I hear the clang of hammers on stone before I see people. As I draw nearer still, a low, synchronized chanting reaches my ears. " Here in his shrine, that they have forgotten. Here do we toil, that we might remember. By night we reclaim, what by day was stolen . . ." When the Earth Stone, a massive shard of rock rising from the ground, comes into view, I discover a group of people building an unusual structure around the stone. It is composed of a series of pointed arches circling the stone, whose appearance is far more precise and harsh than the organic construction of Raven Rock and the stone itself. The sight of this alone would be enough to realize something was amiss had it not also been for the hypnotic state the workers seemed to be in-swinging their hammers and chanting in perfect rhythm.
When I reach the Earth Stone, I notice a Dunmer wizard standing a distance away from it observing the situation. He is evidently not compelled by the force of whatever is driving this construction, so I approach him in hopes of learning more.
"You there . . . You don't seem to be in quite the same state as the others here. Very interesting. May I ask what it is you're doing here?" he says, turning to me when I reach him.
"I'm looking for someone named Miraak," I respond.
He thinks for a moment, appearing to grow frustrated as he tugs on his goatee. "Miraak . . . Miraak . . . It sounds familiar but I can't quite place . . . ," he says. His expression then suddenly lights up. "Oh. Wait. I recall. But that makes very little sense. Miraak's been dead for thousands of years."
"That cannot be. In Skyrim, a group of his cultists attempted to assassinate me, claiming that he is soon returning," I say. "Then, I when I arrive here, no one can seem to tell me what's going on, despite the fact those cultists were from Solstheim."
"Fascinating. I hadn't considered that Miraak could be the source of this strange behavior," the wizard says. "I'm afraid I can't give you any answers. But there are ruins of an ancient temple of Miraak's toward the center of the island. If I were you, I'd look there."
I nod. "Thank you for your help," I say, reaching out to shake his hand. "My name's Fjoara."
"I am Master Neloth of House Telvanni," he responds, reluctantly returning the gesture with an air of slight distaste. The tone in which he announces this suggests importance in the title, but I am ignorant to what it means.
I bid him farewell, and return to Raven Rock. The day has grown old, and I decide I best retire for the evening. It would be unwise to travel across foreign land in the darkness where I could be ambushed by threats. At home in Skyrim, nighttime does not halt my travel, but that is only because I know the roads and regions to their fullest extent. Besides, I am curious to learn more about the history of this island—perhaps I can gain insight into Miraak and his presence here, past or present.
As it is now nearing evening, people have closed up their shops, and the only people left outside are the guards. Although when I enter The Retching Netch, I find it scarcely more populated than it was this afternoon. There are are a few people on the first floor, but they look to only be poor miners, so I cannot imagine they would have much to say. I walk downstairs and am met with an equally vacant room; it is only Geldis, his worker, the mercenary, another collective of miners, and the Breton who was tending the smithy earlier. I decide to approach him, greeting him and asking if I can have a seat in the empty chair at his table. When he grants me permission, I practically fall into the seat with exhaustion. I pull off my gauntlets and set my sword next to me against the wall. My travels have finally managed to catch up to my body, and it is a relief to rest.
"You look just as out of place here as I do," I say to him. "What brings a Breton to Raven Rock?"
He laughs. "A fine question, and the one that I hear most often from visitors to our town. I wish I had a more romantic tale to tell, but I was simply seeking my fortune and chose Raven Rock to ply my trade. Besides, knowing how to repair bonemold armor wasn't very useful in Riften."
"Who taught you that?" I ask.
"I had a friend over there, a dark elf named Vanryth... a very talented armorsmith. Spent a lot of time with the guy swapping smithing techniques. Learned a heck of a lot, including how to repair bonemold. After he moved on to greener pastures, I decided to pack up, move out here and put those lessons to the test. Been here ever since," he says.
"How long has that been?" I ask.
He thinks for a moment. "Must be about a decade now."
"Do you know much about this island, then?" I ask.
"A fair amount, sure."
"What about someone named Miraak?"
His eyes cloud in the same way everyone else's had, and I sigh with disappointment, telling him to forget that I asked. This will likely be the last time I attempt to ask anyone this question. I am probably better off visiting the temple the Dunmer wizard told me about and uncovering for myself what may lie there.
At that moment, the tavern worker brings a drink over and walks away without saying anything. I look around the room to find out who gave it to me, and am not surprised when my eyes land on Teldryn to see that he is smiling, holding his own drink up in my direction. My present company follows my gaze and chuckles when he discovers who I am looking at.
"Already managed to find yourself an admirer in the short time you've been here?" he asks.
"No, he just wants my patronage," I reply, picking up the mug and taking a swig. I am expecting the harshness of sujamma, but am instead met with the familiar honey taste of mead. I am surprised by his consideration.
"Teldryn is a very capable spellsword. He'd be a strong ally to have watching your back," he says. "Been a while since he's had an employer."
"Likely because his fee is quite high," I respond, returning my attention back to the table.
The Breton nods. "But worth every copper from what I've heard."
I still can think of no compelling reason to hire him other than it is better his death than my own, should it come to that. Perhaps that is reason enough. It is also quite apparent that Solstheim is very much different from Skyrim, and it could serve me well to have a guide to cut down on the time I have to spend wandering lost. Still, I cannot justify the price he wants me to pay for his services.
"You've piqued my interest," I tell him. "Besides, I should thank him for the drink."
"Of course," he says. "The name's Glover Mallory, by the way."
"Any relation to Delvin Mallory?" I ask as I stand up, retrieving my sword and gauntlets.
"Yeah, he's my brother."
"Ah. He's a good friend of mine. We do a lot of business together," I respond, smiling in a way that should indicate everything else I cannot say. Glover returns that smile, and I know he understands.
"Give him my regards next time you see him," he says, and I assure him I will. We part ways, and I walk to Teldryn's table, wordlessly taking a seat next to him.
"So nice of you to join me," Teldryn says, looking quite pleased.
"Glover told me a bit about you," I say without acknowledgment.
"All good things, I presume?" he asks.
"I'm willing to make a deal with you," I say, ignoring him again.
"What do you have in mind?" he asks, suddenly growing serious.
"2,000 septims, and twenty-five percent of anything paid to me while you are in my service," I respond.
"Less than half my price," Teldryn says, and I can hear in his voice that he is more entertained than insulted. "A very . . . tempting offer."
"Tell me about your last patron," I say while he rather dramatically mulls it over. "How long might it have been since you had one?"
At this, he looks quite perturbed, so it is clear I finally struck a nerve. "I can't help that Solstheim is not the most prosperous place to work in."
"Right, and now I am offering you work," I say as I rise to my feet, gathering my belongings. "If you decide to come with me, we leave first thing in the morning. I hope to see you then."
He says nothing as I leave the table and find Geldis to purchase lodging for the night. Once I pay him, he leads me to my room and leaves me to my own accord, wishing me a good night. I place my sword in the weapon rack by the door then go about removing my armor, afterward putting on the tunic for sleeping that I carry with me in my backpack. Once I am settled, I sit down in bed and write in my journal, recounting the day. When I am finished, I set it aside and lay down to rest.