shrine – sorry, Lord Vivec – I returned to Sadrith Mora and flew over the water to Tel Aruhn.

The Tel Aruhn village was a pretty typical Telvanni settlement. It was rather sad really – I’d found these places so awe-inspiring at first, and now all I could think was “oh, another mushroom tower”. It struck me that by now I’d seen pretty much all Vvardenfell had to offer, and that soon these places would be as familiar to me as the West Weald or the Imperial Isle.

I found Gothren in a ‘throne room’ similar to Aryon’s, flanked by two hefty-looking Dremora bodyguards. Perhaps my meetings with Aryon and Dratha had made me over-optimistic, but I was quite encouraged by how he treated me… at least at first.

“I understand perfectly,” he said, once I’d finished explaining about the prophecies. “Your story makes sense. Your proofs are persuasive...”

“Then you’ll agree to name me Hortator?”

“But a decision on such a remarkable matter is a grave responsibility,” he continued, “and not to be taken in haste. I will need some time to reflect and consider, and to confer with the other Telvanni councillors.”

My heart sank. “Archmagister,” I said, “Master Aryon warned me that you might promise to do that, and then just put off the decision indefinitely. Please, serjo: if the answer is no, just tell me so right away. I really don’t want to waste any more of our time on this.”

In a fraction of a second, Gothren’s expression had changed from a bland smile to an ugly scowl. “Very well,” he said shortly. “I have heard your story. And you are not one of us, so I suppose I’ll have to explain – or you’ll just keep annoying me. I have no intention of naming you Hortator of House Telvanni.”

“May I ask why not?”

He shrugged. “It is not in Telvanni interests to name an unknown and unreliable outlander and outsider to such an important position. My opinion will not change. If you persist in bothering me, you will regret it.”

“I see,” I said, swallowing my resentment. “You do realise this means I’ll have to try and kill you at some point?”

Gothren laughed derisively. Clearly he didn’t consider me enough of a threat to be worth getting angry about. “You’re welcome to try, outlander. I shall look forward to it.”

I left the tower feeling a bit disheartened. I didn’t want to kill Gothren, and for that matter, I had no idea how to. I’d just have to visit the other Telvanni councillors while I tried to come up with something.

My next target was Master Neloth, who lived in the tower of Tel Naga in Sadrith Mora. Aryon had warned me that Neloth had a foul temper, and I didn’t want a repeat of the Gothren experience. I wondered if anyone might know of a way to sweeten him up. A Dunmer woman at the Mages’ Guild, Uleni Heleran, told me I should speak to his Mouth in the Telvanni Council Hall.

“His mouth?” I said, confused.

“No, his Mouth. A Mouth is a person appointed by a Telvanni Councillor to speak on their behalf, and cast votes in the Council.”

I decided to pay a visit to the Council Hall. It was a strange building – a sort of huge, gelatinous sphere surrounded by mushroom tendrils. Inside I found myself in a large round chamber full of glowing crystals, with five Telvanni mages standing on platforms high above me. I suddenly felt very small.

“Which of you is Master Neloth’s Mouth?” I called, and cringed back as my voice echoed around the room.

After a moment, a dark-haired woman stepped forward. “I am Arara Uvulas, the Mouth of Master Neloth. What do you want?”

“I need to ask a favour from him.” Gods, this was embarrassing – wasn’t there any way to speak to a Mouth in private? “Can you tell me how I should approach him? Is there anything I should or shouldn’t say?”

Uvulas was silent for a minute. “He will probably refuse whatever you ask,” she said at last. “The only thing I can tell you for certain is to avoid mentioning Archmagister Gothren. He and Master Neloth are… not on the best of terms.”

Really? Hmm. Perhaps I could use that somehow.

There was no way directly into Master Neloth’s chambers, so I entered Tel Naga through the lower level and flew up an enormous chute to reach the upper floors. Neloth was sitting alone in a bare, candlelit chamber, and looked as if I were the very last thing he wanted to see right now. As I approached him he slammed down the book he was reading and directed a poisonous glare in my direction. “Whatever you want, the answer is no.”

“Master Neloth!” I exclaimed, ignoring him completely, and sweeping a low bow. “I’ve come here to ask for your help.”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes, Master Neloth, but – ”

“Then what are you still doing here? Out!”

“I’m going to kill Gothren,” I said.

That got his attention. “Kill Gothren?” he spluttered. “You? A chit of a girl like you? And how do you propose to do that, pray?”

“I have a Plan,” I said, lying through my teeth. “But I need the other Councillors’ support in order to carry it out. You see, I need to be the Telvanni Hortator.”

“Hortator? We need a Hortator? Why doesn’t anyone tell me about these things?” He shook his head in exasperation. “If I make you Hortator, will you go away?”

“Of course.”

I handed him Aryon’s declaration. He scrawled his signature at the bottom without even reading it, and flung it back at me, taking up his book. “Now get out!”

I didn’t wait to be told twice. I was half expecting him to hurl the book at my head as I scuttled out of the room.

As I was leaving through the Great Hall on the bottom floor, I noticed something for the first time. On one side of the room was a large cage-like structure carved out of the wall, and there was someone inside it – a young Dunmer woman in ragged and dirty clothing, presumably a slave. As I paused to look at her, her eyes widened and she grasped at the bars with an imploring look. I ached to help her, but with three other people in the room there was no way I could do it without starting a fight.

The only Councillor left now was Therana. Unfortunately her tower, Tel Branora, was several days’ travel away from both Vivec and Sadrith Mora. The only other settlement anywhere nearby was Molag Mar – which, luckily, happened to have a Temple. By casting Almsivi Intervention from Sadrith Mora and then flying south, I managed to reach Tel Branora by late evening.

I’d been here once before, after I helped that silly Breton girl – what was her name again? – who’d fallen in love with a highwayman. Flying over the spires of Tel Branora, I saw that Mistress Therana’s Telvanni challenger was still camped out on the outskirts of the village. I wondered how long it would take before she finally gave up and went home.

The minute I entered the tower, I could see there was something a little different about this place. For a start, the entrance chamber was full of kwama eggs. Hanging from the walls and ceilings, lying around the floor, arranged in a circular pattern around the edge of a table… even fixed to the wall as decorative candle holders. There were more of them scattered around on the next floor up, along with overturned furniture and dirty eating utensils.

None of the Telvanni retainers standing around the tower had made any attempt to clean up. I was too polite to ask them about it, but I couldn’t help wondering what the heck was going on here. When I reached Therana’s chambers, I soon realised.

The first thing I noticed when I entered the room was a naked male Khajiit standing on a bedroll. I was still staring in astonishment when Therana herself, an ancient-looking woman dressed in an exquisite golden robe, strode up and grabbed me by the arm. “What are you here for?” she demanded. “Are you here to feed the spiders?”

“N-no, Mistress,” I stammered. Were those books burning in the fire behind her? “I’ve come here because I want to be Hortator of House Telvanni.”

Therana nodded. “It’s a funny sort of house,” she said reflectively, “with all those glowing blue crystals all over it. Did I ever tell you about when I was a little girl? I always liked going to the house. That’s where everyone keeps their toys. I’d offer you something, but I’m all out of kwama eggs.”

Sweet Mara. Even by the standards of other Telvanni nobles, this woman was completely round the twist. “I could get you some more if you make me Hortator,” I suggested, privately wondering if she was even capable of signing the declaration.

“Hortator? It’s a steel box. You keep things like bittergreen roots in it, keeps ’em fresh, with a little netch blood.” She paused. “Or is that a hormador? Yes. Or spiders. When I was much younger, we grew our own spiders...”

“Absolutely, Mistress Therana,” I said, forcing a smile. “But now I need you to vote for me as Hortator. I’m the Nerevarine, you see.”

Her eyes lit up. “Nerevarine? Is that a new play? I like plays.”

“No, Mistress, not a play. I’m the Nerevarine. Look, here’s my special Nerevarine ring.” I removed my gauntlet and slipped the Moon-and-Star off my finger. Using a simple sleight-of-hand trick I’d learned as a child, I pretended to pull it out of her ear.

Mistress Therana, one of the most powerful mages in all Vvardenfell, let out a squeal of delight and clapped her hands. “Goodness! Where did you learn how to do that? Can you do it again?”

I did it again. “Ooooh! Very pretty! Do it again, please?”

I did it again. And several more times, before asking yet again if she’d make me Hortator. “Oh, certainly,” she said gaily. “I have a hormador around here somewhere, if you’ll just – ”

“Not a hormador, Mistress. Hortator.” I was getting desperate now. “Look, if you just write your name here on this piece of paper, I’ll show you the trick again.”

“Oh. You want to be a Hortator?” She glanced down at the paper. “Certainly. Go right ahead. Right after you do that thing again.”

Grinding my teeth, I repeated the trick. “That’s amazing! Oh, goody, goody...” She seized up a quill and scribbled the name ‘Therana’ in wobbly writing, down the side of the paper. “There! Now you can go and be a hormador if you want to.”

“I’m deeply grateful to you, Mistress Therana,” I told her, and quickly cast Divine Intervention before she could change her mind. How on Nirn could anyone stand to work for that woman? I found myself pitying her Khajiit slave even more than the one I’d seen earlier in Neloth’s tower.

I didn’t sleep too well that night – my head was filled with jumbled-up images of slaves and spiders and kwama eggs. Still, at least I’d managed to get most of the Telvanni councillors on side – and surprisingly easily, all things considered. I could only hope the Hlaalu would be as easy to persuade.

The next morning I returned to Vivec from Wolverine Hall. Most of the Hlaalu Councillors lived in or around the city, though I wasn’t sure exactly where. Since I’d met Crassius Curio before, I decided it would be best to go to him first; at least he didn’t work for the Camonna Tong.

I emerged from the plaza in the Foreign Quarter to find a fierce storm raging. Somehow it seemed to fit in with the general atmosphere of the city. People seemed tense and on edge, and I noticed that some of the Ordinators were looking at me very hard. Or perhaps I was just overwrought and imagining things?

Anyway, I wasn’t under any illusions that Crassius would be pleased to see me after what happened last time we met. I was fully prepared to have to do something humiliating to gain his support, but there were limits. If he asked me to ‘polish his spear’, he was going to get the business end of a glass longsword shoved up his backside.

Before entering Curio’s mansion in the Hlaalu canton, I had to decide how best to approach him. Talking him round would be difficult after the vase-throwing incident, and I doubted he’d let me get near enough to cast a Charm spell. There was only one thing to do: break out the Telvanni Bug Musk.

I bought a flask from an alchemist, and splashed it over my wrists and face before entering Curio Manor. Unfortunately, one of Curio’s retainers instantly recognised me as the woman who’d thrown a vase at his employer. “What do you want, outlander?” he said sharply.

I lowered my eyes, trying to look as meek as possible. “Please, sera, I’ve come to see Ser Curio on a matter of business. I’m very sorry about what happened last time I was here, and I promise I’ll behave myself this time.”

“Hmph.” The perfume was beginning to have its effect. “Well…”

“Please?” I begged, opening my eyes very wide. “It’s very important.”

“I… oh, very well. Just give me your sword, please.” I meekly handed it over. “I’ll go and inform Ser Curio that you are here.”

I found Curio writing at his bedroom table, looking as oily as ever. I’d been dreading the meeting, but to my amazement, he greeted me with a beaming smile. I had to give him credit for not bearing a grudge.

“Ah, Ada, my little sweetroll! You’re back!” he cried, throwing down his quill. “I just knew you couldn’t stay away for long. Have you come to pay old Uncle Crassius a visit?”

“Er, yes,” I said, astonished at his friendliness. “It’s nice to see you again… ‘Uncle Crassius’. How are you getting on with your writing?”

“Wonderfully! Crellius and Nerena is already more than half-finished.”

“Er… Crellius and Nerena?”

“The play, dumpling, the play!” he exclaimed. “Surely you haven’t forgotten? The feuding Houses? The passionate, sweeping saga of forbidden love and false moustaches?”

“Ah, that play.” That had been my idea, hadn’t it? I cringed to think what Crassius’ twisted mind might have done to it. “It’s coming along well, then?”

“See for yourself.” He scooped up a messy pile of paper from the table and dropped it into my hands. I shuffled the pages together and began to read from the top sheet:

Two Houses, both alike in dignity,
In fair Balmora, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

“Crassius,” I said slowly, “did you write this yourself?”

“What? Oh, certainly not. That silly nonsense was written by my young assistant.” He snatched back the papers and flung them carelessly down on a chair. “I’ll go through it later and trim out all that turgid prose… but ah, the greatest scenes will be mine! The custard-pie fight, for example. And the part where Crellius sneaks into Nerena’s bedchamber by disguising himself as Listens-At-Doors, her naughty Argonian maidservant.”

“I’m sure it’ll be wonderful,” I said, doing my best to sound sincere. “But actually, Crassius, that’s not what I came to talk to you about.”

“Isn’t it, pudding? Then what can your favourite Uncle do for you today?”

I took a deep breath. “I need House Hlaalu to declare me their Hortator. You see, I believe that I’m the Nerevarine.”

“Really, sweetcheeks?” His eyes lit up. “Why don’t you take off all that lumpy armour, then come sit here on Uncle Crassius’ lap and tell me all about it.”

Ugh. Gritting my teeth, I removed my cuirass, greaves and pauldrons and went to sit on Crassius’ lap. He was soft and flabby – well, most of him at least – and smelled strongly of perfume and hair oil. Judging by the look on his face when I sat down, I was a little heavier than he’d expected.

“What a fine strapping lass you are, sweetie,” he grunted, trying to shift position a little. “Now, tell me all about these fascinating prophecies that have got our Dunmer friends so excited.”

I told him my story, doing my best to ignore the feel of – well, I’d rather not describe it, but I’m sure you can imagine. I couldn’t help wondering if the original Nerevar had had to do anything like this in order to become Hortator. Something told me the answer was probably ‘no’.

“So you want to be Hortator?” he said at last. “A pity. Orvas Dren does not want you to be Hortator, and very few councillors would be willing to risk Ser Dren’s disapproval. But your eloquent passion, your exquisite vulnerability, moves me to risk all – and defy him!”

“Oh good,” I said, forcing myself to smile. “You’ll support me, then?”

“Yes, sweetie, I will name you Hortator. But first I have something to ask of you...”

“Yes?”

He pulled me a little closer and tilted my head back, leering down into my face. “Will you give me… a kiss?”

Oh gods. Well, I guess it could have been a lot worse.

“All right, Crassius,” I said with a sigh. “As long as it stays between us, you understand. I wouldn’t want the others to think I’m playing favourites.”

As I closed my eyes, preferring not to see the expression on Crassius’ face, he smacked his lips against mine and gave me a big, wet, sloppy kiss. With tongue. It was all I could do not to shudder.

“How tender and thoughtful!” he exclaimed, finally releasing me after what seemed like forever. “You’ve made me the happiest fellow in Vivec. And now, pumpkin, it's time for your gift: In my formal capacity as Councillor of House Hlaalu, I give you my vote for the title of Hortator.”

“Thank you very much, Uncle Crassius,” I said, slipping off his lap. “Just one thing… please could you put it in writing? Not that I don’t trust you, of course, but…”

“I quite understand, pumpkin.” His eyes twinkled. “Perhaps we’ll make a Hlaalu of you yet. Now, just you wait a minute and Uncle Crassius will write you the most beautiful letter.”

I put my armour back on while Crassius wrote his ‘beautiful letter’. As before, I made sure to read the declaration once he’d finished it. I’d have preferred him not to refer to me as ‘this sweet little dumpling, Ada Ventura’, but otherwise I couldn’t see any loopholes.

“Now just go and use your charms on the other Hlaalu councillors. I’m sure you can get them to give you anything your precious little heart desires.” He winked at me. “And don’t forget to come back here when you have all the votes, sugar-plum. I have a nice little present all ready and waiting.”

I was in such a hurry to get out of there that I forgot to ask him where the other Councillors lived. However, asking around, I soon found out that one of them – Yngling Half-Troll – lived in a manor in the St. Olms canton. His colleague Dram Bero was apparently in hiding for fear of assassins, but people seemed to think he was somewhere in St. Olms as well.

I took a gondola to St. Olms and found Yngling Half-Troll in the appropriately named Yngling Manor (I guess ‘Half-Troll Manor’ would have sounded a bit stupid). And I must say his name suited him. Try as I might, I couldn’t work out how this totally charmless Nord had managed to get onto the Hlaalu council. I could only imagine that large amounts of money were involved.

“That’s a touching story,” he said, when I’d finished explaining what I wanted. “But if you don’t have 2,000 drakes, you won’t get my vote.”

Well, at least he didn’t beat around the bush. I showed him my letter of credit from the bank and wrote him a cheque for 2,000 septims – yet another large chunk of my money down the drain.

“A pleasure doing business with you, Ada Ventura,” he said, shaking my hand. “And I’m a man of my word. You got my vote for the office of Hortator of House Hlaalu.”

I got him to sign the declaration, and then asked him if he knew where Dram Bero lived. “Well, now,” he sniggered. “That’s a secret, that is. But since you’re so free with your gold… I hear there’s a ‘haunted mansion’ right here in the St. Olms Plaza. Maybe you should try poking around a bit.”

Making a mental note never to tell Yngling any of my own secrets, I thanked him and went out to look for the ‘haunted mansion’. It was just across the plaza – so easily found that if this was where Dram Bero lived, I wondered how he could possibly have kept it secret for so long.

I found out as soon as I stepped through the door. The place was creepy as hell, dark and gloomy and draped in cobwebs, echoing with the whispers of long-dead spirits. If I hadn’t had protective clothing and a good enchanted weapon, I’d have thought twice about going in there myself. I nearly jumped out of my skin when a ghost appeared out of nowhere, right in front of my face – luckily it went down with a single blow from my frostsword.

But I wasn’t going to be put off my search by one measly ghost and a few spiders’ webs. At the bottom of a narrow staircase I discovered a locked door which was free of dust and cobwebs, indicating that it had been used recently. The lock was too tough to pick, but a spell did the trick, and moments later I found myself in a well-lit, richly furnished apartment.

I found Dram Bero in one of the bedrooms, along with a female bodyguard. “So you have found me,” he said, as soon as I entered. “I take precautions to ensure that I am not found easily... I see I will have to take more in future. But what can I do for you?”

As usual, it took quite a bit of time to explain exactly what I wanted. I was beginning to wish I’d eaten before coming to the manor. Still, at least Bero seemed sympathetic.

“You have found me,” he said eventually, “and that means you are resourceful. Yes, I will vote for you as Hortator. But my vote alone means nothing.”

“No?”

“You still need the votes of the last two Councillors, Nevena Ules and Velanda Omani. They are Orvas Dren’s creatures, and they will do nothing without his approval.”

Damn. It seemed Athyn Sarethi had been right about that. “Where can I find Orvas Dren?” I asked. “And the other two, for that matter?”

He showed me the locations on my map. All three of them lived on separate estates outside of Vivec, dotted around the Ascadian Isles. I’d have to fly there if I wanted to have any chance of getting back before sunset.

Following my midday meal, I teleported to the High Fane and used Vivec’s shrine yet again. Flying through a raging storm while covered in sheet metal was a wee bit nerve-racking, but I managed to reach Orvas Dren’s plantation without being struck by lightning.

Now I must admit, I was surprised how easy I’d had it with the Hlaalu and Telvanni so far. With the exception of Gothren, they were practically falling over each other to grant me this incredible honour. “Wow, you found my house? Go ahead, be Hortator.” “You’re a woman? Be my guest!” Possibly they just assumed I’d end up dead in any case, but either way, I’d been extremely lucky.

I might have known it wouldn’t last. I hadn’t imagined it would be easy to sweet-talk the head of the Camonna Tong, but I never expected that things would go so wrong, so quickly. I met Dren in the topmost room of his lavish villa, where he’d gathered together all kinds of exotic armour and weaponry. For a moment I was surprised by how young and handsome he looked – in my mind I’d seen him as some kind of bloated stage villain, growing fat and greasy off his ill-gotten gains.

His face darkened as I walked up the stairs towards him, and I saw him glance at an ebony spear which leaned against the wall beside him. “Well?” he demanded. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

“My name is Ada Ventura, sera, and I want to be the Hortator of House Hlaalu. I was told I should come to you if I wanted the votes of the other Councillors.”

He snorted. “You show unusual wisdom for an outlander. But tell me, what’s the title of Hortator worth to you? Why do you want to be Hortator?”

“To fight Dagoth Ur, of course,” I said, taken aback.

“Oh? So that your precious Empire will be safe, Cyrodiil?” He took a step towards me, forcing me to retreat a little way down the stairs. “Tell me one thing. What have you Imperials ever done for us?”

I really hadn’t been expecting a question like that. “Brought peace?” I suggested, saying the first thing that came to mind.

Without warning, Dren’s face contorted with rage. “Peace?” he snarled. “Like the peace of the grave we’ve had since the Tribunal betrayed us and signed the Armistice? Dagoth Ur has made me a better offer. The Sixth House will rise again and crush the Empire, and those smug hypocrites in the Tribunal. And as for you, you will die with the rest of the foreign devils!”

Before I could recover from my surprise, he grabbed hold of the ebony spear and thrust the point viciously into my stomach. To this day I’m grateful that I’d chosen to use the levitation shrine to reach the villa. If I hadn’t, I’d have tumbled backwards down the stairs and probably broken my neck. As it was, the force of the blow sent me flying backwards into the opposite wall.

Pure instinct took over. Recovering my breath, I grabbed my sword and launched myself through the air at the shocked-looking Dren. He made another wild thrust with his spear, but it glanced off my cuirass and smacked me into the ceiling. I lashed out at his unprotected head with my sword, driving the glass blade half-way through his skull.

The sound of Dren’s body clattering to the ground brought his servants running to see what was going on. Bruised and shaken, I turned to see two male retainers staring at me with open-mouthed horror.

Something inside me snapped. “Well?” I snarled. “Well?” I flung down my shield and seized up Dren’s spear with my left hand, jabbing it in their direction. “Think you’re hard enough, do you? Anyone else want to take on the Nerevarine?”

The men cowered back in undisguised terror. “N-no, s-sera.”

“Good.” I hovered a little closer. “Now, if you’ve finished snivelling, go and have messages sent to Nevena Ules and Velanda Omani. Tell them I’ll be paying them a visit within the next few hours, and that I want to be Hlaalu Hortator. Got it?”

