Arvil Bren's Journal

by Timsup2nothin

Arvil Bren, a wizard of Breton descent, follows a harrowing path across the mysterious island of Vvardenfell. He is a pawn in a game played by unseen powers, by unknown rules.

2. Chapter 2

Day Forty-one: Heart of the Dunmer

Frequently I have heard the hissed "outlander" from some passing Dunmer and felt outrage. Often I have felt the sting of their prejudice. Often I have felt that kindred spirit with the bandit, the rogue, the opportunist. Today I feel none of that.

I left this morning after enjoying breakfast with Drulene. I said nothing about returning, and she did not ask. She squealed with delight when I returned this evening though, but perhaps it had more to do with the two guar I led. One of the guar belongs to a neighbor, and Drulene will return it tomorrow, the other was the prize of her herd.

I headed south this morning, searching for any sign that would lead me to the camp of the bandits that had plagued the area. I thought to reason with them. As the morning wore away and my path seemed to wind fruitlessly through the grassy hills I began to doubt that I would find them, and began to wonder at myself for the effort. I could think of no excuse to return to Drulene's farm to report having looked in vain, but I wanted to see her again. I used my boots to ascend the highest peak in the area, and was rewarded with a most confusing vista.

On the far side of the peak, nestled against the lower slope, stood the familiar arch of an ancestral tomb. In my early days in Morrowind I pillaged such tombs haphazardly, and recently I very purposefully took a skull of a revered ancestor from another, but I would never contemplate the desecration I found today. Outside the tomb grazed two tethered guar, in an area well cropped by their feeding. I could only assume the bandits were inside, and had been for quite some time.

I slid down the slope and entered the tomb. It was typical of such places, a long stair descended to a door, which opened into a long entry chamber lined with blocky stone altars. On the altars stood the familiar burial urns, which I knew would contain the remains of honored family members. The doors had been left carelessly ajar, and I dispatched a rat who had found its way into the hallowed interior. At the far end of the entry hall another door stood, and I crept forward through the chattering wails of the disturbed spirits.

Beyond the door was a chapel. One of the Dunmer's many revered texts lay at the base of a lectern, pulled down by yet another monstrous rat. I destroyed the vermin with my spear, but my anger was building at the thoughtless bandits who I was sure were sheltering here. As my anger grew the spirits seemed to subside, perhaps sensing that swift justice was about to befall those who defiled this place. I crossed the chapel and swung open the door to the inner crypt.

The bandits had constructed cots on the raised altar, and were roasting meat on spits over a fire built in the sacred fire pit. Sizzling grease spattered into the age old ashes of a Dunmer family. My stomach heaved. The wood elves dropped their half cooked lunches and sprang to the attack. I was enraged. I now have a clear understanding of the berserker attacks of the Nords. I could not say how they got there, but the two bandits lay dead at my feet. I leaned on my spear, panting heavily, bleeding from minor wounds. The spirits chatter, so ominous to my ears on all my previous excursions into these depths, now soothed the fire in my heart.

I did not know how to set the tomb right. I piled the bandits belongings in the entry, along with their corpses. Hopefully the family will find them and be appeased. I led the guar back here. Drulene's initial outburst crashed when she saw my wounds, which I had done little to attend to. She treated them tenderly, and listened quietly as I told the tale. In the end I could only look into those red eyes and moan out an apology, a wrenching lament for what other outlanders had done, and no doubt would continue to do. In her beautiful face I could see the heart of the Dunmer people.

Day Forty-two: Questions or peace?

In prison I wrote every day. I spread myself across paper, where I could my father hanged himself in a cell down the hall I spread out my torment, and I survived. I wrote every day, filling the empty void of days. Now mostly I write at night as my days are full. Perhaps, sometimes, I write just from habit, but I find I cannot sleep otherwise. Often it seems just a recap of a days events, offering me little glimpse into myself. Today must be different, and I write here in the broad daylight, perched on a fence, soothed by the satisfied grunting of the guar herd. Drulene has gone to her neighbor to return the guar. I look to my journal in search of myself.

The legend of the Nerevarine haunts me. My sleep was disturbed by a dream. My thoughts linger on the desecrated tomb. The swirl of Morrowind politics threatens to engulf me. I do not know where to turn, or who to trust.

The Tribunal Temple reveres the memory of Nerevar. Their greatest general; a contemporary of the immortal living gods who reign supreme in the ancestral pantheon of the Dunmer; the Tribunal. Nerevar, who in a way seems to have been even greater than the three who survive, was lost, but not forgotten. Would the Tribunal welcome their lost brother's return if the prophecy were fulfilled? They persecute the Nerevarene cult, and put down the prophecy. Do they know it false? Or fear it true?

And the Empire; where would they stand really? The Dunmer whisper that only Nerevar has ever truly united them, and wait for the Nerevarine to do so once more. The Empire uses the splits and tensions among the Temple and the ruling houses to keep Morrowind under thrall. But the Emperor knows this province has never been truly conquered. Morrowind squirms under the Imperial heel, perhaps dangerous in its unrest. A false Nerevarine would serve them well. They may intend to create a Nerevarene, and they may be using me as the raw material. Am I the only one, or like Sharn sending me for the skull, am I just the latest one?

What if they succeed? Could I deliver the Dunmer, falsely united, to some final break in their resistance? How would I bear my own reflection if I falsly led these proud people into Imperial ways, leaving their tombs to the bandits and their hearts to the cliff racers?

Imperial rule brings peace and prosperity; a rule of law, and comfort. But in the wake of that law ride the lawless, the bandits and freebooters pulled along to the edge of the civilization. Under the weight of invading law the pride of a nation twists into the bigoted hatred of the Cammona Tong. In Vvardenfell, the land itself seems to resist, and Red Mountain may roar its protest. The Dwemer could not stand against it, what chance the Empire?

I was born on the day, to the uncertain parents. Could I actually be the Nerevarine? Me, a Breton of High rock? But if I couldn't be the Nerevarine the Empire wouldn't consider trying to pass me off as the Nerevarine. I am spread on the paper of this journal, spread thin, but I still don't see.

Later. Even with my journal sated for the day, I cannot sleep without writing. I spent the day laughing with Drulene, hearding the guar, tending the plants. The work was hard, and early sleep should come easily. To be the Nerevarine must I have the heart of a Dunmer, or merely hold one dear?

Day Forty-three: Out of the shack and into the fire

I am settled in at the guild hall in Ald-ruhn, having spent the day moving once more. Clearing all my possessions out of the shack was bittersweet, but after recent events I am less inclined to a hermit's existence. It seems nowhere is remote enough to avoid the Dark Brotherhood. I will have to safeguard my survival with movement, not isolation. With that in mind I have begun the process of separating my various shops and equipments.

Here in Ald-ruhn I established my library. I have accumulated quite a few books in my travels, and today purchased a few more. In a booksellers shop in Balmora I found the rare volume Edwinna wanted, Chronicles of Nehuleft. I also picked up my own copies of History of the Empire, and a book on the Dark Brotherhood. This historical perspective has kept me in my chamber since dinner, for it seems a familiarity with my enemies could only help me. No startling revelations leapt forth however.