The men nodded, bowed hastily and then ran for their lives. I stayed in Dren’s villa to await their return, still fuming quietly. For the first time since becoming Nerevarine, I actually felt like someone powerful and dangerous. Maybe a bit of Nerevar Indoril’s spirit was finally starting to show through.

My armour was covered in dried blood, but I didn’t bother to clean it off before going to visit the Councillors. I wanted to make an impression – and it worked. When I arrived at Nevena Ules’ manor approximately an hour later, the poor woman was practically wetting herself with terror.

“Oh. Yes. Yes,” she stammered. “You want to be Hortator. Sure. I think that’s a very good idea. You’ll be a very special Hortator. Is that okay?”

I nodded, trying to keep a straight face. “Do I need to say anything official?” she continued. “How about... ‘In the name of House Hlaalu, I hereby say you are a Hortator. Of this house... House Hlaalu.’”

“That’s fine,” I said. “If you’ll just sign here…” She took up the quill in a shaking hand and scrawled her name under Crassius’ declaration. “Excellent. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Sera Ules.”

Velanda Omani was a little calmer, possibly because she’d had more time to digest the news. “Yes, Sera Ventura,” she said, when I confronted her in her manor. “I’ve just heard of Orvas Dren’s unfortunate… death. You have my vote as Hortator of House Hlaalu.”

With all the votes collected, I flew back to Vivec to see Crassius, wondering what sort of a ‘present’ he had for me. I don’t know how it happened, but it seemed he’d got wind of Orvas Dren’s ‘unfortunate death’ as well. On the surface he was as cheery as ever, but I could see the signs of strain around his eyes.

“All the councillors agree?” he said. “Splendid! I’m so happy for you! And now, I have a little treat for you: a belt given to the Hortator of House Hlaalu. Just snug it around that supple little waist – ” He broke off under the withering look I gave him. “Now, I know you have important things to do, but don’t be a stranger. Don’t neglect poor, lonely Uncle Crassius, your devoted admirer.”

“Of course not,” I said, taking the belt. “Thank you for all your help, Crassius. I’ll be sure to come and see the play when it’s finished.”

And so it was that the first House to declare me Hortator was Hlaalu, not Redoran. Funny how these things turn out, isn’t it?

As I said before...


I removed my cuirass, greaves and pauldrons and went to sit on Crassius’ lap. He was soft and flabby – well, most of him at least ...

he grabbed hold of the ebony spear and thrust the point viciously into my stomach

“Well?” I snarled. “Well?” “Think you’re hard enough, do you? Anyone else want to take on the Nerevarine?”










And now, Helena, since YOU have made me 'hard enough' I shall now go to take a cold shower. Very cold.

Before I start the next chapter, a couple some more screenshots of Ada in her younger days. Here she is at 22, shortly before the incident which landed her in jail:
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And here she is in her Fighters' Guild gear:
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Chapter 35: The Perfect Crime

My ‘bring it on’ mood lasted throughout the evening. It was only once I’d cleaned myself up, eaten, and taken a nice long hot bath that panic finally set in. Well, not ‘panic’ as such – more a sudden realisation of “Oh dear Gods, I’ve just killed the head of the CAMONNA TONG.” Not to mention following it up by very publicly declaring myself the Nerevarine.

Something told me there would be a lot more people out to kill me by the time I woke up the next morning. I spent the night in Ebonheart, hoping I’d be a bit safer from gangsters and religious zealots in Imperial territory. After that, though, I didn’t have much choice but to go back to Ald’ruhn.

I still couldn’t think how to deal with Gothren, but I hoped Athyn Sarethi would be willing to overlook that for the moment. Luckily I was right. “So the Hlaalu have already named you Hortator?” he asked in surprise. “I am impressed. I hope you did not have to do anything dishonourable to get the title.”

“Well… not dishonourable as such,” I said, trying not to shudder as I remembered Crassius’ little ‘favour’. “I had to kill Orvas Dren, though – he attacked me without warning. I’m sorry, Athyn.”

He shook his head. “I fear you have made more enemies, but I suppose it cannot be helped. Besides, from what I knew of Dren, I believe that Vvardenfell will be better off without him.” He glanced down at the Hlaalu declaration. “‘This sweet little dumpling’…? Ah, I see: Crassius Curio. Well done, Ada.”

At this point I had to make a rather embarrassing confession: I still didn’t really know what a Hortator was supposed to do. I’d led a few very small operations during my time in the Guild, but my skills as a General were… well, ‘untested’ was the politest way of putting it. I had about as much knowledge of large-scale military strategy as I did of advanced Conjuration magic. The Hlaalu and Telvanni didn’t seem to care, for whatever reason, but I had an uncomfortable feeling that the Redorans would.

But Athyn’s answer surprised me. “A Hortator is not really a general,” he told me, when I explained my concerns. “More of a chief hero. It’s the Councils who plan and approve strategy.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “A Hortator is a champion who leads by inspiration. He – or she, in this case – challenges opposing heroes in single combat.” Well, I’d done that… sort of. “She goes on long, desperate quests.” Check. “She goes alone into the citadels of the enemy.” Uh-oh.

“Athyn,” I said quietly. “Are you saying I’m going to have to confront Dagoth Ur alone?”

“That remains to be seen. Once you have the support of the Houses and tribes, and have convinced the Temple authorities that you are the Nerevarine, there will be time to discuss a strategy.”

“But…” Frustration bubbled up inside me. “This all seems completely backwards. When all those Hlaalu and Telvanni agreed to make me Hortator – the ones who care at all, that is – they did it because they thought I had some sort of plan to defeat Dagoth Ur. What am I going to do when they realise I don’t? What happens if the Temple finally agrees to recognise me as Nerevarine, and I have to admit that I don’t have the faintest idea what to do next?”

“I know it must seem foolish, but you must understand: there is no chance that the Temple will even consider your claims until the prophecies are fulfilled. You are challenging centuries of deeply-held belief.” He laid a hand on mine. “You must trust in the Gods to show you the way, as they have always done in the past.”

I said nothing. “Ada,” he went on, “I am not going to force you to be our Hortator if you don’t wish to. If you prefer to give up your claim, that is your choice.”

Easy for him to say, I thought. He wasn’t the one who had Azura breathing down his neck. “I can’t back out now, Athyn. I’ve already told half of Vvardenfell that I’m the Nerevarine.”

“Then you wish me to declare you Hortator, in spite of your own doubts?”

I couldn’t really see any way out. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

“So be it. I owe you a personal debt, and would be glad to repay you… but truly, Ada, I believe in you. I think you have the strength to undertake this quest, and the courage and passion to see it through.” If only I could believe that. “I name you, Ada Ventura, Hero and Hortator of House Redoran. I am sure the other councillors will agree.”

“What about Archmaster Venim?”

“Come back to me when you have convinced the other Councillors, and I will tell you a way that we might deal with Venim.”

I decided to visit Miner Arobar first, just to get the worst over with. He looked even worse than he had when I’d last seen him, and even less pleased to see me. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot – in fact, I could almost have sworn that he’d been crying recently. What the heck was going on there?

“Why have you come back here, House Father?” he asked, before I had the chance to speak. “If this is about the Council, I have already told you – ”

“It’s not about that, serjo. Something else entirely, in fact.”

His face relaxed ever so slightly. “Then I trust you will explain this reason for interrupting me yet again?”

I launched into my story, trying to keep it as short and direct as possible. Arobar listened, stroking his chin, and as I went on his expression became increasingly skeptical. “So,” he said at last, “you come to tell me that you are the reincarnation of Indoril Nerevar.”

“Yes.”

“Azura spoke with you,” he continued. “In a cave. And told you that because you are the reincarnation of Nerevar, you must become the Hortator of all three Great Houses. And that is why you are standing here now, telling me this story of the Tribunal stealing power from a god’s heart with Dwemer tools. And that Dagoth Ur is not dead, but even now plots to conquer Morrowind with the power of this alleged… heart. Is that correct?”

Put like that, it did sound a little unlikely.

“That’s correct,” I said, rather apologetically. “Look, here’s the Moon-and-Star ring I was telling you about.”

He took my hand and peered at it closely. “You see, sera,” he said, “my problem is that your story is a little… unbelievable. And, well, there are also these rumours about you being an Imperial spy…”

“What?” I gasped, outraged. “But that’s ridiculous! That’s – ”

I paused. I was an Imperial spy, wasn’t I? So much had happened since I’d last seen Caius Cosades that I’d almost forgotten.

“Very well,” he said with a sigh. “I will speak to Athyn Sarethi, your sponsor, and ask for his counsel. Please, wait here until I return.”

I sat down on a bench in the hallway and waited, hoping that he really was going to speak with Sarethi and not just fetching guards to haul away the dangerous lunatic. I wouldn’t entirely have blamed him, to be honest. Just two or three months ago, I’d have laughed my head off if someone came to me with a story like that.

It took quite a while for Arobar to get back, but whatever Athyn had told him seemed to have done the trick, as he looked deeply contrite. “I have spoken with Athyn Sarethi,” he said, as I stood up to greet him. “He believes your story, and I have absolute faith in his judgement. Please accept my apologies for not accepting you at once… and for believing these rumours about you being a spy.” He grasped my hand. “You have my vote. Tell the other councillors that I have given you my blessings.”

Wow. I didn’t know what Athyn had been saying to bring about this transformation, but I sure as hell owed him for this. “That’s quite alright,” I said graciously. “Er… while we’re on the subject, I don’t suppose…?”

But he was already shaking his head. “No, my friend. I am sorry, but I still cannot support you as a Councillor. Please don’t ask me again.” Oh, well.

I visited the other councillors one by one, and rattled off my story: Nerevarine cult, Dissident Priests, Lost Prophecies, Seven Trials, visions of Azura, Moon-and-Star. And each time it played out the same way: they listened to me with varying degrees of skepticism and disbelief, before going off to speak to Athyn Sarethi, who somehow managed to convince them that I was both sane and trustworthy. By the time I reached the last one, Hlaren Ramoran, I was tempted just to send him straight off to Athyn and get him to tell the story.

At last, with everyone’s vote in the bag except Venim’s, I went back to Sarethi Manor. I hadn’t asked any of the councillors to put their vows in writing – I knew the Redorans well enough by now to realise they would see this as a grave insult. But as Athyn had just spoken to them himself, he knew perfectly well that they’d all given their consent.

“Well done, my friend,” he said, as soon as I entered his study. “And now we must turn to the matter of Bolvyn Venim. I fear he will never agree to name an outlander Hortator – in fact, I would not advise you even to try. But now that you have the full support of the council, he may agree to an honourable duel.”

I sank down into a chair. “Another duel, Athyn?”

“I know it isn’t what either of us would wish, but I fear there is no other way. Venim was a great leader once, but he has grown tyrannical and unjust, and he loathes outlanders – and of course, he knows the part you played in freeing my son. Still, it is your decision.”

Both of us were silent for quite a while. “I’ll tell him my story first, and see what he says,” I said at last. “You never know. Miracles might happen. Oh, by the way: do you know what’s up with Miner Arobar? He refused me outright when I asked for his support on the Council.”

“Miner did not even consider your case? This is troubling.” He thought for a moment, frowning. “I believe from this and from his recent votes on the Council that he may be under Telvanni influence.”

“Damn. Do you have any idea who might be influencing him?”

He shook his head. “If you are not too busy, perhaps you could go to Sadrith Mora and find out? I hate to ask this of you at such a time, but it is an urgent matter.”

I’d have to go back there anyway in order to deal with Gothren, so I agreed to look into it. In the meantime, though, I had to prepare myself for my first meeting with the Archmaster.

As I was walking down the entrance hall, the door opened and Varvur Sarethi entered the room. “Varvur!” I exclaimed, briefly forgetting about Venim in my pleasure at seeing him again.

“Ada!” He stopped dead, hovering a few feet away from me. “I didn’t realise you were in Ald’ruhn. Are you… well?”

“Fine, thanks. Where’ve you been this last week?”

“I have been on a mission in the Ashlands. Helping to destroy an illegal Telvanni base.” He was still hanging back a bit, keeping his distance.

“Is everything all right, Varvur?” I asked.

“I – yes. Why?”

“Well, I’m just getting the impression that you’re trying to avoid me,” I said. “I don’t have corprus any more, if that’s the problem. Really.”

He hurried forward immediately. “No! Forgive me, Ada. I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just that, well…” He shook his head. “I still can’t believe you are the Nerevarine.”

Uh-oh. “Literally can’t believe it, or just can’t take it in?”

“The second.” Phew. “I… suppose I did avoid you, for a little while. I just wasn’t sure how to behave around you. I mean… you are the Nerevarine.”

“You know I’m still the same person, right?” I said quietly. “Nothing’s changed. I have a fancy ring now, that’s all.”

“I know.” He laid his hands on the tops of my arms, as if trying to reassure himself. We stood there awkwardly for a few moments.

“Anyway, wish me luck,” I said at last. “I’m about to go and ask Bolvyn Venim to declare me Redoran Hortator.”

He frowned. “You are going to Venim Manor? You shouldn’t go alone, Ada. What if he sets his guards on you? ”

“What? There’s no way he’d attack me in broad daylight for no reason.” I paused. “…Would he?”

“I don’t know, but I know I would not trust him.” His grip on my arms tightened. “I’ll come with you.”

“Varvur, no! What if he tries to kidnap you again?”

He shook his head. “I’ve been cleared of Bralen’s murder. He would not dare to arrest me now.”

I wasn’t willing to bet on that, to be honest. “Your father’s not going to like this,” I warned.

“I don’t care,” he said bluntly. “Am I a baby, to be ordered around by my father? He may be willing to let you face Venim alone, but I am not.”

What could I say? I didn’t really want to take Varvur with me, but I could hardly order him around like a child – even if I was technically his superior. This wasn’t the time to pull rank. Besides, I was secretly rather grateful for the moral support.

We walked together to Venim Manor and entered the manor cautiously, making sure our weapons were clearly on display. Several of the guards and servants glared at us as we passed, but they didn’t attack us… yet. Varvur, who’d been inside the manor many times before, led me on into Venim’s private quarters.

I’d never met Bolvyn Venim before, and I was interested to see what kind of man could inspire such conflicting feelings in the other Councillors. Venim was tall and powerfully built, dressed in a full set of ebony armour. He was surrounded by a group of guards and assorted hangers-on, including several women who all looked far too young to be his wife. One of the perks of being Archmaster, I suppose, but not exactly what I’d have expected from the ultra-stuffy Redorans.

He looked up sharply as we approached, and his face darkened as he recognised Varvur Sarethi. He shot the young man a filthy glance – which, to Varvur’s credit, he returned unflinchingly – and directed an almost equally unpleasant scowl at me. “What is it, outlander? Unless you have some important business to discuss, I suggest that you leave.”

I bowed low, ignoring his sneering tone. Varvur followed suit. “I do have some rather important business, serjo. Might it be possible for us to talk in private?”

“Certainly not! If you have something to say, outlander, say it here – and be quick about it.”

The guy was already pissing me off, but I was determined to keep my cool this time. “All right,” I said. “I’ve come to ask you to support me as Redoran Hortator.”

There was a ripple of incredulous laughter. Venim stared at me in disbelief. “What?”

“Hortator,” I repeated. “It’s a kind of war leader – ”

“Of course I know what a Hortator is!” he thundered, making me jump. “Why in all Oblivion should I make you our Hortator?”

“Because I’m the Nerevarine.”

Again the other Dunmer burst out laughing, but Bolvyn himself looked distinctly unamused. “Outlander, if this is some kind of joke – ”

“It isn’t a joke, Archmaster,” I said quietly. “Won’t you let me at least try to explain? I am a member of your House.”

He glowered at me for a couple of seconds, but said nothing, which I took as a cue to launch into my story. I tried my very best to make it sound convincing this time, but it clearly wasn’t having the desired effect on Venim; the further I got, the angrier he looked. By the time I reached the part with Azura and the Moon-and-Star he looked downright furious, and when I finally removed my gauntlet to show him the ring, he practically exploded with wrath.

“Do you take me for a fool, outlander? Do you think I can be so easily won over? You are a fraud. Cunning, for an outlander, but a complete fraud.” He was breathing heavily. “No, you will never be Hortator. I will not permit it!”

“Why not?”

“Why not? Why not?” He was spluttering with anger. “Apart from the fact that you are a fraud and a liar?”

“Suppose I could prove to you that I wasn’t lying,” I said. “Would there still be a reason not to declare me Hortator?”

“There are a thousand reasons!”

“Such as?”

“You are an outlander. A Cyrodiil!” He practically spat out the last word. “How could we trust you with the leadership of our House?”

“All the prophecies state that the Nerevarine will be an outlander,” I said mildly. “Read them, if you don’t believe me. And as for the House, I’ll be a Councillor myself soon enough, so I don’t see why that should be a problem.”

He brushed this aside with an irritated gesture. “How old are you, outlander?”

“Twenty-three.”

“Twenty-three?” He snorted derisively. “By the standards of our race you are an infant. We Dunmer have seen centuries of warfare, and now you ask us to declare you our champion?”

…Okay, so he kind of had a point. “Well, we humans develop more quickly,” I pointed out, standing my ground. “I’ve proven myself in your House, and I’ve persuaded the other Councillors to support me. I think that ought to count for something.”

“What? I do not – ”

“It is true, serjo,” Varvur said quietly, speaking up for the first time. “She has their support.”

Just for a moment, the older man looked slightly rattled. He rallied quickly, however. “Well, you may have played your tricks on the others, but they will not work on me. If you dare face me in a duel to the death – ”

“There’s no need for a duel, serjo.” I slipped the Moon-and-Star off my finger, and held it out to him. “There’s a very simple way to prove I’m telling the truth. Here, try it on for yourself.”

A sudden hush descended. Bolvyn’s eyes seemed to bulge out as he stared at the ring lying there in my palm, his face rigid, not moving a muscle. The assembled Dunmer were watching with raised eyebrows, and as the seconds passed I saw some of them exchange meaningful glances.

“Well, Archmaster?” I said at last, hoping to goad him into taking the ring. “If you think this is all a trick, why not try it on? Are you afraid, perhaps?”

There was dead silence, and I realised I’d gone too far. Much too far. Bolvyn took a step towards me, his fists clenched and his face pale with fury. “You must be a coward to even suggest such a thing,” he hissed. “Knights and gentlemen do not yield to animals. I despise you.”

I felt the blood rush to my face. For a moment I was too angry and humiliated to speak, but Varvur sprang forward with a cry of rage. “How dare you! She is a House kinsman, and you have no right to say such things to her!” He reached instinctively for his scabbard, and I hastily caught his arm before he could do anything really stupid.

Venim waved a hand dismissively, as if swatting a fly. “Run away, stupid child.”

“Leave it, Varvur.” I gave his arm a squeeze and then turned back to Venim, trying to keep my voice steady. “Well, Bolvyn, I’m a Knight of the Imperial Dragon. Is that knightly enough for you? I’m not a gentleman,” I added, “but hey, I guess that makes two of us.”

Another tense silence followed. Venim drew in breath with a sharp hiss. “This has gone far enough, outlander. If you are not a coward as well as a fraud, I will put a stop to your ambitions at the Arena in Vivec.”

“Fine. Whatever.” I heaved a sigh. “I hereby honourably challenge you to an honourable duel in the honourable traditions of House Redoran. Is that all right? Only you’ll have to give me a week or so, ’cos I’ve got stuff to do first.”

He laughed scornfully. “Very well, outlander. I will meet you in the Arena in a week’s time.”

I was still smarting from the ‘animals’ insult as we left the Venim manor. So, by the looks of it, was Varvur. “Thanks for sticking up for me back there,” I said, with genuine gratitude. “Though I guess I kind of had it coming.”

He shrugged. “You spoke the truth. He was afraid, and everyone could see it!”

“Hmph.” To tell the truth, I was already wondering if I might have bitten off more than I could chew. OK, so I’d faced tough opponents before, but the guy I’d just challenged to a duel to the death was the head of Morrowind’s ancient warrior House. Not to mention bigger, stronger, better-armed and several centuries more experienced than I was.

Back in Sarethi Manor, I told Athyn what had happened. He greeted the news with a resigned shake of his head. “So be it. You must fight him, Ada.”

“Great,” I muttered. “Yet another pointless death.” I just hoped it was going to be Venim’s, not mine.

I had dinner with the Sarethis again that evening, but I couldn’t eat very much – I was too busy worrying about the upcoming duel with Bolvyn. I’d got further than any of the other would-be Nerevarines, but was this going to be the test that finally proved too much for me? Was I doomed to spend the rest of eternity in the Cavern of the Incarnate, telling newcomers “I was not the Nerevarine, because I was stupid enough to challenge the Redoran Archmaster to a duel”?

“Maybe you could give me some advice about fighting Venim,” I suggested hopefully to Athyn. “For instance, what sort of weapons does he prefer to use?”

Athyn chewed thoughtfully on a mouthful of kwama egg before answering. “For duels, he generally uses a Daedric dai-katana.”

I nearly dropped my fork. “Oh, crap!”

“Do not worry, muthsera,” he said calmly. “I have faith in you.” Well, at least one of us did.

I stayed at Buckmoth fort that night, and set off for Sadrith Mora the next morning. I wasn’t sure who to talk to about Miner Arobar, so I started by asking around the Mages’ Guild in Wolverine Hall, trying to be as discreet as possible. Luckily I found an ally in Uleni Heleran, the mage who’d told me all about Telvanni Mouths. It turned out that she was an outlander, and didn’t get on very well with the Morrowind Dunmer – especially the Telvanni.

“Well,” she said cautiously, “I have heard rumours that Master Neloth is holding Nartise Arobar hostage.”

“Nartise Arobar?”

“Miner Arobar’s daughter. Just a rumour, of course,” she added. “You didn’t hear it from me.”

Miner Arobar’s daughter? Well, that would certainly explain how weirdly he was acting. What the hell was it with all these Councillors’ children getting themselves kidnapped? It seemed to be practically a rite of passage for Redoran noble kids.

All of a sudden I remembered the woman I’d seen in a cage in Tel Naga – the one I’d assumed was a slave. Was that Nartise? If so, no wonder she’d looked at me so strangely – she must have recognised me as a fellow Redoran. And I’d just walked out and left her there…

It didn’t take me too long to think of a plan to rescue her, but I decided it would be best to tackle Gothren first. I got the feeling I’d need to get out of town pretty quickly after messing up Neloth’s little kidnap-and-blackmail scheme. Good thing I already had his vote…

Dealing with the Archmagister was something I’d quite happily have put off as long as possible. There was no getting round it: for the first time ever, I was going to have to cold-bloodedly murder a (relatively) innocent person. At least I’d given him fair warning, I suppose. But in any case, I still needed to come up with a way to do it.

I wasn’t fool enough to think I could actually fight Gothren. A guy who’d survived for centuries in House Telvanni could probably kill me just by waggling his eyebrows. But my talk with Venim, useless though it had been in most respects, had given me the beginnings of an idea.

While visiting various apothecaries and alchemists, I’d sometimes seen small bottles of ‘Fortify Luck’ potion on their shelves. I’d never bought one before now – after all, how are you supposed to tell if they even work? Especially when your luck is as unpredictable as mine? But the scheme I had in mind was going to need a lot of luck, so perhaps I ought to give them a try.

It wasn’t too difficult to find Fortify Luck potions in Sadrith Mora, the magic-and-alchemy capital of Vvardenfell. Afterwards I made my way to Tel Aruhn – no flying this time, I preferred to stay out of Vivec right now – and used my Chameleon amulet to scout out Gothren’s quarters without being seen. A plan was slowly forming, but I’d definitely need that Luck potion.

I went back to Wolverine Hall for the rest of the day and returned to Tel Aruhn after dark, wearing Caius’ black clothes and making sure to avoid the guards. Using the Amulet of Shadows, I levitated up to Gothren’s quarters without being seen and entered the tower. Gothren was sleeping, but his two Dremora guards were watching over him – and he probably had all sorts of magical protections as well. I ignored him, wanting to complete my task before the spell wore off.

Some of Gothren’s clothing was laid out on a chair. I slipped off the Moon-and-Star and hid it in the folds of his robe, then crawled underneath one of the wardrobes, where there was just enough space for me to hide out of sight. Clutching my luck potion, I settled down for a long, uncomfortable night.

At long last I heard Gothren’s footsteps approaching, and quickly gulped down the potion. I heard an exclamation of annoyance as he picked up the robe and the ring clattered to the floor. From underneath the wardrobe I could just see his hands scrabbling around to pick it up. Moments later there was a terrible scream, then a loud thump.

I dragged myself out from under the wardrobe. Gothren was lying stiff and motionless on the floor, his face frozen in an expression of utter horror. He was undoubtedly dead. The Dremora guards seemed to have vanished – they must have been released back into Oblivion by his death.

I bent down to remove the ring from Gothren’s finger and slipped it back onto my own. As I straightened up, I heard footsteps rushing down the stairs, and a robed Telvanni woman entered the room. She spotted the body and raised her hands instinctively to cast a spell – then lowered them as she realised that probably wasn’t a good idea.

“I didn’t kill him,” I said. It was true, sort of.

The woman stared at me for a few seconds. Finally she turned away and knelt down by Gothren’s body, searching for marks that would indicate how he died. There weren’t any.

“Well, outlander,” she said at last, rather shakily. “I don’t know how you did this, but I congratulate you. You would make a good Telvanni.”

Well, I assume she meant it as a compliment.

So I’d finally committed the crime I was once accused of, more than a year after being thrown in jail for it. Had that all been part of Azura’s Grand Plan, I wondered? Had some unpleasant-but-harmless noble brat had to die just so that I could become Nerevarine? The thought made me feel slightly sick.

Luckily I didn’t have time to brood on it for too long – there was a damsel-in-distress to be rescued. Maybe I should have brought along another Luck potion, because this plan didn’t go quite as smoothly.

My idea was to enter Tel Naga under a Chameleon spell, slip past the guard into Nartise’s cell, and hand her a Divine Intervention scroll without being seen. The slight flaw in the plan was that I had no way to warn her I was there. I hoped she’d have the sense to realise what was going on, but when I cautiously tapped her on the arm, she let out a sharp gasp.

The guard swung round. “What’s going on?” His eyes darted back and forth before focussing on me, and I realised he’d seen through the Chameleon spell. Abandoning my original plan, I leapt forward and used the Star of the West spell to drop him just as he raised his weapon.

An armoured battlemage cast Dispel at me from the other side of the room, and suddenly I was fully visible again. Damn. Nartise flung herself to the floor with a shriek as the battlemage rushed at me, axe raised. The other mage in the room cast some kind of Shock spell at me, but I ducked behind the battlemage and it hit him right in the back.

Instantly the second mage cast another spell, but this time Marara’s Ring reflected it right back at him. As the two of them collapsed to the ground in agony, I dragged the screaming Nartise to her feet and hauled her up the stairs, bundling her out through the door into the open air. “RUN!” I roared, shoving her in the direction of Wolverine Hall.

She didn’t have to be told twice. We raced down the streets towards Wolverine Hall, past the astonished-looking Telvanni guards, as sounds of pursuit gathered behind us. They seemed to die down once we got close to the fort, but I wasn’t taking any chances. We didn’t even stop for breath until we reached the hall and I pulled Nartise into the Imperial shrine, slamming the door behind us.

“It’s you!” she gasped, seeing my face for the first time. “I knew you’d come back for me! I saw your Redoran shield and – ”

“Yes, fine, but save it for later! We have to get out of here!” I dragged her out of the shrine, snarling “Out of my way!” at a bewildered priest, and led her up to the Mages’ Guild, where I yelled at the long-suffering Guild Guide Iniel to get us to Ald’ruhn. Luckily I’d had the sense to pay her in advance, and she was too flustered to do anything but obey.

Even when we reached Ald’ruhn, we kept running. We didn’t stop until we were under Skar and at the door of Arobar Manor. By now poor Nartise was sobbing and trembling like a leaf, gulping for air as if she’d been half-drowned. She looked very young and frightened, and I suddenly felt very sorry for her.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” I said gruffly, giving her a hug. “Go on, go to your father. I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you.”

She nodded tearfully and hurried off into the manor, while I headed back to Buckmoth to clean myself up. I didn’t want to pester Miner Arobar until he’d had some time alone with his daughter, but that evening he sent me a message asking me to visit him in his manor. When I saw him again, the change was amazing: he looked like he’d just had a hundred-pound weight lifted off his shoulders.

“You have rescued my daughter.” His voice was choked. “I must apologise for the way I treated you, sera. I will gladly offer my support to make you a Councilman. Please take this amulet as a sign of my support.”

“Thank you,” I said, wondering what I was going to do with yet another amulet. “But you really don’t need to –” Hang on, was that an enchantment giving near-total resistance to fire? Hot damn.

“I mean, I don’t deserve it,” I finished hastily. “But it’s really really kind of you and thankyousoverymuchCouncillor.” Well, I had saved his daughter. And frankly, with a duel against Bolvyn Venim coming up, I was going to need all the help I could get.

Reading your narrative of the game is almost better than playing it.

I've only finished the game twice in eight years. I have been head of the Mages' Guild six times though, having a distaste for scuttleheads.

Saying "Damn the Heat!" after getting a near-total resistance to fire would be, I think, much better!

ROFL !!! Great sequence !!!

Chapter 36: Make Love, Not War

By the time I woke up the next morning, the story of Nartise’s kidnap and rescue had spread all over Ald’ruhn. The version that got back to me was a bit exaggerated, I must say: apparently I’d carved up six or seven Telvanni battlemages, fought off a bunch of guards trying to prevent our escape, and burst through the gates of Wolverine Hall with a horde of enraged Telvanni hot on our heels. The Redorans were going to be dining out on this for years. As for the Telvanni… well, I got the feeling I wouldn’t be welcome in their settlements for quite a while.

That was nothing, though, compared to the effect of Archmagister Gothren’s death. People didn’t nod politely any more as I passed, but lowered their eyes and scuttled out of the way, while children stopped playing and hurried inside their houses when they saw me coming. Everywhere I went, I kept hearing the hushed whispers: “Nerevar… Incarnate… the Nerevarine…”

One sweet little girl plucked up courage to approach me as I walked to Skar to buy provisions. “Are you the Nerevarine?” she asked shyly in Dunmeris.

Aww, I thought, aren’t they adorable. “Yes, I am,” I said, smiling kindly at her. (My Dunmeris didn’t quite stretch to “well, technically yes, but it won’t be officially confirmed until I’ve fulfilled the prophecies and been formally acknowledged by the Temple authorities.”)

A gleeful smile spread over her face. “You’re a liar. My mother says you’re a heretic and you should be burned.”

I was trying to think of a suitably snappy comeback – I didn’t have the vocabulary for what I really wanted to say – when the mother herself strode up to drag her kid away. As she left, she snarled something at me which I didn’t quite catch, but no doubt she was telling me to keep my filthy heretical hands off her child.

Everything was getting a bit out of hand, to put it bluntly. Still, there were worse things than getting harassed by eight-year-old girls – at least no one was trying to have me arrested and thrown into the Ministry of Truth. Yet.

Since I seemed to be making Morrowind’s cities too hot to hold me, maybe it was time to start work on my own stronghold again. To do that I had to go and see Percius Mercius about hiring some guards. It was a while since I’d visited the Guild, but so much had happened in that time that I’d almost forgotten about the bloodbath in Balmora and Vivec.

Percius’ eyes lit up when he saw me. “Ah, Ada! I was wondering when you’d show up. Why didn’t you come back here after dealing with Hard-Heart?”

“I was… busy.”

“Ah yes,” he said with a smile. “I’ve heard all about you declaring yourself the Nerevarine. You’ve certainly been causing quite a stir in these parts. Well, are you ready to take your place as Guildmaster?”

“Whaaaa…?” I gasped, clutching wildly at a pillar. “Oh, right… you’re joking. Haha.”

“I’m not joking. The job is yours, if you want it.”

“You want me to be the Guildmaster?”

He nodded. “I was the Master before Sjoring Hard-Heart, but I’m getting on a bit. Time I retired, really. Hrundi’s happy in Sadrith Mora, and you’re the only one left with his rank. So it’s yours by default.”

I gaped at him. “Percius, I can’t possibly be Guildmaster! I’m already head of the Legion, for a start. Not to mention that I’m a bit busy right now trying to defeat an evil god. How am I supposed to find time to run the Guild on top of all that?”

“Delegation?” he said with a wink.

I couldn’t believe this was happening. First the Legion and now the Fighters’ Guild? This was insane. But then everything that had happened to me recently was pretty insane, so perhaps it was best to humour him.

“All right,” I said at last. “I accept your offer. And my first decision as Guildmaster is to appoint you, Percius Mercius, as Assistant… Deputy… Vice-Guildmaster in charge of… well, everything. You can take care of the Guild for me while I’m busy fighting the Sixth House.”

“As you wish, Guildmaster.” He bowed his head, but I saw a twinkle in his eyes. “Is there anything else you’d like me to do for you?”

Suddenly I remembered what I’d come for in the first place. “Actually, yes. I was wondering if you could help me find some guards for my Redoran stronghold.”

Percius thought for a moment. “I do know a few men who can garrison your stronghold,” he said at last, “and I’ll even recommend them to you for free, but first I’ll need a favour. I need you to get my friend, Frelene Acques, out of prison.”

Good grief. There’s always something, isn’t there? “Why? What’s she done?”

“Nothing, as far as I know, but the Hlaalu are holding her for questioning. She’s being held in the prison under their Canton in Vivec.”

Oh, great. Now I was supposed to supervise a prison break? He might say his friend was innocent, but for all I knew she was guilty as sin. “Suppose I were to order you to hire me some guards, Percius?”

“I’m sorry, Guildmaster. I just can’t concentrate on anything else, thinking of my poor, wrongfully-accused friend rotting in a Hlaalu jail.” I could see him struggling to keep a straight face. B*stard.

“Oh, gods, all right,” I hissed. “I’ll try and get her out. But if everything goes pear-shaped, I’m going to tell them it was you who sent me.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” he said blithely. “You should be a Khajiit, Ada; you always land on your feet. Anyway, didn’t the Hlaalu make you their Hortator? You should be able to pull a few strings, surely.”

The only string I wanted to pull right now was a nice tight knot around Percius Mercius’ neck. I was supposed to be head of the Guild now, and yet somehow I was still taking orders from him? Gods, I really had to start learning to say ‘no’ to people.

I set off for Vivec, wondering if I could somehow disguise myself or cover my face to avoid being jumped by Ordinators. I still had some of the make-up and hair-dye I’d used for the Caldera Mine job, so I ended up putting that on. I’d just have to hope it would be enough.

In the event, I managed to reach the Hlaalu canton without being recognised. Unfortunately that meant I couldn’t do any of the ‘string-pulling’ Percius had talked about, so I ended up using the Amulet of Shadows to sneak into Frelene’s jail.

The place wasn’t exactly what you’d call ‘top-security’. There was only one guard, who’d conveniently left a master key lying on a table in the corner. I grabbed it while he wasn’t looking and slipped it through the bars to Frelene, noticing as I did that she was very pretty – gee, I wonder if that could be why Percius wanted her out of there? Her eyes widened when she realised what was happening, and she gestured silently that she’d make her own way out once I’d left.

She still hadn’t arrived when I got back to Percius, but luckily he believed my story and agreed to hire guards for me. That done, I had nothing to do for the rest of the week but lots and lots of sword-practice. I also went to Ebonheart to pick up Chrysamere and the Lord’s Mail, figuring that they belonged to me now. I didn’t like to be reminded of my duel with Varus Vantinius, but since there was no way I could use the Levitation trick again, I had to find some way to even the odds.

The evening before the duel, I went to the practice rooms under Skar for a final workout. I was beating the heck out of a training dummy when I heard a faint noise behind me, and turned to see Varvur standing by the door.

“Hello, Varvur,” I said in surprise. “I didn’t hear you come in. Have you been here long?”

“Not so long. I didn’t want to interrupt you.” He took a hesitant step forward. “Do you have some time to talk?”

“Of course,” I said, going to sit on one of the benches. “What about?”

“I heard how you rescued Nartise Arobar.” He smiled, and then his smile faded slightly. “I… also heard about Gothren. And Orvas Dren.”

I could see the slight strain in his face. “Are you afraid of me, Varvur?” I asked bluntly.

“Of you? No.” He sat down beside me. “But… I am afraid for you, perhaps. It seems to me that you are making many enemies.”

“I know.” I shrugged rather wearily. “Still, you can’t make an omelette without carving up a few Telvanni. An old Imperial saying.”

He shook his head, though there was a trace of a smile on his lips. “Do you always joke about serious things?”

“Always,” I said with a sigh. “It’s just a way to cope. What else am I supposed to do? Cry?”

“I don’t know. But that is what I came to talk to you about.” He leaned forward slightly. “I just wanted to say that I will always be here to help you if you need it. If you want a… a bodyguard, perhaps, to protect you from assassins. Or if anyone threatens you, come to me – or my father – and we’ll make sure they don’t harm you.”

My heart cracked into little pieces. He was such a sweetheart… and the bodyguard thing wasn’t a bad idea, actually. I might just take him up on it if the Ordinators started getting shirty. Not that I needed much of an excuse to spend more time around Varvur…

“Thank you, Varvur,” I said, as soon as I could speak again. “I’m running out of ways to say this, but… I’m really, really grateful for everything you and your family have done for me. I just hope I don’t end up letting you all down.”

“But you won’t. If what Azura has said is true, you must be the one to defeat Dagoth Ur.” I didn’t have the heart to tell him about all the failed Incarnates. “Anyway, I must go now. I will leave you to practise.”

Well, that settled it: I had to win, or end up taking Varvur and Athyn down with me. That would have been true anyway, of course, but Varvur’s offer really brought it home to me. I wondered how long his father would last on the Council if Bolvyn Venim won the duel. Something told me he’d probably be out within the month – if he even managed to survive that long.

I wondered why it seemed so much easier to fight for their sake than for the sake of all Morrowind. Perhaps it was just that the threat of Dagoth Ur still seemed so far-away and abstract. Okay, so he’d given me a few bad dreams and I’d seen the destruction he’d wreaked on the land, but to me he was still just some shadowy figure hiding inside a cave. Whereas the Sarethis were my friends – heck, almost family – and they’d risked everything to help me.

I slept surprisingly well that night – maybe I’d just tired myself out. When I woke up I felt strong and alert, but also rather nervous. I wasn’t really hungry, but I forced myself to eat some breakfast at the Arena waistworks – no sense in collapsing for lack of energy half-way through the duel.

The fight was scheduled for ten o’clock. When the time came, I strapped myself into my armour and loaded myself up with as much enchanted jewellery as I could carry without falling over. Then I walked out into the lion’s den.

When I stepped through the wooden door that led to the arena, I nearly had a heart attack. The place was absolutely packed with people – half the population of Vvardenfell seemed have squeezed themselves into the stalls, eager to see the fight between the head of House Redoran and the outlander claiming to be the Nerevarine. A huge cheer went up as I entered the ring, and an even bigger one when Venim appeared a few moments later. I wondered if Athyn and Varvur were somewhere in that huge crowd, watching.

Venim stood at the other side of the arena, sword in hand, decked out in his ebony armour. I suppose you could have seen it as symbolic: me in my shining mail with my holy Paladin’s Blade, battling the evil Black Knight for the future of Morrowind. Certainly it sounded a lot better than the reality: an out-of-her-depth young woman facing a deeply unpleasant but hardly evil opponent for the sake of a title she didn’t even want or – let’s face it – deserve.

“Azura?” I prayed silently, as we waited for the signal to begin the duel. “If you’re watching this, I could really use your help right now.” And someone must have been listening, because at that moment my nervousness vanished and I felt a sudden surge of confidence. I was ready to take on anything, even Venim.

The duel began. As Venim rushed towards me with sword drawn, I stayed calm and quickly cast my protective enchantments. They wouldn’t last very long, so I’d have to try and get this over with quickly.

You couldn’t really do any fancy swordplay with those massive blades, so for the most part we just circled each other and took the occasional swing, hoping to catch each other off guard. I could see the scorn in Venim’s eyes as he spotted my magical shields.

“Afraid to face me without enchantments, outlander?” he taunted me.

“Afraid to face me without Daedric weapons, Bolvyn?” I jeered back.

I have to admit, though, he was good. Really good. Even after days of practice, it was still an effort for me to fight with Chrysamere, while Venim swung his own dai-katana like he’d been born to it. I wouldn’t have had the ghost of a chance against him without all my magical gear.

It wasn’t long before I realised this was pointless. All Venim had to do was wait for me to tire myself out, then move in for the kill. If I could just get close enough to cast my Star of the West spell, I might have a chance – but I couldn’t risk taking a hand off my sword, unless I found some way to trick him. Come on, Ada. Imperials are supposed to be good at cheating.

I pretended to stumble, letting Venim’s sword strike me in the arm. While the Shield spell absorbed most of the force of the blow, it was enough to jar the sword out of my left hand. Venim’s eyes gleamed with triumph, he relaxed for just a moment – and before he could recover from the swing, I stepped forward and cast the spell.

What happened next was completely unexpected. Instead of collapsing or even stumbling, Venim lowered his sword and took a step backwards. His eyes were fixed on me as if in a trance. Oh [censored], I’d cast the wrong spell!

Venim stared at me in bewilderment as the powerful Charm spell did its work. It was clear that he’d completely forgotten why he was trying to kill me. I couldn’t afford to waste this chance – any moment now, he’d realise what had happened and get really angry.

“Sorry, Bolvyn,” I whispered, raising Chrysamere in both hands, “but I have to kill you now.” Before he could react, I swung the huge blade straight at his neck, severing his head clean from his body.

The crowd went wild. I turned away as Venim’s body toppled to the ground, feeling a bit sick. Poor guy, even he didn’t deserve such a humiliating death.

By the time I got back to the waistworks, Varvur Sarethi was there to greet me. “What happened?” he gasped, pulling me into a brief, tight hug. “When he struck your arm, I thought… What kind of spell did you cast on him?”

“Uhm… Illusion,” I mumbled, deliberately avoiding the actual question. “Oh look, here come the others.”

The Redoran councillors had entered from the back of the room, along with their wives and families. I noticed that Fathasa Llethri looked pale and tight-lipped, while Garisa’s face held a look of rather grim satisfaction. Walking alongside them was a woman I didn’t recognise, dressed in some of the most exquisite clothes I had ever seen. As they drew closer I realised that she was sobbing bitterly.

“Who’s that?” I whispered to Varvur.

He coughed awkwardly. “That is Dilvene Venim, Bolvyn’s… widow.”

I stared at him in horror. “He had a wife? No one told me he had a wife!”

At that moment, Dilvene’s glance fell on me, and her eyes blazed with sudden fury. “Traitors. Murderers! This is all your fault!”

Miner Arobar laid a hand on her arm, but she brushed him aside. “You plotted against him! All of you! What shall I do, now he is dead? All those years I stood by him, pretending to be blind to all his – his – ” She broke off, and turned streaming eyes towards Fathasa Llethri. “Did you think I didn’t know, Fathasa?”

Fathasa’s face turned deep purple. Her husband looked like he’d been punched in the stomach. For a moment there was total silence, and then suddenly everyone began talking – or rather, yelling – at once.

I stared in disbelief at the bickering group. This was getting out of hand. Any minute now, other people were going to turn up and see the entire Redoran council squabbling like a bunch of ten-year-olds.

“SHUT UP!” I roared. A circle of shocked faces turned towards me. I glared back at them. “If we must discuss who’s been sleeping with who, could we please do it a little more quietly? I think there’s a bunch of Ashlanders out in Dagon Fel somewhere who haven’t heard about it yet.”

There was another silence, broken when Dilvene burst into tears again. Brara Morvayn put an arm around her and began to speak to her in a low voice. As the Councillors clustered around her, Athyn drew me aside to join him and the other Sarethis.

“Will she be all right?” I asked awkwardly.

Athyn nodded. “I believe so. She will grieve for him, of course, but I hope it will not be for too long. Poor Dilvene, he treated her almost as badly as he treated everyone else.”

I said nothing. Varvur gave my hand a quick squeeze. As the four of us began to move towards the exit, he hung back to walk beside me.

“What will you do now?” he asked, after a few moments of silence.

I thought for a while. “I think I need a bath,” I said at last.

“And after that?”

I thought again. “A drink would be nice.”

“Shall I meet you in the Rat in the Pot?”