The dinner table here is quite different from meals in the Balmora guild hall. The focus on scholarship is very much in evidence. Anarenen it seems can be counted on at any meal to hold forth on some aspect of alchemy until literally told that everyone has heard enough. I will probably learn more over dinners than I would have with all my experimentation. Edwinna is more of a quiet watcher, but I did get her animated attention by mentioning my trip to Arkngthand. I think it will not be long before we are having a very frank conversation about Dwemer artifacts and Imperial law. My supply of Dwemer artifacts I left stored in my cave, close enough for accessing the trader in Pelagiad. I am sure I have far more than he can afford, but if I take all I can carry every time I visit the town it should make a profitable sideline.

A profitable sideline with the added benefit of visiting Ahnassi. Despite the alluring Drulene Falen and the peaceful idyll of her farm I have not been able to get the lovely Khajiit out of my mind. The secret of my cave must be protected though, so I dare not visit Pelagiad yet. There is a spell which I have seen on scrolls that will allow me to transport myself from the cave directly to the Imperial Shrine at the Pelagiad fort. I can load my pack with artifacts and use that spell, so no one will ever see me enter or leave the cave. Problem being that I do not know that spell, and presently do not have any scrolls to use either. I will check the supply chest tomorrow.

A knock on my door interrupted my writing. Ajira come to tell me that Hasphat Antabolis has been to the guild looking for me. I trust the master at arms of the Balmora Fighter's Guild well enough. But how many people know to look for me at the Mage's Guild. And how safe is Ajira, if she becomes known as someone who knows how to find me?

Day Forty-four: The political cauldron of Caldera

My loyalties are plagued by conflict tonight. The Emperor did not release me out of a newfound vein of good will. I am sure I am being manipulated somehow, used as a pawn in a game to bring the province of Morrowind further to heel. It is in my nature to rebel; disappear and let the Empire sort its problems out on someone else's back. But everywhere I turn the Empire shows more good than bad, and the firm loyalty of my fellow Blades operatives seems to be seeping into me. Tonight I sleep as a guest of Surane Leoriane, a fellow Breton and a member of the Blades.

She is a tremendously skilled mage, and an exceptional trainer. In our home province of High Rock she could be living a life of ease and comfort. Among the Redguards, mighty warriors but hardly skilled in the arts of magic, her healing skills alone would give her luxury like a queen. She has spurned all that to come to the backwater of the Empire, Vvardenfell, where she watches the operation of a mining company. She watches for corruption. I see it as corruption that the Emperor can just declare all the ebony in the nearby mines to be imperial property, then give out mining rights as reward, or whim. This town of Caldera, placid on the surface, boils with unknown intrigue just below.

First question on everyone's mind is how House Hlaalu ended up administering the mines in the first place. When Vvardenfell was opened to settlement the Tribunal Temple lost what had been total control of the island, but only relatively small districts were given to the houses Hlaalu, Redoran, and Telvanni. This rich ebony mine would seem to have remained under Temple control. Mining being a secular activity there could be an argument made for bringing in one of the great houses, but given the existing districts that should have been the Redorans. Surane does not want to look at it, since it is outside the scope of her investigations, but some sort of high level graft brought the Hlaalus here in the first place. Now the imperial accountants are in a stew, thinking the Hlaalus are skimming away the profits. What did they expect when they took the Hlaalu's bribes? Now Surane is tasked with stopping the current graft, but encouraged by her own loyalty to not accidentally stir up something she doesn't want to know out of the past.

To me the real quagmire is the question of slavery. In submitting to imperial rule without actually being conquered the Dunmer held the right to their ancient traditions, and slavery is allowed in Morrowind under imperial law. But the slaves are mostly Khajiit and Argonians; imperial citizens. They don't just spring out of the ground, at some point they are captured, obviously illegally, but once in Morrowind they are bound by law. The Empire won't stop the slave trade since their own ebony mines require the slaves to operate. At the same time the Dunmer are furious that escaped slaves that successfully get out of Morrowind cannot be legally recovered, leaving the lawful slaveholders at the mercy of underground organizations who spirit slaves away to their homeland. It is a tangled web.

Just as tangled in my own head. No matter how the profits generated on the backs of slaves get divided, it will never seem fair to me anyway. The seizure and distribution of mining rights started out corrupt, what purpose is served by cleaning it up partway now? But Surane is so clear, so focused. Since I have no idea which way to turn I am left to turn her way by default. Which brings me once again to serving the Empire, for good or ill. I'm afraid it will always be some of both.

I walked from Ald-ruhn, thinking I would have time to think, sort out my loyalties. Perhaps I did, but once again the destination created more questions than the journey answered. Fortunately I can walk on tomorrow for Balmora, leaving the problems of Caldera in Surane's capable hands.

Day Forty-five: Things we do for love

I made a quick dash this morning to Balmora to check in with Hasphat. He has solved the riddles of his puzzle box. He made a key that he thinks will fit a door somewhere in Arkngthand. He was quite proud of himself, and I was also much impressed by his ingenuity. I was honored and surprised when he gave me the key. The right thing to do would probably have been staying in Balmora and having lunch with him, but I felt pressed for time, although I was trying not to admit to myself why I was anxious. I told myself that I had left quite a treasure in the cave near Pelagiad. I told myself that I was focused on the business to transact with Mebastian Ence. I told myself everything but that I was looking forward to seeing Ahnassi. Then I ran into a stunning display of what love can do to people.

I thanked Hasphat for the key and promised him that any unique artifacts I found when I returned to Arkngthand I would share with him, then used my recall spell to return to the cave. All seemed well, my treasures undisturbed. I opened the door to let some fresh air clear the mustiness that had set in, and my sense of well being evaporated. Not far away, along the main road, a swirl of smoke rose curling into the air. Someone had a campfire burning; probably cooking their lunch. I crept out of the cave and into the underbrush, curving away from the unknown campsite.

When I reached the main road I headed north, maintaining the air of a nonchalant traveler. When the campsite came into view I was surprised to see a lone Breton woman; quite a beautiful woman in fact. When she saw me approaching she hurried to meet me, fairly shouting down the road to ask if I had seen a bandit lurking about. Completely misunderstanding her I began to pledge myself to her defense, thinking this would restore some calm. She would have none of that. She was not fearing robbery, in fact she had already been robbed. She was waiting, in hopes for the robber's return. Somehow in the course of having her jewelry stolen she had become quite smitten with the rogue. I shook my head in amazement. Then she mentioned the name; Nelos. If only I had been prepared to keep my features better composed.

She saw the flash of recognition and sprang at me, eyes blazing into my own. "You know him!" she cried. "You must tell him I wait for him. You must!" She removed one of her intricately embroidered gloves and pressed it into my hand. "You must deliver this token to him!" I wanted to point out that he already had her jewels, and one would think that was token enough, but I could not bring myself to break such a fair maiden's heart. I took the glove and continued to the north until I was safely out of sight, then ducked into the bushes and transported back to my cave. I had not the least expectation that Nelos Onmar would be interested in Maurrie Aurmine's glove, and wondered how I could go back and tell her in a way that would be least painful. I also considered selling the glove and joining Nelos in disappearing from her life forever so as not to have to face her with any bad news.