We spent a long time in the tavern, buying each other drinks and talking about everything except the duel that had just taken place. All I really wanted to drink myself into oblivion – almost literally – but luckily I had the sense to stop before I reached the ‘clinging onto the floor’ stage. Getting falling-down drunk at a time like this probably wasn’t the best idea.

Even so, both of us were rather the worse for wear by the time we left the tavern. Everything seemed incredibly funny all of a sudden. We made our way down the street, leaning against each other and giggling helplessly at each other’s jokes. It was a very cold night, but I hardly even noticed – all I could think was how nice it was to have Varvur’s arm around me.

Near to the Fighters’ Guild, he suddenly stopped walking. “What’s that? Over there, in that alleyway.”

I peered into the gloom, but it was too dark to make anything out. “I can’t see anything.”

“Let’s take a closer look.” He tugged me insistently in the direction of the alley. I followed, vaguely wondering what had come over him.

There was nothing in the alley except a few crates and empty baskets. “ ’S nothing here,” I mumbled. “What did – oh.” Before I realised what was happening, he had pushed me up against the curved wall of a hut, pressing his lips against mine. His red eyes glowed faintly in the darkness.

Finally, I thought. I was just about to slip my arms around him when he suddenly tore his lips away from mine, breathing heavily.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was even huskier than usual. “I’m so sorry. I know it is disrespectful, but I couldn’t help it. You are so beautiful...”

I looked at him in confusion. “I’m not beautiful.”

“Well,” he said, “I don’t know what Imperials consider beautiful. But I think you are.”

After that, was it really any surprise that we ended up kissing again? I was drunk, so I don’t really remember all that much about it, but I do know that it felt pretty good. Certainly a hell of a lot nicer than being kissed by Crassius Curio.

After what felt like an age, Varvur pushed back the heavy cloak I was wearing and slid his hands under my shirt. Somewhere inside my head, a little voice was screaming at me that this was a bad idea, but it was drowned out by a whole chorus of voices saying that this felt rather nice, actually.

“Hey, kids! Get a room!” The Nordic-sounding voice came from somewhere near the Fighters’ Guild. We froze, but whoever it was passed by, chuckling.

“Maybe we should, uh, get a room,” I mumbled. “If you want to go on with this, I mean?”

“Yes. Let’s go.” He grasped me by the hand and we hurried back towards the Rat in the Pot.

By the time we reached the tavern, we could hardly keep our hands off each other. The only person left in the taproom was the owner Lirielle Stoine, cleaning up. She looked up in amusement as Varvur and I stumbled in, locked in each other’s arms. “I take it you two want a room?”

“That would be good,” I agreed, fumbling in my pouch for some coins.

Lirielle took the money and led us down to a small, rather dingy bedroom. Just before she left, she slipped a couple of small potion bottles into my hands. “Thought you might need these,” she said with a wink.

It took me a couple of seconds to realise what they were, but when I did, I was suddenly very grateful to her. In all the excitement I’d forgotten that the last thing I needed right now was a little sweetroll in the oven …

My memory of the rest of that night is very patchy, so I can’t describe it in detail – and even if I could, the Temple would probably ban it. Let’s just say that in our own way, Varvur and I did our bit for improved Imperial-Dunmer relations. Who’d have thought international diplomacy could be so much fun?



I woke up the next morning in Varvur’s arms, half-dressed, with a mild headache. I must admit that my first thought was, “Oh gods, who have I slept with this time?” Then I remembered.

Varvur was still lying half on top of me, sound asleep – well, that explained why I couldn’t feel the right half of my body. “Hello, sleepyhead,” I whispered. When that didn’t wake him up, I poked him gently in the ribs.

Varvur’s eyes flickered open, rested on me for a couple of seconds, and then widened with shock. He sat bolt upright. “Ada!” he gasped, his voice hoarse. “Oh, b’vek! Ada, I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have…”

I felt like I’d been slapped in the face. He could hardly have insulted me more if he’d left money on the bedside table. I wrenched myself out of his grasp, ignoring the fierce pins-and-needles in my right side.

“Oh, I get it,” I snarled. “When you told me all that crap about how beautiful I am, you really meant ‘at two in the morning when I’m totally off my face on mazte’. Well, nice knowing you too, Varvur.”

I flung my cloak around my shoulders and made for the door, but he grabbed hold of me. “Wait! What are you talking about? I do think you’re beautiful, I just thought – ” He broke off. “You mean, you don’t mind that I…? You enjoyed it?”

“What?” My head was starting to throb. Maybe I was just hung over, but this conversation wasn’t making any sense to me. “Of course I enjoyed it. At least – ” I screwed up my eyes for a moment – “I think I did. Didn’t you?”

“I think so too.” His face was slightly flushed. “But… I don’t really remember too well.”

For a moment we just stared at each other, until suddenly the ridiculousness of the situation hit us both and we burst out laughing. Varvur pushed me back onto the bed and I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him down on top of me.

“What took you so long?” I mumbled, in between kisses.

“I wanted to do this before, but I was afraid you wouldn’t like it. You told me I was a good friend.” He exhaled slowly. “And you said that you liked… barbarians…”

I let out a snort of laughter. “Were you thinking of dragging me by my hair to a cave somewhere?”

“Not your beautiful hair,” he murmured, running his hands through my tangled braids. “But… yes, something like that.”

I groped for the spare potion Lirielle had given me, swallowed it down, and settled back against the pillows. “So go ahead. Do it now.”

“There’s no cave.”

“Use your imagination.”

It was mid-morning by the time we were finally ready to leave. I waited another hour or so before going to see Athyn, not wanting to raise suspicion by arriving too soon after Varvur. I really wished I’d got him to declare me Hortator last night, before we left for Ald’ruhn. It was supposed to be a solemn occasion, but all I could think about was how he’d react if he found out I’d spent last night in bed with his son.

But I must have done a good job of hiding my embarrassment, because he didn’t seem to notice anything. He simply made a short speech pronouncing me Hortator, and sealed the deal by giving me – you guessed it – another piece of enchanted jewellery. This time it was a ring with health-giving properties.

“I also have a sealed package for you,” he said, handing it to me. “I do not know what it contains, but I received it from a contact in the highest ranks of the Temple. My guess is that it has something to do with their position on your claim to fulfil the Nerevarine prophecies. Oh… and here is a copy of a recent public notice issued by the Watch. I believe you should see it.”

I read the note, and my heart almost stopped. It read like this:

WELL-BELOVED PEOPLE OF MORROWIND!
TAKE HEED!
TAKE WARNING!

The outlaw named Ada Ventura, stated trade of Mercenary, lately called ‘Incarnate’ and ‘Nerevarine’, now is shown to the investigating Ordinators and Magistrates of this district to be an agent in the pay of the Imperial Intelligence Service. This outlaw’s claims are false. The prophecies this outlaw cites are discredited. The dishonest character and base purposes of the outlaw in perpetrating this hoax are now made clear to all observers. Ada Ventura is sought for various crimes by Ordinators and town guards. Report all encounters with this outlaw to the proper authorities. If you see this outlaw in public, give the alarm.

Published by the authority of the Temple, the Order of the Watch, Magistrates of Vvardenfell District, under the signature and authority of Grandmaster Berel Sala, Captain of the Watch. Hear and Heed!

I felt the blood drain from my face as I looked up at Athyn. The game was well and truly up. “Look,” I began desperately, “I can explain – ”

“No need for explanations. I only wish to give you warning.”

“But – ”

He held up a hand. “I am satisfied of your sincerity,” he said quietly, “but I warn you that others may not be so understanding. That is all.”

I stared at him in utter confusion. Did he believe I was a spy, or not? And if so, how could he possibly still trust me? He was either the world’s best judge of character, or the world’s worst.

“Thanks,” I said at last. “So, er… who’s going to be the Archmaster now?”

“We haven’t decided yet. The Councillors will rule the House collectively until a decision is made.”

“I bet I can guess, Athyn,” I said meaningfully. He only smiled.

I was so deep in thought as I left Athyn’s study that I didn’t notice Varvur approaching until I practically bumped into him. “Has he given you the ring?” he asked. “You are our Hortator now?”

I nodded dazedly. “What’s the matter?” he asked, seeing the expression on my face.

Wordlessly I handed him the public notice. As he read it, his face turned pale with anger, and he muttered something in Dunmeris. I watched in disbelief as he ripped the paper to shreds and scattered them over the floor.

“That is how we treat slanders against our House,” he said coolly, and turned back to me. “Don’t listen to them, Ada. I know it must be hard for you, to hear their lies. But no one will dare lay a hand on you now that you are Hortator.”

I managed to force a smile, but I felt more like crying. The sense of guilt was almost physically painful. Gods, I was going to murder bloody Caius Cosades if I ever saw him again. Even hundreds of miles away in Cyrodiil, he was still managing to screw up my life.

“I have to go,” I said at last. “I need to get Master Aryon to declare me Telvanni Hortator, and after that I’ll have to visit a few more Ashlander camps. When I get back, we can… talk about things. OK?”

He nodded reluctantly. I wanted to invite him to come with me, but I think we both realised that would be a really bad idea right now. Instead we had to make do with a quick clasp of hands, which was all we dared to do with Varvur’s family and servants around.

More secrets, I thought with a sigh. More lies.

I didn’t even remember to look at the sealed package until several hours later. It was a hastily scribbled note, signed by ‘Dileno Lloran, assistant to the Archcanon’, and began like this:

To the Outlander lately proclaiming her identity as the Nerevarine, to be delivered with haste –

The assertions made being in direct contradiction of the doctrine of the Tribunal, namely, that you are the Nerevarine, the reincarnation of the Sainted Lord Nerevar, are, in addition to being against Temple teaching, incredible and implausible in the extreme.

The revelations made by the Inquisition, namely, that you yourself are in fact an agent of the Imperial Intelligence Service, otherwise known as the Order of Blades, lately made with substantial evidence by the Lord High Archordinator, Berel Sala, further calls into question the validity of and motivations behind your claims.

However, as incredible as your claims are, as much as they are in direct contradiction of the teachings of the Temple, and tainted as they are by the inferences to be made upon your close association with the covert policies and interests of the Emperor, the interests of the Temple and its leadership, and in particular, the interests of His Immortal Lordship, Vivec, are best served by a close and personal examinations of the claims being made, and close and personal examinations of the motivations and character of the claimant.

It went on like that for nearly two pages. I’ve never seen such a piece of mealy-mouthed tripe in all my life. Basically, what it was saying was this: “You are definitely not the Nerevarine. Absolutely not. But in the incredibly unlikely event that you are the Nerevarine (which you’re not) and you manage to fulfil the prophecies (which you won’t), the Archcanon would like to meet you in person – secretly, of course.” I’m surprised it didn’t finish up with “This message will self-destruct in 60 seconds.”

Well, there’d be time to worry about that once I finished the Fifth Trial. For now I just needed to get Aryon to pronounce me Hortator, then sort out the remaining Ashlander tribes. And try not to think too much about Varvur in the meantime.

This is MUCH steamier than the old version, which means it gets the DFOXY seal of approval!

Hmm? It's exactly the same as the old version. I literally copied the text straight from the Bethesda forum thread and posted it in here.

Anyway, some more screenshots:

Here boy!
'Messalina Borgia' at the Caldera mines
Ready for the big fight

And a couple more of pre-Morrowind Ada:

Looks like trouble
Getting in touch with her Nordic heritage

Chapter 37: Here Comes The Bride

Now that I’d been ‘outed’ as a spy and pretender throughout civilised Vvardenfell, I wanted to head out to the Ashlander camps as soon as possible. The only thing I did before leaving was quickly return to Ebonheart, using a Divine Intervention enchantment, to return Chrysamere and the Lord’s Mail.

Duke Vedam Dren had been away when I came for the artifacts on the previous day, but he was back now. I cringed when I saw him, remembering that I’d killed his brother Orvas only a couple of weeks ago. For a moment I was afraid he might try to arrest me – then I remembered that I was head of the Imperial Legion, so all his Legion guards actually reported to me. Phew.

The Duke stood up from his chair as I entered the room. For a moment we just looked at each other. “I’m sorry about your brother, serjo,” I said at last. “I didn’t set out to kill him, but he never gave me a chance.”

He shrugged, his face expressionless. “I am saddened at his death, but perhaps it was necessary.”

Unsure what else to say, I laid down the artifacts in their usual place and turned to leave. Just as I reached the door, I heard the Duke’s voice behind me. “Sera Ventura? Could I offer you a word of advice?”

I turned back towards him, a little surprised. “I’m told you claim to be the Incarnate,” he went on. “Nerevar reborn, according to legend. My father used to say, ‘When you hear something unbelievable, don’t believe it.’ From what I hear, your story is remarkable enough without relying on ancient prophecies. I suggest you stand upon your reputation, and leave superstitions to the prophets and holy men.”

“Thank you for your advice, your Grace,” I said, keeping my expression carefully neutral. He just sighed.

Well, there was one person who obviously wasn’t convinced yet. I guess it could have been worse, though – if he’d been really angry over his brother’s death, he could have made life very difficult for me. Clearly there hadn’t been any love lost between the two of them.

After leaving the Duke’s chambers I cast a Recall spell to take me straight to Tel Vos, not wanting to risk going back to the Vivec Temple. I’d planned to use my Levitation Pants to go up and visit Aryon, but I suddenly remembered that I’d promised his guard captain to ask the Zainab Ashlanders about trade goods. Looking at my map, I saw that the Zainab camp was some way south-west of Tel Vos. I could probably walk there by the next morning, as long as I didn’t get jumped by too many blighted animals along the way.

The walk to the camp was surprisingly pleasant. The Grazelands were nice to look at, even if most of the trees were bare this time of year, and they weren’t quite as cold as the ashy deserts to the west. I found a small cave to spend the night in – miraculously free of bandits for once – and arrived at the camp a short while after dawn the next morning.

From the moment I arrived, I could see that the Zainab were doing a lot better than the other Ashlanders. Their camp was bigger than any of the others, and some of the structures they’d built suggested they’d been there a long time. The people looked well-fed and prosperous – at least, as much as people who live in guar-hide tents can be prosperous. They were friendlier, too – I even got a couple of smiles as I walked through the camp, and some of the children waved and giggled.

As I approached the gulakhans’ tents, a man strode up to me with a broad smile on his face. “Ho, look, an outlander! Are you lost, poor thing? Did the big, bad beasts bite you, so you need a healer? Or do you need our trader, so he can take your gold and give you things we would throw away or give to our guar?”

There was laughter from the other men standing nearby. “None of those things, as it happens,” I said, a bit taken aback. “I may need to speak to your trader at some point, but I really came here to see your ashkhan. It’s about the Nerevarine proph-”

“Ah, so you are the outlander saying she is the Nerevarine!” he exclaimed. Everyone was looking at me curiously now. “Yes, you must talk to Ashkhan Kaushad. The ashkhan is very curious about this outlander who claims to be the Nerevarine.”

He practically dragged me towards the Ashkhan’s yurt. I hadn’t expected it to be this easy, not after the Urshilaku and Ahemmusa. With luck, maybe this guy would name me Nerevarine without making me do some idiotic task for him first.

Ha. As if. I should have guessed how it would be as soon as I met Kaushad, and saw his obvious amusement when I was introduced as the would-be Nerevarine.

“We have heard the rumours,” he said, nodding slowly. “We know you to be the outlander who claims to fulfil the Nerevarine prophecies. But teach us, ‘Ada Ventura’… how could an outlander be the Nerevarine?”

I told him. He sat back and listened as I recited the story which I now knew almost off by heart, showing him all my proofs. And when I’d finished, he threw back his head and roared with laughter.

“Excuse me,” he said, wiping his eyes. “Do not think me rude. But seriously. Do you believe this story yourself? I mean no offence, but you must admit, you are an outlander, and completely ignorant of our ways. How could you ever be our war leader? What sensible ashkhan would ever choose you to lead the tribes?”

His reaction left me genuinely speechless. I’d got so used to thinking of the Ashlanders as credulous and superstitious that I hadn’t for a moment expected anything like this. But Kaushad had reacted exactly as I would, if anyone came to me with that story – exactly as anyone with a grain of common sense would have done. Annoying as it was, I couldn’t help feeling a whole lot of respect for him.

“Perhaps I could perform some sort of task for you?” I asked. “To prove my worth?”

Kaushad thought for a moment, then nodded. “Very well. A vampire named Calvario has taken refuge in nearby Nerano Ancestral Tomb. If you are as worthy as you say you are, it should be a small matter for you to dispose of this vampire.” He smiled. “There, you have your task. Now perhaps you would leave me in peace for a bit?”

Like Sul-Matuul before him, it was obvious that he didn’t actually expect me to complete the task he’d given me. Well, I’d enjoy proving him wrong.

Outside, I got directions to the cave from the man I’d first spoken to, and asked him if I could speak to the trader. “Our trader Ashur-Dan has his yurt just here,” he said, pointing. “Why do you want to see him, outlander?”

When I told him the Telvanni had sent me to ask about trade goods, he laughed scornfully. “Trade goods we have in plenty. What, does the outlander think we are savages, because we do not have the things the settled people have? Big buildings, heavy furniture? We have no use for this trash. And do we need to dress ourselves in foolish clothes and stand about with fancy weapons to feel like men? Hah.”

I was tempted to ask why they even had a trader if that was how they felt. I refused to believe the guy made a living from ripping off the occasional lost traveller. But when I went to see Ashur-Dan himself, he told me pretty much the same thing, just a bit more politely.

“There are many fine things that might be had from the settled people,” he said. “But what use have the Zainab for these things? I am a trader, and would be glad to make a profit. But I can think of nothing wanted that we do not already have.”

None of this was very encouraging, but I decided to ask around a bit more before giving up altogether. Near the edge of the camp, I came across a group of women washing clothes in a stream. I introduced myself and asked whether there was anything they’d be willing to trade for.

One of the women laughed. “You come to us, outlander? You ask us about the trade goods wanted among the Zainab? We are just the women. No one listens to us.”

“Well, I’m listening,” I pointed out.

The women had a quick discussion amongst themselves in their own language. Finally the first woman nodded. “We Zainab make everything we need. We do not need things from outsiders. But….”

“But?”

“Our men get common diseases and blight diseases when they go out hunting or tending the herds,” she said. “They are sometimes gone for long times, and cannot return all the way back to camp to be cured by the wise women. The settled people make the bottled magics that cure common disease and blight disease, but the Zainab are often in short supply of these things. These magics might be the trade goods we would want.”

Magic potions? Well, that ought to be a nice little earner for the Telvanni – if they could think of anything they wanted in return. But how typical of a bunch of men to put up with nasty diseases for days, rather than admit they needed help...

I wrote down the suggestion in my journal and then set off for Nerano Ancestral Tomb. It was so far away from the camp that it was easier just to teleport back to Vos and walk from there. I’d have to make the entire journey back to the camp again when I was finished.

When I reached the tomb, I stopped outside to make sure I had everything I needed. I’d learned a lot from the last vampire I fought, and I didn’t want to get caught out again this time. After checking I had the right scrolls, and loading myself up with magically-protective gear, I cast the Amulet of Shadows enchantment and entered the tomb.

The outer rooms were full of undead creatures and littered with dead bodies, probably other adventurers who’d tangled with Calvario. I found the vampire himself in an inner chamber of the tomb, and quickly cast two scrolls at him in succession: a fire damage spell and a ‘Scroll of Baleful Suffering’, designed to blind him, demoralise him and disintegrate any weapons he might be carrying. Then I hit him with the Sound enchantment from the Ahemmusa Madstone. (I really wasn’t taking any chances this time.)

The spells left Calvario reeling and staggering, and I seized the opportunity to run up and stab him through the heart. I scooped up the vampire dust he left behind, and Recalled to Tel Vos to begin the journey back to the Zainab camp.

I arrived back a short while before sunset, tired and grubby but triumphant. Kaushad’s expression when I strolled into his yurt was priceless. I swept a low bow, trying to keep a straight face, and handed him the bag of vampire dust.

“Your task is complete, great Ashkhan,” I said solemnly. “Calvario is dead.”

Kaushad opened up the bag and eyed the dust suspiciously. “Well,” he said, with a slight cough. “So you killed the vampire? Ahem. Well. I will be happy to acknowledge you as Zainab Nerevarine.” Suddenly his eyes lit up. “But... it is customary for one seeking an honour from the Ashkhan to offer a generous gift as a mark of respect.”

I might have guessed he’d try it on. “That’s funny,” I said innocently. “Neither of the other Ashkhans asked me to give them gifts.”

“No gifts? What are things coming to?” Kaushad shook his head sorrowfully. “No wonder you do not know our customs. But since you are an outlander, I will do you the great favour of naming the gift I wish to receive – a high-born Telvanni bride.”

I nearly choked. “A Telvanni bride? You – you want to marry a Telvanni?”

“Yes, a high-born Telvanni lady. A pretty one, plump, with big hips to bring me many sons.”

I tried to speak, but all that came out was a kind of strangled squeak. “Where will you find a high-born Telvanni bride?” he went on, as if he hadn’t heard me. “That is simple. Visit high-born Telvanni lords and inform them that Ashkhan Kaushad of the Lordly Zainab would do them the honour of making their daughter his bride. Surely many Telvanni lords would be honoured to receive such an offer.”

“B-but –”

“Consider carefully the many daughters offered and choose for me the finest. Take counsel with my wise woman, Sonummu Zabamat – she knows my mind well in such matters.”

Oh, the b*stard. His eyes were sparkling; it was obvious he knew perfectly well what an impossible task he’d just sent me. He was just having a bit of fun with me – and the most annoying thing was that somehow, I still couldn’t help liking the guy.

I briefly imagined myself standing in front of each of the Telvanni Councillors, asking them if they’d allow their daughters to marry the Zainab Ashkhan. Then I imagined trying to persuade a young, beautiful, wealthy Telvanni noblewoman that she wanted to marry a middle-aged Ashlander chief. Frankly, I thought I’d rather take my chances with an angry Azura.

“I’m a rich woman,” I said, making a last-ditch save. “Might you be willing to accept some gold instead?”

Kaushad shook his head. “How can you ask this, outlander? A pretty bride to bring me sons and daughters is worth far more than gold.”

I couldn’t help wondering why he wasn’t already married if he was so keen to have kids – he wasn’t exactly a spring chicken. Perhaps he had been, and his first wife had died? I didn’t like to ask.