I set up my armory there in the cave and put a fine new point to my spear, restrung my bow, and polished up my bonemold armor. Then I loaded a pack with as much Dwemer material as I could unobtrusively carry and used the intervention scroll that put me at the nearest Imperial Shrine; in this case right in the courtyard of the fort at Pelagiad. There was a secret thrill in appearing there laden with contraband artifacts, but the guards had no reason to suspect and treated me with nothing but respect as I made my way out into the village. The trader Ence had already had lunch, but agreed to join me for a drink at the Halfway Tavern. We left his guard to watch his shop and crossed the street to conduct our business away from that worthy. The guard is provided by the Imperial Legion; it would not sit well to deal in Dwemer artifacts right under his nose.

The Halfway was quiet, and Drelasa Ramothran provided me a wonderful meal. She also came to our rescue when Ence and I reached an impasse in our negotiations. It turned out that I had brought too much; more than Ence could afford to pay a fair price for with the gold he had available. I thought he was just being obstinate, and was slowly losing patience with my fellow Breton. As could be expected, the more agitated we became the more formal and stilted our conversation, until we were both so stuffy that we could hardly understand each other. Drelasa stepped in with the kind of smooth light tone that only a master of the publican's trade can produce, and like magic our good will was restored. In the sudden eye in the hurricane of rhetoric I could see the problem clearly, as could Ence, and we worked out a deal that favored both of us and Drelasa as well.

Ence gave her a very good deal on a large stock of liquor, which gave him sufficient gold to take all my artifacts at a bargain, but fair, price. For my part I promised Drelasa to spend a quantity of my newly acquired gold raising good sport in her tavern, to help reduce the sudden excess in her inventory. The deal struck, I followed Ence back to his shop and enlisted the assistance of his guard to carry the liquor back to Drelasa. Ence took the opportunity to stash his new artifacts, and the guard got word that the Halfway Tavern would be the place to be this evening. Things were really starting to shape up for a wild time. Then in walked Nelos.

Drelasa immediately accosted him about providing entertainment, and he agreed to play his lute in return for a reasonable tab at the bar. Then I approached him, holding the glove. He looked at it curiously, then raised his laughing red eyes and cocked an eyebrow. "What's this, Breton? Has some damsel given you a glove and you seek my advice? I am a bit of an expert, and would gladly help you, but I am a bit parched..." Ever the rogue. He had just settled for free drinks for the evening, but had to maneuver for more.

"Actually Nelos, the damsel sent the glove for you, not me. I too would gladly offer advice, on such matters as where to find her for instance, but like you I am a bit parched, and unlike you I don't have an open tab." I slid onto a seat beside the raffish Dunmer and grinned.

Drelasa set down two tankards and laughed. "These first lot are on the house, no ones tab but mine," she sang. "Nelos, you may have met your match in Arvil Bren. Watch your step, you two might talk each other into serious trouble before the night is through." We could not help but join her merry laughter as she sauntered away.

We raised our glasses and I came out with the story of Maurrie's glove as concisely as I could. To my surprise the rogue seemed touched immediately upon hearing her name, and positively moved as I continued to tell him how she had demanded I find him. I have seen my father lie with utter conviction, and express the complete range of emotions without feeling a twitch. I know a fake. Nelos was not faking. He had genuinely fallen for the girl. Again I shook my head in disbelief. He called to Drelasa for a quill, ink, and paper.

"You must take her this note Arvil Bren, I cannot go for I have promised to play," he said with his voice cracking with emotion. I calculated; he could get back in time, if he hurried, but he probably would not come back if he went to the girl. I took the note.

When she saw me coming down the road at a trot Maurrie leapt to her feet. "Did you find him?" she cried. When I told her that I had she threw her arms around me, and I struggled to bring his note out of my pouch. She read it rapidly, then again slowly, small moaning sighs breathing from her lips. I have never seen two people so in love. "He could not come because he is playing music at a tavern?" she asked. Then continued before I could answer, "How far is it? Will you take me there?" She abandoned her camp, and we rushed back to Pelagiad.

As we walked Maurrie chattered about a friend of hers that she thought I should meet. Having found her love she wanted the same for me I suppose. I'm sure her friend in distant Tel Aruhn is a charming and beautiful woman, but the heady atmosphere of being the go between for this surprising couple was overpowering me, and I could barely hear her for thinking of my tiger Ahnassi. We are so unlike, but there is something about her. When we arrived at the Halfway Tavern Maurrie leapt into Nelos' arms and I thought she was oblivious to me. Being new friends Ahnassi and I did not greet each other quite so flamboyantly, but apparently something was obvious. Maurrie caught my ear and whispered "I see you won't be visiting Emusette any time soon Arvil Bren." She smiled a dazzling smile at Ahnassi and swept back to Nelos.

I had spent my day running errands for love; the love of others. This evening love made a direct demand of me. As we danced Ahnassi drifted back and forth from bright happiness to a strange melancholy that she would pass off when I mentioned it. Finally I sat her down and pressed through her reluctance to find out the problem. She came out with the answer and tears welled in her eyes. "I must leave Vvardenfell," she said. I was stunned.

"Why?" was all I could manage to stammer. Suddenly how much I cared for this exotic beauty was crystal clear. As she explained my blood roared in my ears, and the edges of my vision narrowed until all I could see was her face. Ahnassi is Thieve's Guild, and the Cammona Tong is threatening her. Her oaths as a monk prevent her from acting, other than in her immediate defense. She sees no alternative but to leave. "Who has threatened you?" I grated through clenched teeth.

"His name is Daren Adryn, friend Arvil Bren, but I cannot ask you to take his life..." she started, but stopped when she saw my face. At mention of the name my temper scaled a new height. Daren Adryn was the Tong boss in Gnaar Mok. He was responsible for selling me out to the Dark Brotherhood when they came looking for me. He had cost me my home. Now he would cost Ahnassi hers. My seething blood crystalized, like bitter ice.

"You have not asked, my beautiful tiger. Your oath is intact. Now here is mine. You need not fear this man. You need not fear his minions. The Cammona Tong of the Bitter Coast may still walk, briefly, but they are dead men."

Day Forty-six: In the cave of the Sixth House

I look at myself tonight and wonder, what has Vvardenfell made of me? I have a room at the South Wall for the night. Bacola Closcius, the proprietor, raised an eyebrow at my bloodied clothes, but asked no questions. Since his establishment is the base for the local Theive's Guild I expected none from him. The local authorities were less complacent.

I had already had a harrowing morning when I arrived in Balmora. While mapping the coast for Nine-Toes I located a number of caves that I suspected were in use by smugglers. What smugglers serve the Cammona Tong, and who does not? I have no way to know without checking for myself. In my rage I knew no fear of these self styled guardians of Dunmer purity. This morning I found that the caves of the Bitter Coast can harbor things far more frightening, and deadly. I set out from Pelagiad, headed for a cave on a small island southeast of Seyda Neen.

I crept into the cave warily. Smugglers can be expected to post guards. I found none. The interior passage was well lighted, groups of red candles burned on many rocks and ledges, casting a flickering glow. The floor showed the passage of many feet. Bare feet. A strange odor wafted through the passages, a putrid scent of decayed flesh. This was no smuggler's hide out. Not far inside the cave I came upon a man, kneeling, gnawing at a chunk of bleeding meat. I watched in horror. The man wore only ragged pants. His sides were scored with bulbous scars; wounds badly healed. Along his lower ribs blood oozed from a fresh jagged wound. It was healing rapidly, flesh forming as I watched. The wound, the meat; I gagged on the realization. He was eating his own flesh.