At a loss for ideas, I went to see the wise woman Sonnammu Zabamat. She was a very old woman, but her eyes were bright and she looked crafty. When I explained why I’d come and what Kaushad had said, she chuckled softly.

“Kaushad wants a Telvanni bride, eh?” she said, shaking her head. “No high-born Telvanni would wed an Ashlander. But…” She considered for a moment. “I have a plan.”

“Oh, thank the gods,” I breathed. “What is it?”

“Go to my friend, Savile Imayn, slavemistress of the Festival Slave Market – ”

“Festival Slave Market?”

“Yes, the Festival Slave Market in Tel Aruhn – and tell her you need a pretty Dunmer slave to pose as a Telvanni lady. She will tell you what clothes to buy, and will dress the slave like a high-born Telvanni. Then escort the pretty slave to Zainab camp and present her to Ashkhan Kaushad – he won’t know the difference.”

I opened my mouth to object, and then hesitated. Surely Kaushad was too smart to fall for a trick like that? But then again… he’d almost certainly never met a high-born Telvanni lady. It might just work.

The only problem was, of course, that it would involve buying a slave. And the idea revolted me. I’d done a lot of things I wasn’t too proud of in my quest to be named Nerevarine, but the line had to be drawn somewhere – and I certainly drew it at buying a slave woman in order to force her into marriage. As far as I was concerned, that was the worst possible form of slavery.

After a lot of thought, I eventually decided to go to the ‘Festival Slave Market’ (gods, what a name) and speak to Savile Imayn. Who knew – I might just find a young, pretty Dunmer slave woman who actually wanted to marry an Ashkhan. Miracles could happen. And if I didn’t… well, I’d just have to think of something else.

I slept over at the Fighter’s Guild in Wolverine Hall, and Water Walked over to Tel Aruhn the next day. I was avoiding Sadrith Mora over what had happened with Neloth, but since he and Archmagister Gothren had been enemies, I figured Gothren’s village ought to be relatively safe… unless some of his friends or family were out for revenge. Well, I’d have to risk it.

The Festival Slave Market was at the edge of the village. Slaves were kept there in open cages carved out of mushrooms, dangling from the roots of the main tower. The sight was disturbing, but not nearly as horrific as it had seemed when I first arrived, and I realised with a jolt of shock that I was starting to get used to it. I really didn’t want that to happen.

The slave trader Savile Imayn had clearly grown wealthy from her ‘business’, and wasn’t interested in hiding it. She looked ridiculously overdressed in the extravagant clothes she wore, but obviously I didn’t say so. I just walked over to her, forcing myself to smile.

“Ah, welcome to the Festival Slave Market!” she said brightly. “The finest slaves in Vvardenfell! I’m Savile Imayn, and – ” Suddenly she broke off. “Wait a moment, aren’t you the outlander who killed Archmagister Gothren? The one who claims to be Nerevar reborn?”

“I am,” I admitted. “Er, is that a problem?”

“Not at all,” she said, shrugging. “Call yourself the Nerevarine. We don’t care. Anyway, I know we have the slave for you. Are you looking for standard household slaves, sera, or for something special?”

“Something special, I guess,” I said. “I’m looking for a young, beautiful Dunmer woman with, ah, big hips.”

Savile raised her eyebrows. “Not for that!” I protested, feeling my face grow hot. “I need her to pretend to be a high-born Telvanni lady.”

“Really.” Her expression didn’t change. “Strange tastes you Imperials have. Well, it’s all the same to me as long as – ”

“I don’t want to sleep with her!” People nearby were starting to look at us now. “Look,” I said, lowering my voice, “let me try and explain.”

I told her all about Ashkhan Kaushad and his… unusual request, as well as the wise woman’s suggestion. She laughed heartily, shaking her head. “Sweet Alma, that Sonummu Zabamat and her cunning plans! I do have the slave you want – Falura Llervu, a pretty Dunmer girl. But first you must buy some exquisite clothing to dress her in.”

“Where can I get it from?”

“Tel Mora,” she said instantly. “Elegnan the Clothier. See these clothes I’m wearing? I bought them at her shop.”

I couldn’t believe the nearest fine clothier was half-way across Vvardenfell. Thank heavens I’d placed that Mark near Vos, or I’d have had to make the four-day round trip again. As it was, all I had to do was cast the spell, take the boat from Vos to Tel Mora, and then use Divine Intervention to return to Wolverine Hall. I was back in Tel Aruhn before lunch.

“Excellent!” Savile cried when she saw the clothes. “These clothes are perfect… but I need a little more time to coach Falura Llervu to play her part.” She thought for a moment. “I know just the thing we need! Go get a bottle of Telvanni Bug musk perfume. That will make Falura completely irresistible.”

If she made me go back to Tel Mora again, I was going to kill her. “I take it there’s an apothecary here?”

“Bilden Areleth, in the centre of the village.” Well, thank the Gods for that.

I bought the perfume – this Telvanni impersonation lark was getting bloody expensive, I can tell you – and returned once again to Savile. “You have the Telvanni Bug Musk?” she asked. “Good. Now, let me tell you my price. For this superb specimen, skilfully coached to play her part in your little scheme, I am pleased to accept from you the modest sum of 1,200 drakes.”

“I want to see her first,” I said cautiously. Savile nodded and led me to one of the slave pens.

A young, dark-haired Dunmer woman stood inside the cage, her eyes demurely lowered. She was pretty – though perhaps a bit on the thin side – and simply but neatly dressed in a cotton skirt and shirt. It felt very creepy to be examining her as if she were a pack-horse.

“Falura?” I said softly.

The woman raised her eyes. “Yes, sera. Falura Llervu of Velothis Haven, daughter of Andrano Llervu, lord of Tel Llervu, pleased to make your acquaintance.” Suddenly, to my surprise, her face broke into a grin. “See? Savile Imayn has taught me well. I shall be a high-born Telvanni lady, and no one will know the difference.”

“Well, that’s… wonderful.” I turned back to Savile. “Er, how much did you say she was?”

“1,200 drakes.”

I couldn’t bring myself to haggle over the price, especially not in front of the poor girl. I paid Savile with the letter of credit I’d been given by my bank, and for the first time in my life – and hopefully the last – found myself the ‘proud’ owner of a Dunmer slave.

“I also have an Imperial male for sale, if you’re interested,” Savile added hopefully.

“Maybe later,” I said, privately thinking that nothing on Nirn could ever induce me to come back here.

I led Falura out of the market and down to the Tel Aruhn docks. I’d already considered how to get her to the Zainab camp – she didn’t have a Recall spell, of course – and concluded that we’d just have to take the boat to Vos and walk from there. First, though, I needed to check that she was okay with Sonummu’s little scheme.

“So, Falura,” I said awkwardly, unsure of how to talk to someone I’d just bought. “How do you feel about marrying an Ashlander chief?”

Falura hesitated. “I admit, I am a little anxious… but anything is better than being a slave. And I am very tough and smart, and determined to make the best of my chances.” She turned shy, hopeful eyes towards me, and I realised that she was very young – no more than seventeen or eighteen at most. “But Savile Imayn said you wanted to give me something... some presents?”

“Ah, yes.” I held out the clothes to her, and she gasped with delight.

“Oh, sera!” she cried. “These clothes… they are divine!” She seized the clothes from me and held them to her cheek, burying her face into the velvety material, then grabbed the flask of bug musk in her other hand. “And such a perfume! Only the very rich can afford this!”

She sounded like a little kid who’d just been handed her birthday presents. I loathed myself for what I was about to do to her. This wasn’t just another small step down the ladder of morality – more like a massive leap. What would my parents say if they saw me doing this? What would Athyn say – or, gods forbid, Varvur?

“Listen, Falura,” I said urgently. “I won’t force you to marry Kaushad if you don’t want to. I’ll let you go. You won’t have to be a slave any more.”

Falura shook her head vehemently. “No, please! I shall do everything I can to please you and my new master... that is, my gracious lord and husband-to-be. Come, I cannot wait! Let us travel together to Zainab camp and meet this Zainab lord!”

I hardly knew what to say. If she really was happy about it, I guess it was no worse than a typical arranged marriage… but it still didn’t seem right to marry such a young, innocent girl to a man old enough to be her father, or even her grandfather.

What would happen if Kaushad ever realised the truth, I wondered? Would he take it out on poor Falura? I thought back to what I’d seen of the Ashkhan; obviously I didn’t really know anything much about him, but I couldn’t say that he’d struck me as the violent type. Arrogant and cocky, yes, but not a brute or a bully.

I decided to play it by ear and see what happened when Falura actually met Kaushad. She’d have plenty of time for second thoughts over the next few days, anyway, since we’d be spending them on board a ship to Vos.

The long journey was a little less boring with Falura as a companion. She was very talkative, full of questions, and seemed to see the whole thing as a kind of grand adventure. Before long she was asking me about myself and what I was doing in Vvardenfell, so I told her all about my quest to become Nerevarine.

“You are the Nerevarine?” she said in wonderment. “But... you are an outlander. How can that be? Such wonders in the world. Before, I was a slave; now I am a companion of the Nerevarine and the bride of a Zainab chief.”

She told me about her own background, and how she’d ended up as a slave. A fairly typical story, it seemed – apparently her father had got in serious debt to the Camonna Tong, and she’d ended up as payment. What I couldn’t understand was how meekly she accepted her fate. If my father had tried to do that to me, I’d have ripped his guts out – and I do mean that in a very literal sense.

From the docks at Vos, we spent an entire day walking to the Zainab camp. I must say that that was one of the most nerve-wracking journeys I’ve ever experienced. Falura was strong and a good walker, but she was completely helpless in a fight – and on top of protecting her, I had to worry that her beautiful clothes would get wet or torn or muddy. I’ve never been so relieved to finally reach an Ashlander camp.

Falura played her part beautifully, looking and sounding every inch the meek, doe-eyed virgin. It struck me that anyone who’d actually met a Telvanni would instantly realise she couldn’t be one. Still, Ashkhan Kaushad didn’t seem to notice.

“This is my new bride?” he said, looking approvingly at Falura. “I am very pleased with your gift, sera... though she is not so generous in the hips as I would like. I promise to make her a happy bride, and to do her honour as a high-born Telvanni lady. And, as I have said, I will now name you Zainab Nerevarine, War Leader of the Zainab, and Protector of the People.”

He presented me solemnly with an enchanted sandal (yes, just one – another of his little jokes, maybe?) and then took us on a walk round the camp so he could show off his new bride. While he was discussing wedding preparations with Sonummu Zabamat, I quietly asked Falura what she thought of her bridegroom.

“He is very distinguished-looking, isn’t he?” she whispered. “A bit severe, perhaps, but the lines on his face, there, show that he likes to smile. Oh, sera, I think I will be very happy.”

Hmph. All’s well that ends well, I guess, but I couldn’t help thinking I’d been very lucky. What would I have done if I hadn’t managed to find a willing slave to marry Kaushad?

That night, the entire tribe held a massive celebratory dinner – singing, dancing and a hearty meal of scuttle and ash yams, washed down with lots and lots of mazte. I ended up seated next to Falura, and soon realised I didn’t need to worry about her – she seemed to have fallen in love with Kaushad at first sight. I could see her eyes shining whenever she glanced at him.

“Thank you, sera,” she whispered to me, while Kaushad was talking to one of his gulakhans. “I am very pleased with Ashkhan Kaushad. He is good-looking, clever, and rich – although a bit full of himself, like all men.” We shared a sly grin. “Thank you for being my matchmaker and benefactor, and I hope you will visit us when I have brought Kaushad many fine sons and daughters.”

After a few more drinks, she was even promising to name her firstborn child after me. We’d just have to hope it was a girl, I suppose.

It was near midnight when the party finally broke up. I exchanged goodbyes with a tearful Falura, and walked away from the gathering so that they wouldn’t see my clumsy attempts to cast Divine Intervention. Just as I reached the edge of the camp, I felt a hand grasp my shoulder.

“Psst! Outlander!” It was Kaushad. “Do not think me such a fool. Of course I realise you have tricked me.”

My heart skipped a beat, but then I realised he was smiling. “I do not mind,” he went on. “In fact, I think you are very clever to hoodwink the chief of the Zainab, and I think that maybe a clever Nerevarine is not such a bad thing at all. Besides, I am much happier with this fine young woman than I would have been with a stuck-up Telvanni lady.”

For a moment I just stood there open-mouthed. “Shake hands with me, Ashkhan,” I said at last.

He hesitated. “It’s a gesture of respect in my culture,” I explained, “but it’s also a sign that you’ve met your match. And I know when I’ve met mine.”

A wide grin spread over Kaushad’s face. He gripped my hand firmly and shook it so hard that he nearly sprained my wrist. “Here is a little gift, he said, handing me a small parcel he’d been carrying under his other arm. “Perhaps when you wear it, you will think of Falura Llervu and me.”

It was too dark to see what he’d given me, so I didn’t open the parcel until I got back to Wolverine Hall. When I saw what was in it, I gasped – it was an incredibly beautiful embroidered shirt, similar to the one I’d given Falura. I wished I could go back to the camp to thank Kaushad properly.

As I laid down to sleep in the Hall that night, I decided I liked the Zainab best out of all the Ashlander tribes. They were smart, and most importantly, self-reliant – no sitting around dreaming and moping and waiting for mystical heroes to save them. And they knew how to have a good time, as I’d seen today. In many ways they were a lot like Imperials – if they’d just get over their knee-jerk hatred of the Empire, I suspected they’d actually get on pretty well with my people.

The next day I got up bright and early to go to Tel Vos. The first thing I did when I arrived was give Aryon’s guard captain, Turedus Talanian, the information about trade goods for the Zainab. He seemed very happy, and rewarded me with 100 drakes and an ‘Amulet of Levitating’ – something that would have been very useful at the start of my quest to be Telvanni Hortator. Still, I guess you can never have enough levitation enchantments.

Now all I had to do was get Aryon to declare me Hortator. I hoped he wouldn’t be angry about the Nartise Arobar business, but from what I’d seen of the Telvanni councillors in general, I suspected there was no love lost between him and Neloth.

I was right. Aryon had heard about the rescue, and he made me tell him the whole story. “So Neloth has lost his bargaining chip?” he said, chuckling. “I congratulate you, Ada. Most amusing.”

“Unless you’re one of the Arobars, I suppose,” I said bluntly.

“Quite. But tell me, have you gathered the votes of the surviving Councillors?” I nodded. “I, too, am willing to vote for you… which means you are now the Hortator of House Telvanni. And I have a little something for you, called the ‘Robe of the Hortator’.”

Ooh, a robe this time? That sounded good. I waited as Aryon went to the bedroom below his chambers and returned carrying the Robe of the Hortator. He shook it out so I could see what it looked like… and I stared in utter horror.

It was pink. Bright pink and yellow. Someone was going to die for this.

I could see the amusement in Aryon’s face as I gingerly took the robe from him. “It is an ancient artifact,” he said, “and hasn’t been used in centuries. But I thought you would be pleased.” He winked. “I wish you luck, Hortator. I may even pray for you.”

I wondered who he would pray to, knowing the Telvanni weren’t exactly big fans of the Temple. Surely not one of the Imperial gods? Azura, maybe?

Oh well, at least I’d got what I came for. Finally, after all these weeks, I’d passed one of the hardest tests of the Seven Visions. The Fourth Trial was complete.

I left the BGSF before these chapters posted, so I've never seen them - Steamy and Awesome Write !!!!





SPEW !!! ROFL !!!

Chapter 38: Divine Intervention

The last of the Ashlander tribes was the Erabenimsun, out in Molag Mar. I wasn’t looking forward to this one – I remembered the Erabenimsun from the time I’d rescued that idiot priest from some witch-women, and the people there had seemed as harsh and unpleasant as the landscape they lived in. But it had to be done, so I practiced saying the name a few more times (“E-ra-ben-im-sun! E-ra-ben-im-sun!”) and then set out from Wolverine Hall.

Arriving at the camp was a bit of a shock to the system after the pleasant time I’d spent in the Grazelands. The people there were as cold and unfriendly as I remembered them, and the looks I got from some of them were so hostile that I didn’t dare do much more than skirt around the edges of the camp. Which is why I was delighted when I saw someone I recognised: Assaba-Bentus, the young hunter who’d helped me rescue the priest.

When he saw me, he grinned and waved. I couldn’t help being relieved that he’d managed to escape from the mabrigashes. “So you got away?” I asked, as he walked over to me.

“I told you I would, outlander.” He smiled triumphantly. “If you are looking for that fool of a priest, you come too late. He left many days ago.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” I said, “but that’s not actually what I came for. I’m here to prove to your Ashkhan that I’m the Nerevarine.”

Assaba-Bentus’ eyes grew wide. “Then you are the one who…? Sun and wind, outlander!” He shook his head. “You are lucky you met me and not one of the war-lovers! Go to our wise woman, Manirai, and tell her I sent you.”

He led me through the camp to the wise woman’s yurt, while I wondered what he meant by ‘war-lovers’. All the people I’d seen in the camp looked to be armed and – well, if not dangerous, at least very ready to defend themselves.

Inside the tent, Manirai soon explained. “I am of the peace-loving Erabenimsun,” she told me. “We only wish to live and hunt as we have in the past, and do not wish to anger our neighbours by raiding and warfare. But Ashkhan Ulath-Pal and his supporters are strong and sure of themselves. They have grown rich by raiding and fighting, and they will not be ruled by the counsel of their wise woman.”

My heart sank. “Then I don’t suppose there’s much chance of them agreeing to declare me the Nerevarine?”

“Never,” she said instantly. “They all hate outlanders, and are proud and haughty, and will never suffer an outlander to rule them.”

Damn it! Why did things always have to be so difficult? “If you would be Nerevarine of the Erabenimsun,” she went on, “you must kill Ulath-Pal and his gulakhans, and help me make peace-loving gulakhan Han-Ammu our ashkhan. He could then name you Nerevarine.”

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. ‘War-lovers’ or not, there was no way I was going to just walk into these people’s tents and slaughter them without any provocation. I was getting really fed up with people using me and my Nerevarine quest as an excuse to bump off their political opponents. Why the hell didn’t I just join the Murderers’ Guild, or whatever those ‘honourable’ assassins called themselves?

On the other hand, clearly I had to find some way to deal with Ulath-Pal and his gulakhans. When Manirai told me that one of them, Ashu-Ahhe, was a great warrior and the strongest of the Erabenimsun, it gave me an idea: I would challenge him to a duel.

I persuaded a nervous Assaba-Bentus to show me the way to the Ashkhan’s yurt, and asked him what Ulath-Pal might accept as a gift. “No gift you could give would please him, outlander,” he said, biting his lip. “You will be lucky if he lets you out alive.” I went in anyway.

Since arriving in Morrowind, I’d got pretty used to being looked at like I was something between a maggot and a cockroach. Even so, Ulath-Pal’s attitude really took the cake. He looked at me with such obvious disgust that for a moment I wondered if my Corprus had come back. “What do you want, Imperial?” he asked, somehow making it sound like a swear word.

“Ashkhan Ulath-Pal.” I bowed, ignoring the filthy look he was giving me. “I’d like to challenge your champion Ashu-Ahhe to a duel.”

He snorted. “You are not even worth killing. Get out.”

So much for Ashlander courtesy. “Perhaps you’ve heard of the Nerevarine Prophecies, Ashkhan?” I said, ignoring his rudeness. “This ring here is the Moon-and-Star, the symbol of Nerevar Indoril. I need to be declared Nerevarine of all the Ashlander tribes in order to fulfil the prophecies. Would you be willing to do this if I can defeat your champion?”

Ulath-Pal’s mouth dropped open. For a moment I thought he was either going to spit in my face, or attack me on the spot.

“You want me to name you Erabenimsun Nerevarine? I would rather name you ‘Guar-Dung’.” How mature. “You are a hound. I despise you for a foreign fool, and the only honour I will show you is to kill you with my own hand if you ever trouble me again. Leave my sight, now, while you can.”

“I’ll just have to ask him myself, then,” I said, shrugging. The other man in the tent, who seemed to be Ulath-Pal’s bodyguard, took a threatening step towards me. I bowed again with exaggerated politeness and left the yurt.

When I faced Ashu-Ahhe in his own yurt and I told him what I wanted, he laughed shortly. “Yes, we know about the prophecies. We think they are foolish superstition. But if you want to die by my hand, so be it.”

We arranged the duel for that evening, and I went to tell Manirai what I planned to do. She shook her head doubtfully. “I fear they will not deal honourably with you, outlander. Be prepared.”

I took her advice, and spent the rest of the day making preparations.

As I walked that evening to the duelling ground – a small clearing just at the edge of the camp – I could feel the tension in the air. Even the ‘peace-loving’ Erabenimsun probably wouldn’t be too happy to see their tribe’s champion beaten by an outlander. I got a mild shock when I saw Ashu-Ahhe in his battle armour and realised that it was enchanted with a permanent Shield spell. No wonder this guy was considered so unbeatable…

Manirai had told me that he wasn’t a spellcaster, so I didn’t waste my time casting magical protections. Instead I began the duel by casting a Sound spell with the Ahemmusa Madstone, remembering how well that had worked against Calvario the vampire. I saw him wince momentarily, but it didn’t even slow him down. Quite impressive.

Ashu-Ahhe was a powerful warrior, but unlike Bolvyn Venim, he didn’t have the advantage of ebony armour and a Daedric longsword. His weapon was a simple chitin war axe, and underneath the Shield spell, his armour was standard bonemold. The hardest thing for me was breaking through the magical shield, which dulled the force of my sword strikes. After a long struggle, I managed to stab him in the unprotected area at the top of his thigh. As he gasped and flinched momentarily, I used my Star of the West power to drop him to the ground.

If it had stayed at that I would have let him live, but before I could do or say anything else, Ulath-Pal let out a howl of rage. “Outlander witch! You have cheated!”

I whirled round to face him. “Cheated? So it’s fine for him to use a magical shield, but if I use spells and enchantments, that’s cheating?”

He didn’t even bother to answer me, just snapped his fingers at the two warriors standing beside him. “Kill her.”

I’d been half-expecting something like this after what Manirai had said. As Ulath-Pal’s goons closed in on me, I grasped my Amulet of Divine Intervention and cast the spell. I could see the shock and fury on their faces as I vanished, reappearing less than a second later in Wolverine Hall.