The sounds of choking down bile roused the monster from its grisly repast and it lurched to its feet. Still spitting and gasping for air I staggered backwards. The monster came at me with a lumbering gait, arms outstretched. No intellect graced its eyes, only hatred burned in those vacant orbs. In horrified shock I struggled to free my bow, then gave up and fled towards the daylight. At the entrance to the cave I turned. With distance some sense of calm returned. The creature shambled up the slope of the long straight passage to the surface. I could see that what had been a gaping wound in its side was almost completely healed and I abandoned the idea of killing it by conventional means. Forming my hands in the requisite curve, with thumbs linked together, I cast the spell. Magical flames erupted, forming a ball which I launched with a push. The cleansing magical fire scoured the monster, and it stopped its advance briefly. Skin curled and fell in blackened rolls that shattered on the stony floor, and fluids steamed from the staggered monster's oozing flesh, but it resumed its course. I repeated the spell, and the monster collapsed. The stench of burning flesh overcame me, and I could no longer choke down my rising gorge.

When I had recovered I gave serious thought to just turning and leaving. If the Cammona Tong had ever been there, they weren't now. I couldn't though. Bits of rumor and Caius' questions were starting to fit together, and I slowly realized that I was standing in a den of the Sixth House Cult. How the self devouring horror related to the ancient House Dagoth I had no idea, but I had to make at least some effort at investigation. I readied my bow and willed my feet to carry me back into the depths of the cave.

When I reached the spot where I had encountered the monster, clearly marked by the lump of meat abandoned on the stone floor, I faced a choice. I cast a wary glance down a side passage, and went straight ahead down the slope. I did not get far. The way was blocked by a deep crevice. On the far side a ledge fronted a closed door set into the wall. I returned to the side passage and turned to follow its narrow twisting course. The passage eventually widened, forming a natural chamber in the grey native stone. Across the chamber the passage continued, and another small cave opened on the wall high above with a rockfall providing a chance to scramble up. At the bottom of the fall lay a Dunmer corpse. Intricately decorated bonemold boots still graced its feet, and a matching shield, badly abused, lay discarded nearby. Much of the meat had been torn from the body.

Further examination of the body was stopped by the entrance of another horrible mockery of a man. This time there were no bulging scars, and he moved gracefully as he leapt into a defensive crouch and began weaving a spell. He was no longer human though, if indeed he ever had been. It was grey. Not a grey like a skin of some different hue. The brown skin of a Redguard, the bluish skin of a Dunmer, they are still skin. This man was grey, a powdery grey, as if he was made of ash; even his eyes. The creature muttered incantations, and a ball of sparks sailed towards me. I gulped a potion Ajira had made for me, and a barrier of my own magical electricity erupted around me. The two charges intermingled, popping and flashing, but the barrier held, and I returned fire with my own spell. The flames did not burn the creature visibly, it seemed already charred to an ashen waste, but it did weaken and grow more emaciated as the magica chorused around it. Volley after volley surged between us, and I would surely have been reduced to a smoking ruin without my shielding. The monster fared less well. Repeated immersion in the searing flames completely dessicated it, and it fell into an ashy cloud that settled rapidly to the floor.

I climbed up the rockfall and found another corpse, in similar condition to the first. I took their boots, and intricately woven belts. The belts seem to bear some sort of insignia, and I suspect will be identifiable to someone better versed in the politics of Morrowind than I. I teleported to my storage cave. I could face no more of the Sixth House Cult today.

I spent much of the afternoon repairing the battered shield. The workmanship is exceptional, on the shield and the boots. When I departed my cave I regretfully left my levitating boots behind. These boots are far too comfortable, and give so much better protection, that I had to wear them. After visiting Wyan the armorer though I am not sure. He bought the extra pair for an excellent price, but informed me that they are a product of House Indoril, a great house that is not represented on Vvardenfell. Here on the island they are worn almost exclusively by Tribunal Temple ordinators. The belts verified that, indeed, the bodies I had found were ordinators. I described the creature, which Wyan identified as an ash slave, and he commended me for my good sense in deserting the cave. In his view whatever had killed the two ordinators had to be significantly more dangerous that that. I'm glad I departed without facing it.

When I left the Fighter's Guild hall I went to the Council Club. I hoped to gather information from the bartender there about the Tong. It is my actions there that concern me. I complain about Ranis sending me on missions of thuggery for the guild. I condemn the Tong out of hand. But what of me? As I approached, two Dunmer emerged, carrying their drinks to the rooftop tables. I have seen them around Balmora. Certainly they sympathize with the Tong, but I doubt they posed any active threat to Ahnassi. I slaughtered them like pigs. It is more good fortune than good planning that leaves me a free man.

When the authorities arrived I stood dripping blood, my two antagonists sprawled at my feet. Their weapons, which had availed them little against my bloodlust, lay scattered about them. Two things saved me from prison. A caravaner, from his vantage point atop the strider port, reported a clear view of events. What he saw was two Dunmer springing to the attack. He couldn't hear me hissing to them that I had slain the Tong's leaders and had returned for them. His report was the first thing. The second, I think, was some behind the scenes effort by Caius. I saw Caius' courier, Rithleen, come and go in the crowd which had gathered, and not long after a higher ranking member of the Hluulu guards arrived and I was turned loose. Afterwards Nine-Toes hissed in my ear; "Best not to see Caius today, apprentice. Better to get out of town for a while" I was startled by the disembodied voice, but managed not to draw attention to the invisible Argonian.

In the morning I will take his advice. I leave before dawn, for Hla Oad.

Day Forty-seven: Pirate

Now I am a pirate. Unfortunately, other than sleeping on it I have no idea what to do with this ship. I cannot sail her by myself. I know nothing about sailing anyway. She is fully laden with a cargo of illegal ebony, and I would hate to abandon her. Perhaps by morning I will have an idea.

I found the Grytewake at a dock near the mouth of the Odai by following her Nord crew. Their treks through the marsh from a nearby cave were marked by alternating disgruntled complaining with gleeful proclamations of wealth. They made many trips. I hid among the trees and marsh grasses. I would have been happy to leave these smugglers to their work, but I wanted to find out who they were working with. When I saw a group of Dunmer emerge from the cave I listened closely, and confirmed my suspicions. I allowed the Dunmer to pass, although the thousands of gold pieces they carried were bound for Orvas Dren, kingpin of the Cammona Tong. The couriers are not local operatives, no threat to Ahnassi, and no concern of mine.

I even considered waiting for the ship to sail. These Nords do not concern me either. I chose not to for a number of reasons; hundreds of pounds of reasons actually. Ebony. I wanted to find out, if I could, where the Cammona Tong came up with such a shipment of ebony. I owed it to my fellow Blade, Surane Leoriane, to see if this shipment has a link to the Caldera Mines. Searching through the ship's papers has revealed nothing. All I can do is take her the names Thervam Drelas and Ralos Othrenium. Those two were the Tong members left with the Nords. Left to die.

I have nine more deaths on my conscience, but they do not weigh heavily. Smugglers, battle hardened; they chose their lot. For the Nords especially there was likely no better end they would have chosen than to die in battle, though perhaps not this battle. This one they might call unfair. I watched them as they trudged through the swamps lading their cargo. I waited in the darkness near the cave mouth when sunset stopped their efforts; waited listening to the revelry within. I watched as many of the crew staggered drunkenly to their ship. Then I struck.

The first officer was still in the cave, completing the transaction with the Dunmer or just too drunk to return to the ship. Drelas and his Redguard lackey fell defending the door, Othrenium and the Nord officer deep within. There is still loot in the cave, to be sifted from the refuse of the evening's festivities. Given the number of empty bottles killing them may have done them a favor; they would have been miserable in the morning. Those on the ship were easier prey, most having fallen into drunken slumber.

I would guess there are close to three hundred pounds of ebony on board, plus provisions for a long journey. I will have to leave the ship, obviously. I could transport the valuable cargo to my cave, but that would set me further back in my march on Hla Oad. I will decide with the dawn.

Day Forty-Eight: The slave traders

I am taking my bed tonight in the master's cabin aboard Grytewake; a fine jest. We will sail on the pre-dawn tide, and I will be a hand with the sails; a barely able hand. Wadarkhu's crew is short for manning a deep water vessel like Grytewake, and I will have to be made useful.

When I awoke this morning my mind immediately sprang to Wardarkhu as the answer to the question of what to do with this ship. I raced into Hla Oad and located Pallia Ceno. Pallia was the only person in Hla Oad who was even remotely civil during my last visit. She is an initiate in the Imperial Cult. While the Empire allows and encourages religious freedom in all of its provinces it does actively support the official beliefs of native Cyrodiil. Throughout the Empire order is maintained by the Imperial Legions, and civilization is maintained by the Imperial Cult. Pallia represents the cult here in the backwaters of the Bitter Coast. I admire her courage, particularly considering the strong influence of the Cammona Tong in Hla Oad. While she would like me to take the oath and join the Cult as a lay member, she is willing to help me out as my friend. A generous donation to her cause helped. I put her aboard the Harpy, bound for Gnaar Mok.

The Cammona Tong operates freely and openly in Hla Oad. I spent the rest of the morning sorting the wheat from the chaff, so to speak. There are some honest fishermen, drawing their living from the sea and swamps, and Perien Aurelie the pawnbroker treated me fairly enough, but otherwise the town is run by the Tong. There was not much wheat to be found. I was taken aback by how pervasive the Tong is here, and briefly doubted my commitment to their elimination. Many members of the Tong claim they are just a society of businessmen, and I wonder how the business of Hla Oad would get done without them. There is not much business to do, but would Perien be able to take it all in the absence of the trader Tresteve? Dalam Gavyn is the only smith. Would another take his place if the Tong's influence were broken? My doubts were removed when I met Relem Arinith. A perfect example of the 'businessmen' of the Cammona Tong. I can hardly wait for his blood to darken my spear.

When I first laid eyes on Arinith he held a cruel leather lead in his hand. Bound by the lead was a Khajiit. Her fur was matted, and her eyes dulled by misery. My stomach turned at the thought that my dear Ahnassi could be subject to such a fate if the Cammona Tong's bigoted views were allowed to flourish. We were in the caverns beneath Fat-legs Drop Off, Tresteve's trading establishment, and surrounded by Cammona Tong and other witnesses. My hands itched, but I kept my spear in its sling. Cunning and diplomacy; I would buy the slave, whose name was Rabinna, and reclaim my gold from Arinith's corpse later. He would not sell.

"You could not afford her outlander," he said. "She does not look like much, but she has a great inner worth." He barked a short evil laugh, and was joined by the rest of the toughs gathered nearby. I did not get the joke. If I had understood the grotesque reference I would have gutted them all on the spot, despite all consequence. Arinith continued; "You may be able to buy her from Vorar Helas outlander. She is payment of a debt I owe him." He gave the lead a vicious yank. If you want her so badly, deliver her to him in Balmora, and perhaps he will sell." I recognized the name. Vorar Helas was a neighbor of Caius; a sneering, ill-tempered fellow. Hearing his name in this context marked him unsurprisingly as Cammona Tong. I knew Wadarkhu would not arrive before dark. I took the job.

Rabinna followed, docile and subdued, as I sped for Balmora. She expressed no complaint at the fast pace I set. She showed no curiosity when I turned off the road and approached the city over the hills east of the river. I used a pass that I had noted because it provided direct access to Caius' house. We descended unobserved to the roof of Helas' house, and slipped in through an upper balcony. Before Helas could raise an outcry, I showed him the cowering slave I had brought.

"Good work outlander," he hissed. "Using you is a master stroke. Relem is even more clever than I thought."

"Too clever by half," I said. "I'll be taking Rabinna with me. He would not sell her, and I promised to deliver her to you, to give you one chance to sell her."

"She is worthless outlander, a cat with a veneer of civilization. But she is a fine shipping container, and after I slit her belly open you can have her for nothing. Disposing of the corpse is always a task I'd rather avoid anyway." With that the vile smuggler cast a paralyzation spell on me and advanced on Rabinna, drawing a wicked dagger.

The small vial of protective potion in my belt pouch pulsed magica into my frozen body, drawing my hand. My thumb popped the cap as it came to my lips. As the fluid poured in full freedom of movement exploded into my limbs.

Helas and his dagger may have been ideally suited for killing a cowed slave, but they were no match for my spear, or my fury. There may be relative innocents among the Tong, but I will have no remorse for disemboweling Vorar Helas and leaving him to die slowly, clutching his entrails.

I couldn't leave Rabinna in the house with the corpse, but I certainly have no desire for a slave. I brought her back to the ship, and my meeting with Wadarkhu. The wrapping on the moon sugar the smugglers forced her to swallow will break down, and she will face some rough times. Wadarkhu will see her through, and I will meet her again at Gnaar Mok. Before then I will return to Fat-Legs Drop Off. The Cammona Tong there, with their laughs about her 'inner worth', will get a sense of my humor.

Day Forty-nine: The fall of Daren Adryn

Tonight I can barely hold quill to paper. Drunkenness. Result of celebration, or a search for oblivion? I am a killing machine. Five more lives snuffed out, and more tomorrow. Deservedly so, but why by my hand? What fate has sent me to Vvardenfell as the right hand of death?

This morning was glorious; sailing the open water, clean sea air. Grytewake is a prize that gave even the gruff Wadarkhu a spring in his steps. His command of the ship, the loyalty of his crew, not only to him but to each other, spoke volumes. I helped with the rigging, and worked cheerfully as directed. I was the pirate who delivered the prize, and I was treated well. Still I couldn't help but notice the sideways glances and wary eyes. When we reached deep water the bodies of the former crew and their accomplices were dumped over the side. I did not help with that. I wasn't asked.

We brought the ship in to a secret dock and boarded Wadarkhu's coaster. I was again useful as we transferred the bulk of the provisions to the smaller ship. The cargo of ebony we buried. Neither Wadarkhu or I know a buyer for such a load. We will both be looking. We are agreed that the profit from the cargo is mine, the ship is Wadarkhu's. As we shook on the deal the cynical Khajiit smuggler spoke with morbid humor. "If you find a buyer my good friend Arvil Bren, try not to kill them." Only Wadarkhu was in on the plan for the rest of my activities today, so his low humor was understandable, but I couldn't bring myself to laugh.