There was no time to waste. I cast a Recall spell, taking me to a secluded area in the hills just above the camp, where I’d set a Mark earlier that day. I edged forward until I could just see the tops of the yurts, and then cast the Chameleon enchantment on my Amulet of Shadows and straightened up to see the camp.

The place was in uproar, with people running around and shouting. By now Ashu-Ahhe was lying in a pool of blood – I must have hit a major blood vessel. No one seemed interested in healing him.

I spotted the Ashkhan along with his bodyguard, who wore nothing but furs. I hadn’t wanted to do this, but there was nothing for it. So much for solving things peacefully, I thought, gritting my teeth as I took down my bow and the enchanted arrows I’d bought that afternoon. Well, at least I’d tried.

My first arrow, enchanted with deadly shock magicka, hit the bodyguard squarely in the chest. The others dived for cover, looking around frantically to see where the shot had come from, but they couldn’t see me. I waited until the other warrior emerged cautiously from his hiding place and then shot another arrow, striking him in the thigh. Three down, one to go.

Ulath-Pal was more difficult, as he was wearing armour. His head was unprotected, but I didn’t trust my aim enough to try and hit him from this distance. Thinking quickly, I cast the Amulet of Levitating that Master Aryon’s guard captain had given me, and floated down until I was just behind the Ashkhan. Hovering slightly above him, I brought the edge of my glass longsword heavily down on his skull.

At that moment the Levitation spell wore off – followed seconds later by the Chameleon spell – and I fell to the ground in a heap. My ankle went crunch.

“Excuse me,” I said faintly to the circle of shocked, frightened faces gathering around me. “I think I’ve broken my ankle. One moment please.” White-hot pain shot through me, and for a moment I nearly passed out. I fumbled around for a potion before Manirai, looking astonishingly calm, stepped forward and cast a healing spell.

“Thanks.” I struggled to my feet. “And now I’d like to speak to… what was his name again? Han-Ammu.”

A lank-haired, rather weedy-looking young man stumbled forward, visibly trembling. “I am Han-Ammu. What do you want with me?”

“I’m told you’re next in line to be Ashkhan.”

“What? No!” His face was filled with horror. “I – I cannot!”

I went over to Han-Ammu and gently laid a hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps you and I should go to your yurt and have a little talk?”



I’d thought persuading Han-Ammu to become Ashkhan would be the easiest part of my task, but boy was I wrong about that. I did my best to explain the Nerevarine situation to him, but it just seemed to make things worse. “So you killed Ulath-Pal and his supporters, just because of these prophecies?” he gasped. “You are mad!”

“I didn’t kill them because of the prophecies,” I said, trying to keep my patience. “I killed them because they were trying to kill me. Anyway, Manirai says that – ”

“I don’t care what Manirai says,” he said flatly. “I don’t want to be Ashkhan. Everyone despises me. I am a weakling, and a coward, and a fool – I hate it, but it is true. I just want to be left alone.”

“Well, we all have to do things we don’t want,” I said. “Do you think I want to be the Nerevarine? You think you’ve got it bad – I’m going to have to march up Red Mountain and face off against a living god. Think yourself lucky.”

He shook his head miserably. “I’m not good at fighting. And no one likes me, anyway. I can’t make anyone do anything.”

“Couldn’t you be Ashkhan just long enough to make me the Nervarine?” I asked, in exasperation. “And then give the job to someone else?”

Han-Ammu sighed. “You don’t understand. You cannot just give up the title of Ashkhan – once you have it, it is yours for life. And I don’t want to be Ashkhan.” His voice rose to a high-pitched whine. “Don’t you understand? I won’t be any good at it. I am going to be a complete failure, and everyone will hate me even more than they do now. Please! I just want to be left alone!”

Well, it wasn’t difficult to see why everyone hated the guy. I was about to drop the softly-softly approach and really let him have it, when I heard a small, faraway voice echoing in my head. “No! I won’t do this! I am NOT the Nerevarine! You can’t make me…”

Sigh. I might have known my own words would come back to haunt me someday. For the first time, I was starting to understand just how I must have looked to Caius Cosades. Stifling a groan, I left the yurt and went back to speak with Manirai.

When I told her about Han-Ammu’s reluctance, she didn’t seem surprised. “Han-Ammu is the son of our former chief, Airan-Ammu, but he is nothing like his father. Of the many virtues required by an ashkhan, he lacks only three things: strength, courage, and wisdom.”

“Just those, eh?” I heaved a sigh. “Surely there must be something he’s good at?”

“I fear not. But – ” here a sly look came over her face – “Ulath-Pal and his gulakhans all bore tokens recognised by the tribe as conferring strength, willpower, and intelligence. If you could recover these, and persuade Han-Ammu to accept them, it might give him the confidence to accept the responsibilities of leadership.”

I didn’t exactly enjoy the thought of stripping my dead enemies’ corpses, but I was too tired to protest. “Okay, I guess it’s worth a try. What should I say to him?”

Manirai frowned. “But you claim to be Nerevar reborn. Surely you don’t need my counsel?”

“Um. Well.” I gave an embarrassed cough. “I’ll be honest with you, Manirai: I’m not quite as good a diplomat as the real Nerevar. Besides, I think even he would have had trouble with Han-Ammu.”

She raised her eyebrows. “And what would Nerevar himself have done, if his powers of persuasion failed him?”

I shrugged. “Well, he sounds like a practical sort of guy. I’m guessing he’d have found someone who was better at it than he was, and asked them for help.”

We stared at each other for several seconds. Manirai cracked first. “Very well, outlander,” she said wearily. “Listen, and I will tell you what to say.”



It was past midnight, and I was still sitting in Han-Ammu’s yurt. “Yes, I see,” he said solemnly, looking down at the enchanted war axe lying in his lap. “It is the axe that gives strength in war, and it is the idea of the axe that gives confidence to the tribe, but it is the ashkhan who bears the axe, who accepts responsibility for the safety of the tribe. Now, with Ulath-Pal dead, I hold the fate of the tribe in my hands, and I must accept that responsibility.”

I’d made this speech three times over now, once with each of the enchanted tokens, and I was close to breaking point. “So you’ll agree to be Ashkhan now? Please?”

There was an unbearably long pause, and then he nodded. “Thank you for your lesson, Ada. I shall be Ashkhan of the Erabinimsun, and I shall name you Nerevarine.”

I could almost have kissed him. “Thank you!”

“Wait one moment.” He scampered out of the tent, and returned carrying a jewelled belt. “This is the Seizing of the Erabenimsun, an enchanted heirloom of the tribe. It shall be a sign to all Dunmer that the Erabenimsun have named you Nerevarine.”

I thanked him again, now so tired that I was practically falling asleep on my feet, and Divine-Interventioned back to Wolverine Hall. I didn’t even have the energy to get undressed before falling into bed.

When I woke up the next morning, I felt like punching the air in triumph. I’d done it! I was the Nerevarine! The relief was so great, I could almost have forgotten that I’d never really wanted it in the first place. And all I had to do now was kill a God…

Soaking in the two-hour bath I always needed after travelling in the wilds, I mulled over my next move. All I had to go on was the message from Archcanon Saryoni’s assistant asking me to meet him in the High Fane. I guessed that I should take all my proofs with me if I wanted to be taken seriously.

Knowing I’d have to get it over with sometime, I swallowed my pride and forced myself to try on the Robe of the Hortator. It was even worse than I thought – not only did the colour clash horribly with my pale skin and red hair, but the robe itself was clearly designed for someone much larger and wider than me. I looked like something out of a cake shop. I could forget about walking inconspicuously through Vivec in this thing – I’d probably be visible from the top of White Gold Tower.

There was only one thing for it: go that evening under cover of darkness. This being midwinter, it turned out to be under cover of rain as well. The upside was that the Ordinators, busy trying to keep their shiny armour dry, didn’t pay too much attention to me – they probably assumed I was starring in one of Crassius Curio’s plays or something.

I’d been worried about having to take off my armour, but the Hortator’s Robe turned out to have one advantage: it was big and loose enough that I could wear it over my cuirass without any difficulty. It also trailed on the ground about a foot behind me. If Nerevar himself had really worn this thing – which, frankly, I didn’t believe for a second – he must have been a half-giant. (I guess that would explain the terrible fashion sense.)

By the time I reached the Temple canton, dripping and squelching with every step, the only thing I wanted was to get back home and be clean and warm and dry. I was convinced that I was going to catch a cold, until I remembered I couldn’t get colds any more. Blinking raindrops out of my eyes, I looked around for the priestess I was supposed to be meeting – and then realised I didn’t even know what she looked like.

Just as I was starting to panic, I heard a woman’s voice calling urgently from the shadows. “Quickly! Over here!”

I followed the sound into the large arched passageway that ran underneath the High Fane, hoping I wasn’t being led into a trap. Peering into the gloom, I suddenly recognised the woman who’d spoken – it was the priestess who’d sold me all those Rising Force potions to use at Vivec’s shrine. [censored].

“Did you want to – ” she began, and then suddenly broke off. “It’s you!”

“Yes. Me.” Not the wittiest response ever, but I wasn’t exactly on top form right now.

Danso Indules stared at me for several seconds, clearly not quite believing that I was the person she was supposed to meet. “You’re here to meet the Archcanon?”

“If possible, yes.”

She still looked dubious. “Then… you have been declared Hortator and Nerevarine by the Houses and tribes? You have their tokens?”

I pulled off my left gauntlet. “This ring is the Moon-and-Star,” I said, showing it to her. “And this other ring is the Hortator’s token from House Redoran. The belts are from House Hlaalu and the Erabenimsun, and this, uhm, eclectic collection of amulets – plus one fashionable shoe – comes from the other Ashlander tribes. And finally, this stunning robe is the Robe of the Hortator from House Telvanni.”

“Very well,” she said with a sigh. “Archcanon Saryoni is in his private quarters, and he very much wishes to speak with you, but I am to warn you... avoid confrontations with the Ordinators at all costs. Berel Sala has informed them that you may try to assassinate the Archcanon.”

“What? You’re joking!” That lying b*stard!

She shook her head. “There is a private back entrance to Saryoni’s quarters, reachable from the Hall of Wisdom. If you manage to sneak past the Ordinators by stealth or magic, and pick the lock, you might reach him that way.”

Swearing under my breath, I made my way to the Hall of Wisdom, following the directions Danso had given me. I could sneak past the Ordinators using the Amulet of Shadows, but it didn’t have much charge left, so I’d have to be careful not to take too long. I had a moment of panic when I took a wrong turning inside the maze of passages, but at last I managed to reach the secret door the priestess had mentioned. Luckily no one was there to see me as I cast an Ondusi’s Unhinging spell to open it.

Archcanon Saryoni, who was pacing up and down by his desk, looked around sharply when he heard the door creak open. His eyes widened when he saw me and he instinctively backed away a couple of steps. I don’t think it occurred to him that this madwoman, dripping water and dressed like something out of a freak show, could be the person he’d arranged to meet.

“Archcanon,” I whispered urgently. “It’s me, Ada Ventura. The Nerevarine.”

“You?” For a moment he looked stunned, then he recovered himself. “I see. Thank you for coming, Sera Ventura. I – ” He broke off, and cleared his throat. “You know the Temple’s doctrine on the Nerevarine?”

“I do,” I said with a sigh. “But serjo, I have to ask you something. If you keep arresting and killing everyone who looks like they might fulfil the prophecies, how will you ever know if they’re true or not?”

There was a pregnant pause. “The Temple must protect the people from false doctrines,” Saryoni said at last. “And your association with Imperial intelligence makes your motivations and integrity suspect. But our situation is desperate. Much as I hate to admit it, you and your prophecies may represent our last hope.”

I waited for him to continue. “I would rather have you hear the details of our situation, and the circumstances leading up to that situation, from Lord Vivec himself. He has asked to see you. Would you agree to a private meeting with him, and hear in person what he has to say?”

Wow. This was unexpected. “A meeting with Vivec himself? Really?”

Saryoni nodded. I hesitated, wondering whether to trust him. This could be a trap, I thought. On the other hand… if he’d wanted to trap me, he could just have waited here with a dozen Ordinators.

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

“Good.” Hurriedly, Saryoni pressed a small key into my hand. “Here is a key which will open the locked entrance to Lord Vivec’s palace. He is expecting you. His Lordship is remarkably patient, but perhaps it would be better not to keep him waiting.”

I thanked him politely and used my Almsivi Intervention amulet to take me back to the temple entrance. From here it was just a short walk to the palace, and that locked door that I’d once gazed at in awe, never imagining I’d ever have any reason to go through it.

As I turned the key in the lock, I felt a tiny prickle of nervousness and excitement. I was going to meet a god! Okay, so there’d already been Azura… but so far I’d only felt her presence, and heard her voice in my head. I hadn’t really met her as such. My heart was thumping heavily as the door swung open and I stepped inside the room.

The huge domed chamber was almost empty apart from three pillars and a triangular plinth in the centre, surrounded by braziers. Over the plinth, glowing in the light of the braziers, a figure floated several feet above the ground. He was sitting cross-legged and wore nothing but a loincloth and some mismatched pauldrons.

This must be Vivec, I thought. I walked over to the plinth and bowed low, then raised my eyes to the chief god of the Dunmer.

Vivec was about the same size as a normal Dunmer, with a slim, almost delicate build. He had soft, hypnotic golden eyes, and his face had an ageless look to it that reminded me of some of the oldest Telvanni. The strangest thing about him was his skin, which was split down the middle – the left half of his body was ash-grey like an ordinary Dunmer’s, while the right side was gold-coloured, like an Altmer’s.

He wasn’t quite as impressive as I’d hoped, to be honest. After all the build-up to this moment, I’d just been expecting something… more, I guess. I didn’t doubt that Vivec really was a god, but I didn’t sense anything coming from him that resembled the tremendous power I’d felt in Azura’s presence. Apart from his strange skin colouration, he looked pretty much like any other elf.

So this was the guy who was supposedly getting it on with all the Buoyant Armigers? I can’t say he really appealed to me, though I could certainly see how some people – male as well as female – might be attracted to him. It struck me that I’d just met a God for the first time, and all I could think about was whether I’d want to do him. Then I suddenly wondered if he could read minds.

I felt myself blushing heavily, but if Vivec had heard my thoughts, he didn’t show it. He went on looking at me for a few more seconds, a neutral expression on his face, and then finally spoke.

“I expected you. We have business, you and I.” His voice was lighter and softer than I had expected. “When I was young like you, I was very impatient – so I will keep our business short. Then, later, there may be time for… other things.”

Oh [censored], maybe he really had heard what I was thinking about. Or guessed. “What sort of business, Lord Vivec?” I asked, my mouth suddenly very dry.

“First, I propose to remove my curse upon the Nerevarine, end the persecution of the Dissident Priests, and proclaim to all Morrowind that Ada Ventura is the Incarnate and Nerevarine, the prophesied saviour of Morrowind, and the last hope to withstand the menace of Dagoth Ur and the Sixth House.” He looked straight at me. “These things I will do, whether you wish or not.”

Was he kidding me? How could I not want that? “Fine by me!” I said weakly. “Go ahead!”

“Next, I propose to surrender to you the power and responsibility of defeating Dagoth Ur.” He uncrossed his legs and floated down to the ground in front of me. “You may choose to refuse; I will not compel you. You will receive the power as a gift, in the form of an artifact called ‘Wraithguard’, and the responsibility as an oath. First, will you accept Wraithguard as a gift?”

“What is Wraithguard?” I asked cautiously.

“Answer me first.”

“All right.” I shrugged. “I accept.”

“Good. Sensible of you.” Seemingly out of nowhere, a heavy, ornate armoured gauntlet appeared in Vivec’s hands. He handed it over to me. “And now, will you give your oath, before all gods and men, before all spirits visible and invisible, before my honour and your honour, to dedicate yourself and Wraithguard to the defeat and destruction of Dagoth Ur, and the preservation of Morrowind and its people?”

Sweet Mara, what was I getting myself into? But I’d known all along that it would eventually come to this. There was no turning back now – I had to defeat Dagoth Ur, and I couldn’t possibly do it without Vivec’s help.

I took a deep breath. “Yes. I swear it.”

“Not very sensible,” he said with a slight smile. “But very good. I was hoping for someone who would have no hesitations about making such an oath. You will now have a brief, momentary sensation of time passing.”

“What?” I took a step backwards. “What are you going to do?”

“Don’t be alarmed,” he said calmly. “You are being taken out of time in order to avoid the unpleasant experience of learning how to use Wraithguard. It will be over before...” For a brief moment I felt myself floating, weightless, in total darkness. “...you know it.”

And then I was back in the palace, standing in front of Vivec. I drew another long, shaky breath. “Okay. What now?”

“I will notify the Temple that you are our champion. There shall be no more persecution of the Dissident Priests, and I hope both sides shall swiftly be reconciled.” He stepped back up onto his plinth. “We have time for questions, if you like – or you may leave, as you wish. But I think there are at least two things you ought to know before you leave: how to use Wraithguard, and how to defeat Dagoth Ur.”

“Okay, so let’s start with Wraithguard. What should I do with it?” Then it occurred to me. “It’s one of Kagrenac’s Tools, isn’t it?”

Vivec nodded. “To defeat Dagoth Ur, you must go to Red Mountain to recover the other tools – the artifact hammer Sunder and the blade Keening. Then proceed with all three to the citadel of Dagoth Ur, and find the Heart of Lorkhan. Use the three artifacts to sever Dagoth Ur’s connection to the Heart, and he will be destroyed, and the Blight ended on Morrowind.”

“How do I sever the connection?”

“Strike the Heart once with Sunder, then several times with Keening. You must wear Wraithguard, because you cannot handle either Sunder or Keening without it. That is the short, simple explanation.” Again something materialised in his hand, this time a piece of paper. “Here is the long, detailed explanation, written down for your convenience. Read it, study it, commit it to memory.”

My mind was reeling as I took the paper. “So… what the Dissident Priests said is true. You did get your powers from the Heart.”

“Some of it is true,” he said quietly. “That part, yes. But not all.”

“But you persecuted them.” I knew I was on dangerous ground here, but I couldn’t help myself. “You allowed your followers to have them imprisoned and tortured and murdered, for saying something you knew was true. And you tried to have me killed. Why?”

“Suppression and persecution of dissent is just one of the standard tools of statecraft.” My jaw dropped. “As for you… I thought you were my enemy. A pawn of the subtle Daedra Lord Azura, or of Emperor Uriel Septim, or a simple fraud – perhaps a Hero – but not much of one if my faithful could destroy you. Now, circumstances are altered. Mistakes were made... but no more.”

Mistakes were made? Gods, he sounded just like any other weaselly politician. This was the god-king Vivec, the great leader worshipped by the entire Dunmer nation?

“Why not just tell them the truth?” I demanded. “Did you really think the people who’d worshipped you for centuries would abandon you just for that?”

“Because the Apographa was such an unfortunate mixture of truth, falsehood, and speculation that I couldn’t afford to manage the confused reaction of our faithful. Any doubt whatsoever weakened their faith, and we needed their faith to give us the power to maintain the Ghostfence.” He shrugged. “In retrospect, perhaps we lost the faith of those we most needed while preserving the faith of the meek and indifferent. Who can say?”

I said nothing, but I wasn’t convinced. Yes, his explanations sounded very reasonable, very human – but that was exactly the point. I’d expected better from a God, somehow.

“In my library, I have made available two conflicting accounts of the events of Red Mountain.” He gestured towards the back of the room, where some papers lay on a lectern. “My own true account, and another false account common among the Ashlanders and preserved in the Apographa. Read them. I don’t care whether you believe my account or not; I leave it up to you to judge which is true.”

I walked hesitantly over to the lectern and began to read the papers. One was written by Vivec himself – supposedly a transcript of his own words to a captured Dissident Priest undergoing interrogation. (So Vivec carried out these ‘interrogations’ in person, did he? That certainly didn’t make me feel any more comfortable around him around him.) The other claimed to be an account from a shield-companion of Nerevar, who came to live among the Ashlanders after Nerevar’s death.

The parts concerning the life of Nerevar were roughly the same in both accounts. They told the story of his friendship with Dumac, the king of the Dwarves, and their eventual falling-out which led to war and the Battle of Red Mountain. It was only when they reached the part about Nerevar’s death and Kagrenac’s Tools that they started to diverge. Vivec’s own account was broadly in line with what I’d already heard from the Dissident Priests, but the other version told a very different story.

According to the second account, Nerevar didn’t die of his wounds after the battle. He left Dagoth Ur to guard Kagrenac’s tools, and tried to summon Azura to ask for her counsel. But the Tribunal, who wanted the power of the tools for themselves, used a false summoning ritual with poisoned robes and candles. Nerevar was murdered.

After his death, a furious Azura appeared to the Tribunal. She cursed them and their entire race for what they had done, turning their skins the colour of ash and their eyes as red as fire. The story ended with a dire warning from Azura: “What you have done here today is foul beyond measure, and you will grow to regret it. For the lives of gods are not what mortals think, and matters that weigh only years to mortals weigh on gods forever.”

A chill ran down my spine as I read those words. Was I imagining things, or had the room just got a lot colder? I had a sudden vision of the dying Nerevar, surrounded by his wife and his two most trusted friends, screaming in agony and despair as he realised he’d been betrayed. True or not, the fact that this story even existed made one thing very clear: I couldn’t necessarily trust anything Vivec said to me.

I tucked away the two papers into my pack and slowly left the room, lost in thought. I could feel Vivec’s eyes on me as I left the room, but he didn’t say anything. I’m sure he realised I didn’t trust him, but what could either of us do about it?

I didn’t look at Vivec’s plans to defeat Dagoth Ur until the next day. He talked about scouting campaigns, aggressive raids inside the Ghostfence, assaults on the citadels of Ur’s Ash Vampire kin, and finally a full-scale attack on Dagoth Ur himself. Things you’d expect to do with an entire army as backup. And I’d have to do it all alone.

Well, at least I had a magic glove.

ROFL !!!




Great paragraph !! Awesome Write !!

Chapter 39: Ada Vs. The Volcano

I can’t describe what a relief it was to finally be able to walk through the streets in safety, without having to constantly check over my shoulder for Ordinators. I wanted run around Vivec shouting out the good news, but since it was still pouring with rain that would have been a bit impractical (and probably got me arrested for disturbing the peace). Instead I spent the morning in Ebonheart, looking over Vivec’s plans to defeat Dagoth Ur.