The crew sailed for Gnaar Mok. On the smaller ship I was just a passenger. As we rounded the north end of the island I slipped over the side breathing water and swam stealthily ashore. Wadarkhu sailing brazenly to the dock gave me ample opportunity to slip into town. Coming from the north I had to slip past the manor house of Almse Arenim. The small Arenim clan is closely tied with Great House Hlaalu, and Almse is their agent in residence, administering their Bitter Coast holdings. She and her guards obviously have turned a blind eye to the activities of the Tong and there is a certain complicity in that, but House Hlaalu veers with the wind of profits. They are not themselves glaringly evil, and I would rather not put myself directly at odds with them. I was successful today, but the guard posted to Hla Oad may be a problem tomorrow.

I secreted myself near the shack that serves as headquarters for the Tong, and waited. Wadarkhu and the Hluulu guard were in a heated exchange on the dock. There was no contraband in the cargo, which Wadarkhu's crew were unloading and moving into the Druegh-jigger's Rest. The debate was about taxes, on the surface; the undercurrents were powerful, and obvious. Wadarkhu did not acquire the mountain of provisions, clothing, armor, and weapons on a 'trading voyage', as he was stridently claiming, and the guard knew it. Eventually Almse Arenim herself would be down at the dock, taxes would be levied, and the excitement would pass. But first the typical crowd would gather. I counted on that.

Among the early arrivals in the crowd was Nadene Rotheran. She provided the cover for the Tong's shelter. An innocent commoner paying a minimal stipend for her shack, making a meager living fishing and collecting mushrooms; she goes unquestioned about the coming and going of her frequent guests. Unquestioned by the legal authority at least. I didn't question either, I eavesdropped. As she and another woman pulled away from the crowd and headed towards the shack I was delighted to hear "We have to get Daren. Can you believe the Theive's Guild? Sailing up to the dock in broad daylight like regular merchants?" They opened the door on my quarry.

Gulping a potion of invisibility I swept through the door in their wake. Their conversation clearly identified Daren Adryn. From his robes I guessed that he was a mage of some sort. From his rank in the Tong I guessed that would be a dangerous sort. The other toughs and thugs clearly deferred to him. I positioned myself so he was between me and the rest as my potion wore off. He roared in outrage and began casting a spell. He never finished, interrupted by his life blood gushing from his mouth as his lungs collapsed around the spear through his chest. The fall of their master put the rest in a frenzy, but they were also disheartened and rapidly fell before the gleaming point that dripped with his blood. I stood in the carnage gathering my breath.

Breath was all I had time to gather. The sounds of running feet, undoubtedly clad in the bonemold boots of a Hlaalu guard, were bearing down on the door. There may have been a slight swirl of magica lingering in the air when the guard burst in. I wouldn't know. I was reappearing in my cave.

As usual, my journal has served me well. The writing has sobered me somewhat, and given me perspective. It is not my place to question the fate that has brought me here, nor mine to judge the choices made by men such as Daren Adryn. All I can do is complete the task set before me, with steady hand and clear head. Tomorrow, Hla Oad.

Day Fifty: Fresh air in Hla Oad

It is time for me to move on once again. My presence in Hlaalu territory has become a problem; for them, for me, and for Caius. Ahnassi is certainly safe. It will be a long time before the Cammona Tong recovers their operations on the Bitter Coast, if the Thieve's Guild lets that happen at all.

This morning I woke refreshed, if a bit hung over. The early morning mist hung over Pelagiad, softening the outline of the fortress. The trunks of the great trees stood like pillars, their tops lost in the vaulted grey ceiling of the world. I left early rather than face breakfast at the inn. Preparing in solitude for the tasks of the day. On the shore of Lake Amaya I shot a mudcrab, and used the great shell as a pot to boil the legs.

The morning passed uneventfully. I have grown familiar with the region, and traveled paths seldom trod to arrive unseen at Hla Oad. With the full noonday sun shining down I donned a closed bonemold helm and descended the final hillside. The helm is of Redoran manufacture, and did bring a stare from the Hlaalu guard patrolling the docks. I hoped his curiosity would not drive him to hurriedly investigate as I ducked into Fat Legs Drop-off.

A closed face helmet does not make for a warm welcome, and the trader, Tresteve the Redguard, did not disappoint. His hand fell on a Nordic battle axe as he said "Hail stranger. It would be a courtesy to show yourself." On my previous visit to Hla Oad Tresteve had made it very clear that he would only deal with me at huge profit, he primarily serves the Cammona Tong. We did not part as friends. He was not happy with the helm's visor. When I raised it to reveal myself, and my death's head grin, he was even less happy. I ran my spear through him before he could raise the axe.

I lifted the trap door leading to the cavern and leapt down to the creaking wooden platform below. As my boots thumped wood I roared "For the Thieve's Guild! Honor of the Empire!" The Dunmer woman who served as the Tong's sentinel drew a dagger and charged. Shouts and the sound of running feet echoed through the chamber. I felled her with a whirling swipe of my spear and clattered down the steps.

Had the thugs of the Tong gathered themselves for a rush they would have presented much more of a challenge. It was unfortunate that Arinith was the first to arrive. He deserved a slower death. As it was I was compelled to dispatch him as quickly as possible. When his sword clanged to the stone floor and his hands batted feebly at the shaft of the spear lodged in his neck I gave it a vicious twist that yanked him to his knees. I dislodged him from the point with a boot sole to the face. The last words he heard as he went to his ancestors were "Rabinna has greater worth than you, inner or obvious." The others fell in turn, unremarked.

Perien Aurelie the pawnbroker cowered at the far end of the cavern. As I approached he said "I have no quarrel with your guild."

"I know Perien. And I have no quarrel with you. In fact I am counting on you to maintain the tradehouse. Tresteve is dead, as is every member and sympathizer of the Cammona Tong that has crossed my path. I have sailed the raging gale of death, but now I return to Mournhold. You do business with the Tong I will return for you." I stalked away, hoping the reference to Mournhold would throw some suspicion on the Dark Brotherhood.

I gathered whatever valuables I could find, including yet another cache of armor and weapons, and prepared to transport myself back to my cave. My heart nearly stopped when a familiar hiss erupted in my ear. "Arvil Bren!" My concentration broken, I stuttered the incantation and magica coursed aimlessly around me. Nine-toes emerged from the shadowy recess in which he had secreted himself. "This is indeed a surprise, pleasing or not."

In clipped sentences Nine-toes informed me that Caius, the spymaster of the Blades, had assigned him to find out what was going on in the Bitter Coast. The Cammona Tong's contacts have House Hlaalu in an uproar. There have been rumors that the Empire is somehow responsible, clandestinely intervening in the Tong's war with the Thieve's Guild. "When Caius finds out that there is an accidental truth to that rumor he is not going to be pleased apprentice," my Argonian comrade said. "The Hlaalu guards are on the lookout for spearmen, and they have not forgotten your altercation on the roof at the Council Club. You can't go to Balmora. I will inform Caius and have him meet you at Fort Moonmoth so you can explain yourself."

I had no chance to argue. Nine-toes spun at the sound of the trapdoor banging and disappeared in a flurry of magica. I slammed the visor of my helm shut. The Hlaalu guard saw nothing but a Redoran helm disappearing in the violet swirl of mystic energies as I transported away.

Day Fifty-one: Mission to Vivec City

Nine-toes had said to meet Caius at noon, so I rose early this morning. The journey to Moonmoth Fort was pleasant enough. In the dawn mists I decided to just accept that what I have done is done. If my assault on the Cammona Tong put a crimp in the Emperor's plan, that would just have to be straightened out. After that was settled in my own head it was just a comfortable hike with a bit of hunting along the way.

Then I met with Caius. He was furious. Not so much about my activities; I had just been out of contact too long. I really had no answer when he said "Damn it all Bren, you had time to come to Balmora and kill my next door neighbor! Would it be too much to expect a check in appearance from you without having to send Nine-toes swimming every swamp in the Empire?"

I was sincerely contrite. There were times when I could have checked in; not when I had Rabinna in tow, but other times. I suppose I was afraid Caius would demand that I drop my pursuit of the Tong. Better to ask forgiveness after than permission before, as they say. Anyway, once he had blown off a little steam, and I had agreed to do better at keeping him informed of my whereabouts, we settled down to discussing what to do next about the Nerevarine prophecies. Despite his concerns, I think Caius approved of my actions in general. He doesn't strike me as someone who would shed a tear for the thugs of the Cammona Tong.

He also was somewhat impressed with the low profile I had maintained given the effectiveness of my blitz. Somewhat impressed, but he had some suggestions that I will have to take into consideration. I am going to have to part with my spear. That will also call for mastering some other weapon. The Hlaalu guards, at the urging of Orvas Dren I am sure, are taking in anyone carrying a spear for questioning. They are courteous, but professional. If they question me it is a fair bet their professionalism would last longer than their courtesy. As Caius pointed out, roaming the city streets with a spear in hand is not the inconspicuous way for a Blades operative to travel anyway.

Talk of roaming city streets brings my next mission to the fore. I am dispatched to Vivec City to make contact with more of Caius' informants. Vivec is the largest city on Vvardenfell, and one of the largest cities in the east. I am eager to see its unique architecture.

My excitement about heading to Vivec buoyed me along on the road back to Pelagiad. It was tempered somewhat as I spent the evening at the Halfway, dancing with Ahnassi. I confess, I would rather stay with her. There is a new complication in our relationship though. It's new to me anyhow.

It seems Ahnassi has a mate; a Khajiit mate who came to Vvardenfell with her. They are long estranged, but there are feelings she has not completely settled, and Khajiit traditions not resolved. While I am in Vivec I must seek out this mate J'Dhannar. He was addicted to skooma, the distilled moon sugar extract, and last seen in the canton of St. Olms. I promised Ahnassi that I would find him, and if possible turn him free of the skooma. How I have no idea, but it seems that this is what is required for her to be free of him.

Day Fifty-two: Arrival in Vivec

I arrived at Vivec City around lunch time, and opted for mudcrab on a nearby beach. The first sight of the city was too overwhelming to think of searching out a place to eat. As I ate the succulent crab meat I gazed across the bay to the huge pyramids towering above me. Doubts crept in that have not yet been dispatched. The eight cantons of Vivec would each make up a fair sized town by themselves. Taken altogether they are too much for me to really grasp. I have four people to find in this teeming hive.

I crossed the bridge onto the skirt of the northernmost canton, which I knew to be the foreign quarter. In earlier days delegations from outside the Dunmer nation were not allowed beyond this first canton. I paced the skirting deck all the way around. Long ramps led up from the corners to upper levels. The lower deck offered no access to the interior. The structure would be very difficult to assault. I was thankful for Caius' suggestion that wearing the Indoril boots of a dead Ordinator would not serve me well in Vivec. I activated my levitation boots and avoided the ramps. Even without the dead man's boots the Ordinator who strode rapidly across the deck at my landing did not extend a warm welcome.

"Outlander," he hissed, "if you are looking for trouble you are sure to find it." He took stock of my spear through narrowed eyes. I was grateful that the black chainmail of the Dark Brotherhood was indistinguishable under my robe.

"For cracking crabs," I said, hefting the spear awkwardly. "I wouldn't want to get too close to the nasty creatures. Could you direct me to the Mage's Guild hall? I'm not looking for trouble, I'm just here to visit a friend."

Ordinators wear a helmet that completely hides their face behind a golden unsmiling mask, but I could hear the sneer in his voice as he grudgingly told me that the guild was located in the top tier plaza. Again I opted out of the ramps and lofted myself with my boots. I actually went all the way up to the top of the building; a windowed cupola that allows direct light into the plaza. The views out into the countryside were awesome, but turning to the south and seeing the mighty cantons arrayed across the bay was stupendous. A small moon, captured by the magic of Lord Vivec, hangs above his palace at the far end of the city. There is no vista like that anywhere else. I dropped down off the roof and entered the plaza. The familiar sign of the Mage's Guild hanging above a door was a welcome sight. I pushed through the bustling crowd and went inside.

I presented myself to the Archmage, Trebonius, and made the rounds of the guild hall introducing myself. I felt like a hick from the backwoods, but I think acquitted myself with sufficient dignity. The hall of the Archmage certainly put the intrigues of the Balmora guild hall into perspective. The tensions and undercurrents swirl almost visibly, and I don't think Trebonius handles it with the amused detachment of Ranis in Balmora. I think he is right in the thick of it.

After an uncomfortable dinner I excused myself and had the guild guide teleport me to Ald-ruhn. I considered Balmora. I could have bunked in the familiar and friendly confines of the guild hall and never crossed paths with House Hlaalu, but I had work to do in my lab. Tomorrow I will transport back, far better equipped to blend into the city. I have a fine steel shortsword scabbarded unobtrusively from my belt instead of the glowing devil spear to lug about. I am not very skilled with the shortsword, but lurking within it I have placed a daedric spirit. At a brief word of command the spirit will spring into the form of a mighty spear. In my stay here I have picked up a little skill as an enchanter...and a deadly hand with a spear.

Tomorrow I will face the hoards in the city and begin my search.

Day Fifty-three: Huleeya of the Morag Tong

Today I succeeded in finding the first of the four people I seek. I am less daunted by the task, but a little disappointed in the city and its inhabitants. Perhaps I paint with too wide a brush, or I am just a magnet for trouble.

The social center of the foreign quarter canton is a cornerclub called the Black Shalk. This is where Caius suggested I start my search for Huleeya. I prowled the hallways and open bazaars, establishing myself as something between a merchant and a tourist. There are a great number of alchemists, apothecaries, and healers plying their trades in Vivec. It will be a good outlet for the many specimens I seem to collect in my travels. By lunchtime I had a fair command of the layout of the canton and headed for the Black Shalk.

When I entered the common room I saw Huleeya immediately. I couldn't be sure of course, but the striking Argonian certainly had the bearing of a Morag Tong assassin, and was using it to the fullest. Three thuggish Dunmer had the Argonian backed against the bar, and were trying by any means short of physical assault to start a fight. I thought 'Cammona Tong', and considered having at them on the spot. The Argonian was obviously not in a mood to fight though, and was holding his own, so I went downstairs to calm down. The lower room was quiet at that time of day. I shared a few words with a Dunmer, a bard who is a regular customer and performs at the Black Shalk in the evenings.

"They come in a lot," he said. "They are House Hlaalu retainers. Bigots. If Huleeya leaves they will probably attack out in the halls if they can avoid the Ordinators."

"What would the Ordinators do?" I asked.

"Throw the lot of them in jail probably. House Hlaalu would bail their guys out. It would be a mark against Huleeya with the Morag Tong. Huleeya is a good sort; a regular here, and really sharp; reads all the time."