Before going back to Ald’ruhn, I went to the Duke’s chambers to collect the Lord’s Mail. Never mind how dishonourably I’d come by it – at this point I needed as much protection as I could get. Another thing I decided to take was the Shadow Shield, the enchanted shield I’d picked up in the stronghold of Kogoruhn. I left Chrysamere, though – it had been useful in the fight against Bolvyn Venim, but I mostly preferred to fight with a one-handed sword and shield rather than a heavy, unwieldy claymore.

When I arrived in Ald’ruhn I found a message waiting for me at the Fighters’ Guild. It was from Varvur, asking me to meet him in the evening at the Rat in the Pot – he must have waited there every evening for several days. Aww, how sweet of him.

I spent the day in Skar receiving congratulations from Athyn Sarethi and the other councillors, but I couldn’t keep my mind off my appointment with Varvur. When I finally arrived at the tavern that night, he was waiting in one of the lower rooms – the same one where we’d spent the night together a week ago.

As soon as the door closed behind me, he pulled me into his arms and kissed me as if we hadn’t met for a year. “I missed you,” he murmured against my cheek.

I felt slightly guilty. I had missed him, of course, but the truth was I’d been so busy that I’d barely had time to think about him. I hugged him back extra-tightly to make up for it.

“I heard the news,” he said at last. “Lord Vivec himself has declared you the Nerevarine. Is it true that you have actually seen him? Spoken to him?”

I nodded, and he heaved an envious sigh. “It must have been an incredible experience. I would give almost anything to have been in your place.”

He looked so awed that I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’d found it a bit of a letdown. “What have you been doing in the meantime?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Almost nothing. The weather has been too bad for any Redoran expeditions.” He clenched his fists. “I feel so useless. You are going off to battle Dagoth Ur, while I’m stuck here. If I could only go with you to Red Mountain – ”

“No,” I said firmly. “Either you’d get corprus, or you’d end up with a blight disease or something. The only reason I can go is because I’m immune to those things.”

He sank down onto he bed with a frustrated sigh. I sat down beside him, sliding my arms around him. “Isn’t there anything else you could do? Join the Legion, or – okay, maybe not the Legion. What about the Redorans at Ghostgate?”

“Hmm.” Varvur looked thoughtful. “My cousin Salyn is a Buoyant Armiger at Ghostgate. I suppose I could join the Order, if my parents would agree to it.”

“The Armigers? Aren’t they the ones who all – ” I broke off, but it was too late.

“Who all… what?”

“Er.” I could feel myself blushing. “I heard that they, ah, ‘serve’ Lord Vivec in more ways than one. If you know what I mean.”

For a moment Varvur looked shocked, and then he burst out laughing. “Who told you that?”

“The publican at Ghostgate.” My face was burning.

“Well, she was teasing you.” He shook his head. “I don’t mean to be rude, but… I think it is hard for a Westerner to understand. Your gods are so distant… but imagine if you could actually see and speak with the people you had worshipped all your life. The love we Dunmer have for Vivec is not the same kind that a mortal has for another mortal.”

“But, um, the 36 Lessons – ”

“Those are all metaphor and… what is the word? Allegory.” He paused. “I am not saying that Lord Vivec hasn’t had mortal lovers. But for all the Armigers to be… that is ridiculous. Why would he bother with people like my cousin Salyn when he has the Lady Almalexia?”

My head jerked up. “Hang on. Almalexia? I thought she was Nerevar’s wife?”

“She was, yes, before his death. After that she became the consort of Lord Vivec.”

My mind was starting to race. Vivec and Almalexia were lovers? That certainly put a whole new spin on the story of Nerevar and the Tribunal. Had that really started after Nerevar’s death… or before it?

It didn’t necessarily mean anything, of course. But… if the people involved had been mortals, rather than gods, I wondered if anyone could have avoided drawing the obvious conclusion.

Varvur was looking at me oddly. “Is something wrong?”

“Er… no. Nothing.” I took a deep breath. “Varvur… what’s going to happen about us? We can’t keep meeting in secret like this forever.”

“I know.” He paused. “I’m not sure if… Ada, do you think you would be willing to marry me? Have my children? Not yet,” he added, seeing my expression, “but later, perhaps?”

“I’m… not sure. Maybe. If things work out, I mean.” Both of us were silent for a minute.

“I think perhaps we should wait,” I said at last. “Until I get back from Red Mountain, I mean. After all… I can’t even be sure I ever will come back.”

Varvur’s arms tightened around me. “No! You are the prophesised Incarnate. Even Vivec himself has said so. How can you possibly fail?”

“The prophecies only say that I have to defeat Dagoth Ur,” I reminded him. “Not that I have to survive the battle.”

Neither of us said much else, but we spent a long time lying in each other’s arms. And despite what we’d just agreed, we slept together one last time before I left. After all, it might be the only chance we got.



The week that followed was a long, painful, seemingly endless slog. I’d spend all day battling through the raging blight storms of Red Mountain, fighting cliff racers in the air and monsters of all kinds on the ground, until finally I reached one of the ancient Dwemer citadels. Then I’d carve a path through the Sixth House servants inside while hunting around for the rest of Kagnerac’s Tools.

In the notes he’d given me, Vivec had suggested that I challenge each of Dagoth Ur’s ‘ash vampire’ kin before tackling Ur himself. According to him, this might fool Ur into thinking I was trying to make my way up the Sixth House hierarchy. I wouldn’t be able to kill any of them permanently, as the Heart of Lorkhan would eventually bring them back to life, but it would at least buy me time to search for Sunder and Keening.

Most of the Ash Vampires attacked me on sight, but I did have one rather weird encounter in Endusal, the citadel of Dagoth Endus. I’d been using a Chameleon spell to sneak past one of those tentacle-monsters, and ran straight into Endus himself. He spotted me as soon as I got close, but instead of attacking, he smiled and raised a hand in greeting.

“I greet you, Ada Ventura,” he said in a friendly way. “Or Nerevar. Or whoever you are. I’m Dagoth Endus, brother of Dagoth Ur, and lord of Citadel Endusal. Would you like a little ancient Dagoth brandy?”

I was a little taken aback, to say the least. “Dagoth brandy?”

“It is a rare nectar beyond compare, distilled ages before your ancestor’s ancestors, and a fitting toast to our challenge.” He uncorked a small bottle and held it out to me. “Would you like to sample it?”

“Are you joking?” I snapped. “Just how stupid do you think I am?” Talos, I thought this kind of thing only happened in trashy adventure novels. “Ah, Agent Ventura, I’ve been expecting you. Please sit down and enjoy a sumptuous meal while I explain my over-complicated plans for world domination.”

“No? Pity. But then, a pity to waste it on a coward like you.” He tossed the bottle aside. “Still, you are the challenger, so honour demands that you deliver the first blow. Whenever you’re ready.”

After we’d fought, and I’d defeated him – somehow I got the impression he wasn’t really trying – I thought how weird it was for an Ash Vampire to fuss about honour and etiquette. Maybe he was trying to win my sympathy, but in my view it just made him a hypocrite on top of everything else. You couldn’t claim to care about ‘honour’ and then spend all your time skulking under a mountain, sending out hordes of blighted minions to terrorise people who couldn’t fight back, and hypnotising innocent people into doing your bidding. The fact that the Ash Vampires weren’t just mindless monsters made their actions worse, not better.

The other strange thing that happened that week occurred at Ghostgate, in the Tower of Dusk. I’d come back to the Redoran hostel after a long day of battling ash creatures and Corprus beasts, and was surprised to see a grey-haired, balding Imperial in a Legion cuirass sitting at the bar. When he saw me, he smiled and motioned me over to join him.

“Hello,” he said, patting the seat beside him. “They call me Wulf. What brings you to Ghostgate?”

Wulf? Weird name for an Imperial – it sounded more Nordic. “I’m the Nerevarine, believe it or not,” I said, hoping I wouldn’t have to explain what it meant. “I’m going to confront Dagoth Ur beneath Red Mountain.”

His face lit up. “What a piece of luck! Look. I’m an old Legion veteran – as old as the poor old Emperor, bless his soul. I’m too old for campaigning – I came this far to look at hell, but I can’t go any farther than this.” He scrabbled in his pocket and fished out an old, worn-looking coin. “I’d take it kindly if you’d carry this old lucky coin with you when you go to Dagoth Ur. Sort of a token of the tough young hero I used to be. Would you do that for an old man?”

“Sure,” I said, taking the coin. It felt slightly warm in my hand. I slipped it into my own pocket and turned back to Wulf, remembering that he’d mentioned the Emperor. “Have you heard anything more about the troubles back in Cyrodiil?”

Wulf sighed. “The Emperor is getting old. Don’t know how much longer he’ll hang on. So is the whole Empire, for that matter – getting old, that is.” He took a swig of his drink. “The Emperor and the legions have held the Empire together for hundreds of years. It’s been a good thing, by and large… but maybe it’s time for a change? Time for something young and new.”

His words reminded me of what Caius had said just before he left for Cyrodiil. “What sort of thing?”

“No idea,” he said promptly. “I’m old, and old dog doesn’t get new ideas. But maybe young folks like you should try some. Could be messy... but change is never pretty.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” I found it hard to imagine life without the Empire, and frankly I preferred not to think about it.

“Well, good luck on the mountain,” he said with a smile. “Go with Kynareth – and don’t forget my old lucky coin.”

At that moment the bartender called over to ask what I wanted to drink, and I turned away to speak to her. When I turned back a moment later, Wulf had gone – completely vanished. Odd.

“Do you know that guy?” I asked the bartender.

“What guy?” she asked, looking puzzled.

“The one I was talking to just now. Old Legion veteran. Calls himself Wulf.”

She looked bewildered. “I didn’t see anyone. And I don’t remember any old Legion veterans here at all… at least, not in a very long time. I could be wrong, but I don’t think so.”

I looked back at the seat where Wulf had been sitting only moments ago. How could she not have seen him? Maybe he was a ghost, I thought. Nothing would surprise me any more.

I took out Wulf’s coin to look at it as I sipped my drink. There was something a bit unusual about it, and I suddenly realised what it was – the face on the coin was Tiber Septim, not the current Emperor Uriel VII. Boy, it had to be really old – Tiber had died four hundred years ago.

“Go with Kynareth,” Wulf had said. I laughed rather bitterly. Every one of the Nine Divines would have to be working overtime if they wanted to get me out of this alive.



At long last I had gathered everything I needed for the assault on Dagoth Ur’s citadel. I paid one last visit to Vivec’s Shrine in the Temple Canton before flying out to Red Mountain from Ald’ruhn. I’d chosen to go at night in the vague hope that I might be able to catch Ur unawares, though I knew it wasn’t very likely.

I couldn’t take very much with me this time, as I had to carry Sunder, Keening and Wraithguard on top of my normal gear. Unfortunately Wraithguard was made for the right hand, so I had to use it in place of my normal strength-enhancing gauntlet. I’d just have to hope that Wraithguard’s impressive set of defensive enchantments would make up for it.

Flying over Red Mountain at night was an even more nerve-wracking experience than it was during the daytime. The combination of darkness and thick ash-storms made it almost impossible to see anything, especially in a closed helmet, and I had to rely on my sense of direction to guide me towards Dagoth Ur’s citadel. It was pretty much by luck that I finally spotted the bubbling crater of Red Mountain far below.

I’d expected the place to be heavily guarded, but there was nothing around the entrance apart from a few cliff racers. I guess Dagoth Ur never expected anyone to get that far. More fool him, I thought, as I searched for the crank to open the Dwarven door.

The inside of the citadel looked like any other Dwemer ruin. I’d been hoping to somehow sneak in and find the Heart without having to face Ur himself, but I hadn’t taken more than a few steps before I heard a mocking voice calling to me. I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“Come, Nerevar. Friend or traitor, come.” The voice seemed to come from the walls themselves. “Come and look upon the Heart, and Akulakhan. And bring Wraithguard... I have need of it.”

How did he know I was there? And what the hell was ‘Akulakhan’? Oh well, so much for the subtle approach. I was just going to have to face him head on.

Dagoth Ur’s taunts continued as I progressed deeper into the ruin. For the most part I ignored them – in fact, they were quite useful in helping me to find my way through the facility. But it was pretty damn creepy to think that this guy was somehow watching my every move.

The ancient, rust-covered Dwarven corridors were almost empty apart from Sixth House guards and a few dead bodies. I couldn’t help rolling my eyes as I walked past a bunch of randomly-placed lava pits – honestly, this guy was seeming more like the villain of a cheesy adventure story every minute. He even had an underground volcano lair, for crying out loud. All I needed now was for him to kidnap Varvur, dress him up in a skimpy outfit and dangle him over a shark-infested pool.

At the very end of the innermost chamber was a small wooden door, guarded by the last of the Ash Vampires. I could sense that Dagoth Ur was very near now. After defeating the guard, I cast all my protective enchantments before creeping through the door.

“Welcome, Moon-and-Star, to this place where destiny is made!” Dagoth Ur’s voice echoed around the rocky walls of the cave. The place was a lot smaller than I expected, dimly lit and containing only a few braziers and a large ash statue. I couldn’t see any sign of the Heart of Lorkhan.

Dagoth Ur himself stood at the end of the cavern. He appeared much as he had in my dreams: tall and thin, with grey, shrivelled-looking skin stretched over protruding bones, his face covered by a golden mask. Like all the Ash Vampires he had freakishly long hands and fingers, with sharp, claw-like nails.

“Now that you have come to me here, there can be but one result,” he continued. “Many times I have considered offering to accept your oath of service.”

“Hang on.” I narrowed my eyes. “Who said anything about an oath of service?”

“You might try to buy my trust by giving me Wraithguard, Keening, and Sunder. I thought we might once again be friends... comrades... brothers in arms.”

Ah, here it was: the ‘join me and we will rule the world together’ speech. “Nope,” I said. “Sorry. Not going to happen.”

“But I have won this place and power by right of conquest,” he went on, as if I hadn’t spoken. “I will not risk it to cunning and deceit. If you are my enemy, I cannot trust you – and even if you are not my enemy, I cannot let you live.”

I began to draw my sword, but he held up a hand. “I have final questions I would ask you, if you would answer.”

Actually, maybe it would be a good thing to keep him talking while I figured out what to do. “Go on then,” I said with a sigh.

“My first question is: Are you really Nerevar reborn?”

“Well, Azura seems to think so,” I said. “And I guess if anyone ought to know, it’s her. But if you don’t trust her, your guess is as good as mine.”

He sighed. “What a world.... Perhaps we shall never know. But as I have sympathy for you, and the melancholy fate of all mortals, I shall weep for your death.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said sarcastically. “Anything else?”

“My second question is: if you win, what do you plan to do with the power from the Heart? Will you make yourself a god, and establish a thearchy? Dispute control of Tamriel with the Septims? Or will you share the Heart with your followers, as I have, and breed a new race of divine immortals?”

Obviously I couldn’t tell him what I was actually planning, so I just smiled mysteriously. “Maybe I have my own plans for the Heart.”

“Well, perhaps there may be surprises in store for me yet.” He shrugged. “No matter. My final question is: if I had offered to let you join me, would you have surrendered Wraithguard, Sunder, and Keening to me to seal your oath?”

“Are you kidding me?” I shook my head in disbelief. “I’m not a complete idiot. I don’t want to join you, and even if I did, there’s no way I’d hand over the tools. Why the hell should I trust you?”

“Thank you for your forthright response,” he said, sounding a little amused. “And now, if you have any questions, ask them… otherwise, you are the challenger. I await your first blow.”

I paused. There were all sorts of things I could have asked him, of course, but the truth was that I really didn’t care. I didn’t want to hear his excuses, or his justifications, or his promises of how great Morrowind would be when everyone was an Ash Zombie or a walking corpse. What was the point, when I was just going to have to kill him anyway?

“Nah,” I said at last. “Not really. Let’s just get on with this, shall we?”

“As you wish.” He stood back, waiting for me to attack, as he had promised.

Well, I still didn’t really have a plan, but there was nothing for it. I hurled myself through the air towards him, thrusting my glass longsword between his ribs. It didn’t even break the skin.

Dagoth Ur laughed and swatted at me with one of those claw-like hands, and I only just managed to dodge the blow. Gritting my teeth, I tried again, and once again he just shrugged off the blow as if it were a flea-bite. The same thing happened several more times – and then suddenly, without warning, he vanished.

Glancing around, I saw a second door set deep into the rock wall. Could that be the way to the Heart?

Something was glittering on the floor just in front of the door. I moved closer and realised that it was a House Dagoth ring, inset with gems and enchanted with some very powerful resistances. Cautiously I slipped it onto my finger and cast the enchantment, then opened the door – and found myself standing on a narrow platform, half-way up the wall of a vast natural cavern. The place was huge.

Dagoth Ur was standing on the edge of the platform, only a few feet away. When he saw the expression on my face, he threw back his head and laughed.

“What a fool you are. I’m a god. How can you kill a god?” He shook his head. “What a grand and intoxicating innocence. How could you be so naive?”

I was barely listening. Beyond the platform on which we both stood was a massive stone head the size of a house, crowned with a headdress of Dwemer steel. Looking more closely I saw that it was attached to an equally enormous body, fifty feet high, rising out of a huge lava pit at the bottom of a cavern. The sheer scale of the thing was almost beyond belief.

“Numidium,” I whispered, remembering the story of the Brass God. I’d always thought it was just a legend, but now…

I almost forgot Dagoth Ur was there until I heard his soft, mocking laughter. “Admiring my handiwork, ‘Nerevarine’? Akulakhan will be the champion of my armies, liberating first Vvardenfell, then Morrowind and then, perhaps the rest of Tamriel. It will serve as a sower and cultivator of the divine substance derived from the Heart. Then, perhaps, it will be time to consider whether the Dunmer should cultivate ambitions of empire.” He took a step forward. “Now do you see why it is useless to oppose me? There is no escape. No Recall or Intervention can work in this place. Come, lay down your weapons – it is not too late for my mercy.”

Screw that, I thought, and plunged over the edge of the platform. If this lunatic thought I was going to help him with his plans for a Greater Morrowind, he had another think coming. A spell of some kind whizzed past me as I flew, and I realised I’d have to find the Heart pretty damn quickly.

I floated round behind ‘Akulakhan’ to shield myself from Dagoth Ur’s spells, looking around desperately for anything that looked like a Heart. Where the hell was it? At long last I spotted it, resting on a small platform at the base of Akulakhan’s spine. It was pulsating steadily, and seemed to be surrounded by some kind of magical shield.

Quickly recasting the ring’s enchantment, I detached Sunder from my belt and dived downwards. At once I was hit by a blast of magicka – it must have been a curse of some kind – and I felt my strength and energy begin to leech away. My pack slipped off my shoulders, and I could only watch in horror as all my supplies – food, potions, Divine and Almsivi Intervention amulets – disappeared into the lava.

There was no time to lose; I needed to get this done quickly before Ur could hit me with any more spells. As soon as I got within range I swung Sunder at the Heart with all my strength, but too late – a massive bolt of fire magicka exploded around me, and for a few horrible moments it was like being caught in a furnace. If it hadn’t been for the magical resistances, I’d probably have been killed outright.

I grabbed my last healing potion and gulped it down, then seized up Keening and slashed it several times across the Heart. High above me, Dagoth Ur let out a cry of rage and horror.

“What are you doing? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Suddenly he was standing right behind me. “Fool! Stop!”

I ignored him and continued to hack away at the Heart. With a terrible roar he lunged forward, sinking his long, sharp claws into my shoulder. The inch-long fingernails tore through the thick metal of my cuirass as if it were made of butter, sinking deep into my flesh.

I screamed in pain and tried to shake him off, but he only dug in deeper. Frantically I jabbed at the Heart with Keening, willing it to die. All at once it seemed to deflate, shrivelling up like a punctured balloon before vanishing completely.

A howl of anguish echoed around the cavern as Dagoth Ur saw the source of his powers vanish. He tore his hand away from my shoulder, ripping my flesh, and stumbled back onto the narrow wooden bridge leading away from the platform. I turned round to see him standing with one hand raised, ready to cast another of those terrible spells.

There was no time even to think. I dropped Keening and lunged forward, barrelling into Dagoth Ur and knocking him off balance. With a final, despairing wail, he tumbled over the side of the bridge and into the bubbling lava pool below. The last thing I saw was his clawed, bloody hand grasping wildly towards the ceiling as he sank beneath the surface.

All of a sudden there was a loud rumbling sound, and the entire cavern began to shake. What the hell was this, an earthquake? Vivec hadn’t said anything about earthquakes!

The platform where I’d entered the room was twenty feet above me. I looked around frantically, wondering how to get back up there, until I suddenly realised I could still fly. I grabbed Keening and Sunder and launched myself upwards, not a moment too soon – the second my feet touched the upper platform, the rumbling increased and I saw Akulakhan’s massive body crack and fall to pieces. If I’d stayed on the lower platform I’d have been crushed by the falling rocks.

I found the crank to open the door on a nearby Dwemer pipe, and pulled it. The stone covering slid back and I pushed through the door into Dagoth Ur’s cavern, trembling like a leaf. Only moments after the door closed behind me, I realised that the Levitation spell had worn off.

As my eyes adjusted to the faint light, I wondered vaguely why I felt so weak. I put a hand to the back of my neck where Dagoth’s finger had dug into it, and found it soaked in blood. Dimly I realised that I was quite badly injured. When the shock and excitement of battle had worn off, it was going to hurt like hell.

I tried to cast a healing spell, but my mouth was so dry that I choked on the words. The spell fizzled out miserably, leaving me without any magicka for a second attempt.

Taking a few shaky steps forward, I realised that there was someone else there in the cavern with me. A Dunmer woman in a light-blue gown stood by the entrance to the cavern, her arms outstretched as if to welcome me. She was beautiful, shimmering faintly in the torchlight, and somehow I knew she was Azura. I sank to my knees, too exhausted to do anything else.

“You no longer bear the burden of prophecy.” She took a step forward, smiling down at me. “You have achieved your destiny. You are free. The doomed Dwemer’s folly, Lord Dagoth’s temptation, the Tribunal’s seduction, the god’s heart freed, the prophecy fulfilled. All fates sealed and sins redeemed. If you have pity, mourn the loss – but let the weeping cease.”

As she spoke, the cavern seemed to fade and in its place I saw a vision of Red Mountain. The ash-storms died down, the Ghostfence faded away, and the sun emerged from behind white, wispy clouds. The sky was clear and blue above Ghostgate. It was like a beautiful dream.

“The Blight is gone, and the sun’s golden honey gilds the land.” The vision faded, and I was back in the cavern with Azura. “Hail saviour, Hortator, and Nerevarine. Your people look to you for protection. Monster and villains great and small still threaten the people of Vvardenfell; enemies and evils abound, yet indomitable will might rid Morrowind of all its ills.”

“I’ll try,” I said weakly. “But, uh… maybe if you could see your way to…”

Azura nodded. “For you, our thanks and blessings; our gift and token given. Come, take this thing from the hand of God.”

She stretched out her hands, and I saw that they held a small, beautiful ring. As I got to my feet I saw her slowly fade away, leaving only the ring floating in the air where she had stood. As my hand closed around it, I felt my strength flood back as Dagoth Ur’s curse was lifted.

Unfortunately the ring hadn’t actually done anything to heal me. I was still bleeding fairly heavily, and the pain from my wounds was getting worse every minute. If I didn’t find a way to heal myself soon I would probably go into shock. Sighing, I plodded over to the door and began to make my way out of the building.

As I struggled on through the endless corridors, I could feel my breathing grow shallow and my strength ebb away with every step. I still didn’t have enough magicka to cast another healing spell, and there was no way I’d ever manage an Intervention spell in this state. My only hope was to get back to Ghostgate, but that was impossible – even if I managed to fend off the ash-creatures along the way, it was still a walk of several miles. I’d never make it.

At long last I reached the outer door and staggered into the open air, blinking in the early-morning sunlight. It was a beautiful day, without a trace of ash or blight. A new dawn. And I was going to die.

I sank to the ground, wincing at the intense heat rising up from the steaming lava pit. If I had to go, I thought, at least I could take Kagnerac’s tools down with me. Crawling to the cliff edge, I dropped them over one by one – first Sunder, then Keening, and finally Wraithguard – and watched them slowly sink into the lava. Then I lay back, feeling tears beginning to sting my eyes.

I’d never get to say goodbye. That was what hurt the most. Uncle and Aunt… Athyn… Varvur… I’m sorry.

Something was digging uncomfortably into my left thigh. Gods, couldn’t I even die in peace? Wincing with every movement, I fumbled around in my pocket and drew out the ‘lucky coin’ that Wulf, the old Legion veteran, had given to me.

Much luck it had brought me, I thought sourly. Maybe I should toss it into the lava and make a wish? Sighing, I rubbed it idly between my fingers – and it abruptly vanished.

Hang on a second…

A vision of Daedric writing flashed through my mind, and I found myself mouthing the words without knowing what they meant. Suddenly I knew that something had changed. I didn’t feel any stronger or healthier, but somehow, for a few precious seconds, I felt that I had hope. If I acted now, I might just have a chance – but I’d have to be quick.

Think, Ada, think... With any luck, I might just have enough magicka left to cast Almsivi Intervention. Clearing my mind as far as possible, I mumbled a prayer to any gods that might be listening, then gritted my teeth and poured every last ounce of energy and concentration into casting the spell.

In the fraction of a second that followed, which felt like an hour, I was sure I had failed. Then I heard the familiar ‘sucking’ sound, and moments later I found myself in the courtyard of the Temple in Ald’ruhn.

There was no one else around. Feeling strangely light-headed, I dragged myself to my feet, stumbled over to the door and banged on it as hard as I could. It swung open suddenly and I practically fell through the doorway, right in front of the priest Tuls Valen. His eyes widened in shock when he saw me and he opened his mouth to speak.

“Can’t talk now. Heal first.” I brushed past him and limped into the inner chamber, where healing shrines to various saints were arranged around the central ashpit, and collapsed to my knees in front of a random shrine. I could use these for free, right? “Oh, Saint Roris – ” I began, and promptly threw up all over the collection plate.

“Oops,” I said faintly, just before everything went black.

I'm not exactly sure I'd want to see that. But that didn't stop me from chuckling.

Looks like we're close to the end. Time for me to start again reading the sequel.

Chapter 40: The Morning After

I’m not sure how long I lay there in the dimly-lit chamber, tossing and turning, drifting in and out of consciousness. At one point someone held a drink of some kind to my lips, and in my confused state I got the idea that they were trying to poison me. I struggled and swore, but they held me down firmly and forced me to swallow the foul-tasting liquid. I don’t remember anything else after that.

When I came to, the first thing I saw was a Temple healer standing over me. I tried to sit up but she laid a hand on my chest to stop me. “No, sera. Don’t try to get up. You have been very ill.”

The room swam into focus, and I saw that it was filled with people – Archcanon Saryoni, Duke Dren, the Sarethis, all the Redoran councillors, Mehra Milo, Tuls Valen, and the Redoran priest Lloros Sarano. It was like a mass reunion of everyone I’d ever met. All I needed now were Caius Cosades and those naked Nord guys and I’d have the full set.

“Why are there so many people here?” I murmured, still a bit confused.

“They are here to keep vigil.” That was Lloros Sarano. “For the past three days you have hung between life and death.”

Ah yes. Things were slowly starting to come back to me – Dagoth Ur, the volcano, Azura…

“Sorry for vomiting all over your shrine,” I mumbled to Tuls Valen.

He smiled a little thinly. “No matter.”

My head itched. I put a hand up to rub it, and realised to my horror that half my hair was gone – singed off by Dagoth Ur’s fireball spell, presumably – and the rest was a ragged mess. My poor, poor hair. I’d just have to go around in a big hat or something until it grew back.

“So,” I said faintly. “Is it really over? I mean… the prophecies and everything?”

The Archcanon nodded. “It is over. The Sixth House has fallen, the Blight is gone… and Saint Nerevar walks among us.”

Who? Oh yes… that’s right. Me.

“I think I’d like to go back to sleep now,” I said, and closed my eyes.

When I woke up again a few hours later, everyone was gone apart from Athyn and Varvur. I felt a lot less woozy this time – I must have been magically sedated to stop me moving around too much. That would explain that disgusting potion they’d made me drink.

As soon as Varvur saw I’d woken up he said something urgently in Dunmeris to his father, who turned to me with a smile. “Ah, you’re awake. It’s good to have you back with us, Councillor Ventura.”

‘Councillor’? I sat bolt upright. “My stronghold! Is it finished yet?”

“Yes, yes, sera,” he said soothingly, patting my hand. “You have a wonderful stronghold.”

At that moment the healer came back in carrying a bowl and a washcloth. I suddenly realised that I was wearing nothing but a loose robe, which left very little to the imagination. I would have been embarrassed, but I guessed the others had already seen all there was to see anyway. (Well, Varvur definitely had.)

I turned back to Athyn. “So… I’m a Councillor now?”

“Yes, indeed. In fact, there are matters we need to discuss – but that can wait until you are feeling better. For now, you need to rest.”

The healer began to dab at my neck with the cloth, and I sighed. “So I’ve really been at death’s door these last few days?”

Athyn nodded. “You lost a lot of blood. And I’m told that when you first arrived, you were covered in burns and other injuries. Poor Tuls almost mistook you for a corprus beast.”

“You were having such strange dreams,” Varvur broke in. “Raving about giant statues and people trying to poison you. And then, after they gave you the potion, you just lay there so white and still. We thought – we thought that – ” His voice cracked slightly, and Athyn laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t understand,” I said feebly. “Couldn’t… couldn’t someone just cast a healing spell?”

The healer shook her head. “Whatever made those wounds, they could not be healed by magic. We managed to stop the bleeding, but they had to be stitched.” She paused. “I’m afraid you will have scars, sera.”

I glanced down at my chest, where Dagoth Ur had torn through my armour with his thumb. A long, jagged wound ran from the base of my neck to my left armpit, just above my heart. From the feel of it, there were more of them on my shoulder and the back of my neck. No more low-cut gowns for me.

“I’ll live, I guess,” I mumbled. I could see the pity and compassion in Varvur’s face, and somehow that hurt more than anything else.

At that moment I heard a strange rumbling sound from somewhere outside the building. Tuls Valen came into the room, and he and the others had a quick conversation in their own language which I couldn’t be bothered to try and follow. Eventually he detached himself from the group and turned towards me.

“The people of Vvardenfell are gathered outside, muthsera,” he told me. “They want to see you in person, to see that you have survived. Do you feel strong enough to come outside, for a few minutes, and appear before them?

With Varvur’s help, I clambered out of the bed – wincing at the pain in my shoulder – and took a few experimental steps. “I guess,” I said at last. “As long as it’s only a few minutes.”

The healer found me a warm, clean robe and some shoes, cast a ‘Fortify Fatigue’ spell on me, and led me outside into the courtyard. When I saw the massive crowd waiting for me there, I nearly fainted. There were hundreds of people, thousands of people – so many that I could almost believe the entire island had turned out to greet me. Had they all been camping out there for the past three days?

As soon as I stepped through the archway leading out of the courtyard, a shout went up. “She is here! All hail Ada Ventura, the Incarnate! Nerevar reborn!”

The roar of cheers almost knocked me backwards. I cast a helpless glance round at the priests and soldiers standing around me, and saw that they were looking at me expectantly. Oh gods, were they expecting me to make a speech? Help!

I gave a little wave, and the cheers grew even louder. “I, ah – ” I tried to call out, but my voice sounded hopelessly feeble against the roar of the crowd.

“SILENCE! She speaks!” The noise died down almost instantly, leaving an equally deafening silence. Oh no, this was even worse!

I cleared my throat. “Ladies and gentlemen,” I began, not knowing how else to start. “Thank you all so much for coming here today. I – I just wanted to say how grateful I am to everyone who’s helped me in my quest to defeat Dagoth Ur. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Gah, I sounded like I was accepting a scholarship prize or something. I found myself wishing I had Dagoth Ur’s gift for fine speeches.

“The threat of Red Mountain is gone,” I continued. “But we must all work together to defeat the other evils that still threaten Morrowind. Go forth and… heal this land,” I went on, stealing blatantly from Azura. “And go with my blessing.”

Okay, let’s face it: on a scale of ‘inspiring speeches’ from one to ten, that would be lucky to rate a three. Everyone applauded loudly, of course, but frankly I could probably have stood there reciting nursery rhymes and have got the same response. Suddenly I began to feel very tired again, and a little dizzy.

Athyn and Varvur stepped forward and caught me as my knees started to wobble. Together they helped me back into the Temple, where the healer cast some restoration spells and put me back to bed. I ate some broth – which was all I could manage for the moment – and settled down gratefully for another long sleep.

The next day, Athyn Sarethi came to see me alone. I wasn’t really in the mood to talk politics, but I tried to look enthusiastic when he told me he had some important business to discuss.

“Ada.” He sat down beside the bed. “As I told you yesterday, the Council has agreed to grant you the rank of Councillor. Is this acceptable to you?”

“I guess so.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. “Is there anything I should… say, or do?”

“Not for the moment. Your position will be formally confirmed at the next Council meeting.” He paused. “But there is another matter that must be settled at the same time: that of choosing a new Archmaster.”

Ah, so that was what this was about. “You have my vote, Athyn,” I said, rather surprised that he felt the need to ask me.

“No, my friend. I’ve told you before that I don’t wish to be Archmaster.”

“Who else, then? Not Garisa Llethri,” I begged, struck by a sudden horrible thought. “Please. It’s not that I dislike him exactly, but – ”

“No, I wasn’t thinking of Garisa.” He took a deep breath. “Ada, you are a Councillor, and you are our Hortator. The Council is in agreement that the title of Archmaster should go to you.”

I’m not exaggerating when I say that I nearly fainted. I was still weak and exhausted from the battle with Dagoth Ur, and I really wasn’t prepared for this. “Archmaster?” I wheezed. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” He took my hand in his. “I’m quite serious, muthsera. Venim was a strong Archmaster, but in some ways I believe you would make a better one. You temper your strength with mercy.”

“But… but…” I could hardly speak. “You can’t be serious! I don’t know how, and… oh, for crying out loud, Athyn – you know what I’m like. I’d never make a good politician. I’d probably start a war just by losing my temper with the wrong person!”

“You exaggerate, Ada,” he said gently. “No one is perfect, but you have done more for House Redoran than you think. You’ve won us several important victories against the Hlaalu and Telvanni. People are starting to speak of our House with respect once more. And as for diplomacy, well… you could hardly be worse than Venim in that regard.”

“I can’t even make speeches! You saw that yesterday!”

He shrugged. “Neither could I at your age. That is something that can be taught.”

“But …” I looked at him helplessly. “Athyn, you do know that I’m a Blade, right?”

Athyn sighed. “My friend, I am an Agent of House Redoran. Did you think I would agree to sponsor you without making enquiries into your background? I have known of your Imperial connections for quite some time now.”

“Then – you mean you…” That was when it hit me. “You were the one who had me followed!”

“I did. I also made various other enquiries, which I doubt you have heard about.” He shook his head. “I hope you will forgive me, but you understand that I must protect my House.”

Suddenly I began to feel like an idiot. Athyn had been a Redoran politician for over 300 years – had I really imagined that he would be naive enough to take everything I said on trust? Yes, I’d done exactly that. What an arrogant little cow I was.

“So how much do you actually know?” I said at last.

“Enough. Not everything, perhaps – but I have learned enough to convince me that you are sincere, whatever your connections may be.” He paused. “I haven’t said anything to the other Councillors, however, and I suggest you don’t either. As I said before, they may not be quite so… understanding.”

I could hardly believe my ears. “And you still want me to be head of your House?!”

“Indeed. I think you will make a good Archmaster, Ada – in time, of course. And I will always be here to advise you, should you need it.”

I stared at him, suspicion slowly dawning on me. This had all worked out very conveniently for him, I thought – he’d wanted rid of Venim, but didn’t want to be Archmaster himself. Could it – could it be that he’d planned this all along?

I was starting to realise just how much I’d underestimated Athyn. He might be gentle, mild-mannered and almost painfully honourable, but he certainly wasn’t stupid. It honestly hadn’t occurred to me till now that he might have had reasons of his own for promoting me through the Redoran ranks so quickly. More fool me, I guess.

“I’m not going to be a puppet, Athyn,” I told him, looking him straight in the eye. “I’m happy to take advice from you, but if I’m going to be Archmaster, I’ll make my own decisions – and you may not like them. Just so you know.”

“Of course,” he said gravely. “I would expect nothing less.”

“Well. Okay then.” There was a pause. “So… I’m Archmaster now? Just like that?

“As I said, you will be formally appointed at the next Council meeting.”

“And am I still Hortator? Or is there no need for that any more?”

Just for a second, a shadow passed over Athyn’s face. “You have done your duty as Hortator,” he said slowly, “but… I fear there are still troubles ahead. For this reason, I believe you should keep your title.”

He went away after that, leaving me to digest the fact that I was now head of House Redoran, the Imperial Legion, the Fighters’ Guild and the Vvardenfell chapter of the Blades. Something was going to have to give, of course, but there’d be time to think about that later.

I wasn’t thrilled at the thought of becoming a professional politician, but somehow the thought didn’t horrify me nearly as much as it would have done a while back. I never thought I’d say this, but I was just getting so tired of having to fight people. Over the past few months I’d been responsible for countless deaths, and none of them really brought me any satisfaction – not even Dagoth Ur’s. After all, in his own mind-bogglingly insane way, he’d believed he was doing the right thing for Morrowind – and from what I’d seen, heard and read of the Tribunal, I could well believe that they actually had murdered Nerevar and left him to take the rap.

Who knew? Perhaps I’d make a good Archmaster. I’d never have thought it, but then I’d never have thought I’d make a good ‘legendary heroine of ancient prophecy’ either. I could never know until I tried.



As soon as I was well enough – and had got my hair trimmed into a slightly more fashionable style – I went out to Bal Isra with the Sarethis to visit my stronghold. It wasn’t finished yet, of course, but I must say that what they’d done so far was pretty impressive. The main building and the others still under construction had been surrounded with high chitin walls, making the place actually look like a stronghold rather than a house plonked down randomly in the middle of nowhere. There was even a lookout tower.

But it was the inside that really took my breath away. Fully furnished, decorated and populated, it was a Redoran manor to rival any of the ones under Skar. It might not be as big or grand as some of the others, but it was mine, and that made it a hundred times better.

“It’s beautiful”, I whispered, my voice choked. “Just… incredible. Thank you so much for this, Athyn.”

He smiled. “In truth, my friend, I had very little to do with it. But it is only fitting that you should have such a reward after all you have done for our House.”

“A beautiful home indeed.” Domesea was admiring the master bedroom, which was furnished with a large double bed and stocked up with food, drink, potions and weaponry. “Perhaps someday soon you will find someone to share it with, sera.”

Behind his parents’ backs, Varvur and I grasped each other’s hands, and shared a secret smile.



Some time later I went back to the Palace of Vivec to receive my congratulations from the God himself – not that he really was a god any more, of course. He’d lost his divine powers with the destruction of the Heart, just like Dagoth Ur. I wondered if he’d have changed in any way, but he was just floating quietly above his plinth, the same as ever.

“The blight is gone, and we have survived,” was the first thing he said to me. “Now we must dedicate ourselves to rebuilding the Temple. And you must dedicate yourself to your responsibilities as Protector of Morrowind.”

“What sort of responsibilities, Lord Vivec?”

“There is much to do,” he said. “You still have Kagrenac’s Tools, potent weapons, and – ”

“Ah. About the tools.” I coughed slightly. “I, er, kind of threw them into the crater of Red Mountain.”

Vivec’s brows shot up. “You… destroyed the tools?” He looked as if he could hardly believe it. “Why?”

“To stop anyone else using them, of course.” I realised that I was being a bit rude. “Forgive me, my Lord, but… would you really want to take the chance of this happening all over again?”

“You must do as you judge best, of course.” There was a long pause. Outwardly he looked as calm as ever, but I got the impression that I’d genuinely shocked him. It was then I realised that he would never have even thought of destroying the tools – any more than Dagoth Ur would.

“And the Temple?” I asked, before the silence got too uncomfortable. “What will you do now that… I mean…”

“We have lost our divine powers,” he finished for me. “But not altogether. Some token of the people’s faith remains, and we shall dedicate it to rebuilding the Temple. Now that Dagoth Ur is gone, we can turn our energies to the more humble needs of the people. It is good, honest work, and I believe there is redemption in it.”

I itched to ask what exactly he wanted ‘redemption’ for, but there wasn’t much point in telling him that I suspected him and Almalexia of killing Nerevar. I didn’t have any proof – and besides, he probably knew anyway.

“As for you,” he went on, “there are many blighted beasts and horrors that have survived, and must be hunted down and destroyed. There are lesser monsters and villains of all kinds who prey upon the people. There are unsolved mysteries, and legendary treasures undiscovered. I’m sure you will find much to occupy you.”

A short while later I was walking back down the steps of the Palace, enjoying the wintry sunlight. It was the 31st of Evening Star. Tomorrow was the festival of New Life, the first day of the new year. It seemed appropriate somehow.

And me? After all that time I’d spent trying to escape Vvardenfell, now I had the chance – and I suddenly found that I didn’t want to. Somehow, so slowly and gradually that I hadn’t even noticed, I had got used to living in Morrowind. It was a part of me now. I had a home, a family, and… well, who knew?

I would still go back to Cyrodiil some day, of course, and track down my family. But not just yet.

Oh, and one other thing. Remember Wulf, the old Legionnaire whose ‘lucky coin’ saved my life? The story had spread, and a day or two ago I’d received an urgent message from Lalatia Varian – a priestess at the Imperial Chapels in Ebonheart – asking me to come and see her. She made me tell the whole story, as well as repeating the spell I’d cast on the mountain, and I could see her excitement growing with every moment.

“It’s as I thought,” she said, when I’d finished my story. “The words of that spell translate as ‘Luck of the Emperor’ in Daedric. I hesitate to suggest it, but I think you have been visited by an aspect of Tiber Septim. Surely this is a sign of a great doom laid upon you by the gods.”

Talos himself? Could it be true? I’m not sure; all I know is that at this point, I’ve seen way too much to be a skeptic. So if you’re ever hanging around Ghostgate and happen to run into an old Legion veteran named Wulf, buy him a drink, and say hi to him from me. You never know when it might bring you luck.


Epilogue

Vvardenfell’s citizens react to the coming of the Nerevarine:

Nibani Maesa (Wise Woman of the Urshilaku)
“It is as my dreams have shown me. The Devil is dead, and the Blight is gone. This is a good time to have lived, and to have seen you with my own eyes.”

Hasphat Antabolis (Fighters’ Guild drillmaster, Balmora)
“Now you are a part of history, Ada. It is an honour to know you. And yet, there is still the mystery: does the hero shape the times, or do the times shape the hero? Perhaps you should write a history book, Ada…”

Sharn gra-Muzgob (Mages’ Guild alchemist, Balmora)
“Very interesting. So you are this Nerevar hero, reborn? Do you remember anything from the life of this Nerevar? Can you think like him? Talk to him? Here, stick out your tongue: can you feel it when I do THIS? I must make a careful examination of you for my... mystical studies.”

Hassour Zainsubani (Ashlander trader, Ald’ruhn)
“Very interesting. At least part of the Nerevarine Prophecies are true – you, Ada, and your deeds are living proof of this. But… are you also the Nerevarine who will drive the foreigners from the land and redeem the false promises of the Great House Dunmer? Very interesting.”

Addhiranirr (Thieves’ Guild operative, Vivec)
“Just like Addhiranirr said... silly superstition. Maybe you got lucky? Maybe this Dagoth, poor old fellow, and tired, so he falls down? All the stories Addhiranirr hears? Make you sound like some kind of hero or something.”

Some final screenshots from the last few chapters:

Fashion victim
Serious Dark Lord style
"Precioussss..."
"All hail Ada, the Incarnate! Nerevar reborn!"

These last two chapters were positively riveting !! I quoted the last two screens, very powerful images after having just read what she went through - to see it (even down to the change in hair) - AWESOME WRITE !!! (not just these last chapters, but the whole account from the beginning). Very powerful ending, leaving the reader feeling some of the experience along with Ada !!!

Thanks mALX! I enjoyed writing those ending chapters, especially the last one. By the way, in case anyone missed it, I've also updated 'The Neveragaine Strikes Back' with a new chapter.

I had started reading it, but stopped because it left me with a huge knowledge gap - wanted to finish this one first before reading the sequel, lol.