"I suppose sending them packing to their own canton would be the best thing to do," I said.

"You are asking for trouble," was the bard's candid response. I went back upstairs.

I ordered a drink at the bar, and added "get something for my Argonian friend as well."

"What, are you some kind of lizard lover?" came the sneering voice behind me.

"No, just a bigot hater actually," I said, "and a businessman."

"House Hlaalu runs business in Morrowind outlander. You better watch your step." The three of them had shifted their attention almost completely to me. I leaned casually on the bar, but I was tense. Gutting these fools would be little problem, but conjuring a spear in the local eatery and killing half the lunch crowd would draw a lot of attention.

"House Hlaalu isn't in the business that I'm in," I said.

"What business is that?" The self appointed spokesman for the trio had the look of a nightblade; a magician agent for hire.

"I'm a mystic," I claimed. "I've found a way to channel the mystic energies of a recall spell so I can use it by touch." I peeled the black chain gauntlet from my right hand. "Touching you for example."

"A recall spell? To what end? My companions would kill you before I could recall myself back to my home, but not by much."

"Actually, they might kill me. But it would all be decided long before you got back. The receiving cell you would appear in is permanently silenced, and by the time your new masters let you out you'd be fully drained of any magica. I've taken a lesson from you Dunmer you see. I'm a slaver." It was hard not to let myself look disgusted, but I continued. "No surprise really how valuable you Dunmer are. With your lifespans you can serve for generations."

The spokesman noticed that his two companions had taken half a step back and away from him. His eyes narrowed. "I don't think I believe you outlander."

"One way to find out. We'll be heading to the bookstore across the way. If your argument with this Argonian is important enough to you you'll have your chance to continue it...or you'll meet a lot more Argonians in Black Marsh." I looked at Huleeya. "Come on my friend, I might have a job for you." We headed towards the door. If they had followed I would have killed them in the hall.

"Watch yourself lizard lover," was their final word. Cowards.

When we reached Jobasha's rare book store we were both convulsing with laughter. Huleeya could hardly hiss out the story to the clever Khajiit proprietor, who soon joined us in our mirth. "Well Arvil Bren," he purred, "I normally don't approve of slavers, but you are most welcome here in my shop."

I enjoyed Jobasha's company, and his hospitality. Huleeya and I sat at a desk while he illuminated Dunmer history for me. I took notes.

Tonight I enjoyed dinner with my friends in the guild hall here in Balmora. I could gladly call this home, but staying out of sight is not my nature. Ajira has arranged for Rithleen to come by in the morning to purchase a potion, and deliver my notes to Caius. Until then I will sleep well.

Day Fifty-four: The addicts of St Olm's canton

When I transported back to Vivec City this morning I set out directly for St. Olms canton. The cantons of St. Olms and St. Delyn are affordable residential areas. Caius said it would be the place to find his friend Addhiranirr. Ahnassi said it was her mate's home also, the last she had heard. Neither of them were likely to want to be found, so I began my inquiries very discretely. The upper plaza of the canton houses a temple, dedicated to St. Olms. I thought this might offer a good place to start.

Vaval Selas, a healer, took my offering and conferred the goodwill of the Tribunal upon me. I told him I was examining the effects of skooma addiction, and had heard that the drug was quite a problem here in the poorer cantons of Vivec. He agreed. He suggested a couple of avenues to explore for first hand information, and a book to read. I returned to the foreign quarter to visit Jobasha, who had a copy of 'Confessions of a Dunmer Skooma Eater'. I found a quiet corner in his shop to read, rather than return to the guild hall. Jobasha gave a customer a discount on their purchase, and they brought us lunch from the Black Shalk. I think it is best for me to stay out of there, at least for a while. The book gave me hope that J'Dhannar could be cured.

Below the main levels of the cantons lie the canalworks, and beneath that the sewers that direct drainage into the surrounding waters. Vaval suggested these lower levels of St. Olms would be the place to look for skooma users, but he asked that I speak to a Dunmer woman named Moroni Uvelas about her husband before I went. I sought her out in the Brewer's and Fishmonger's guild hall. She is a hard working server, and I found her behind the bar. The afternoon is slow, and it gave us a chance to talk.

Moroni's husband Danar is a skooma addict. He frequently disappears for days at a time; as he explains it 'working'. She says he does sometimes come home with gold or other valuables, but just as often he disappears with anything she has put aside. It wasn't hard for me to recognize the description of a smuggler caught in the web of the narcotic he was smuggling. "Where is he now?" I asked gently.

A stifled sob barely broke through. "Gone. Missing again. He came home last week and he was so sick. He said it was the skooma, and he swore he would never touch it again. It seemed different this time though. He was so sick. I'm afraid he might have gotten some horrible disease down there in the sewers. That's where he goes to hide when he has skooma; him and the rest of his friends. They hide down there among the rats like animals, and they don't even think about the risks. I've even heard there's a Daedra Cult that has a shrine down there, and they prey on the weak and sacrifice them to the bad Daedra." Her eyes brimmed over with tears, and my heart broke for this hard working, good woman. I promised to look for her husband, and protect him as well as I could from danger, though what he most needs protection from is himself.

I had no leads on Addhiranirr, but the skooma inquiries were all leading me towards the sewers. My best hope was that Ahnassi's mate J'Dhannar would be able to give me some information about his fellow Khajiit. It wouldn't seem like such a risk asking about an operative of the thieve's guild if I was talking to a skooma addict. I set off into the nether realms of the canton. Then luck played to my side.

As I rounded a turn into the canalworks level I startled a Khajiit. His frantic scrambling, and the dulled hearing that let me startle him in the first place, marked him as being loaded with skooma. I stood very still, and spoke softly, apologizing for startling him. He grew calmer. "I am looking for someone who knows about moon sugar, and skooma," I said. "I found some. I know it's illegal, but I want to see what it does before I destroy it."

His eyes bulged. "Do not destroy it!" He was shaking, shifting his weight rapidly between his paws, and his tail swished in a blurring arc. "I know the skooma well my good friend. I will tell you all you need to know."

"Great!" I said. "What is your name friend Khajiit?"

"J'Dhannar." Pay dirt.

I lead J'Dhannar to the foreign quarter and got us both transported here to Ald-ruhn. I settled him in a spare room and locked the door, then went to Balmora to get some skooma from Ajira. I told him I had skooma, and I don't want that to be a lie, but I hope he chooses not to use it.

Day Fifty-five: The sad end of Danar Uvelas

I left Movis Darys with J'Dhannar. Movis is an Ashlander, a student, learning to read here at the school in the guild hall. J'Dhannar is a friendly soul, and the two of them worked together with the book. Movis worked on the reading, J'Dhannar worked on the content. He has come to appreciate what we are trying to do. The book has given him hope and direction. The Khajiit are so convinced that there is no cure for skooma addiction that he has never really tried before. I was very happy to find the skooma untouched when I returned this evening; and J'Dhanner asked me to keep it in my room from now on.

Unfortunately there will be no cure for Danar Uvelas. J'Dhannar told me this morning that he knew Danar, but that he had fallen under the sway of the Daedra cultists. The addicts generally tried to avoid the cultists, but occasionally the cult would provide skooma, and Danar had gone off to their shrine. J'Dhannar said that some addicts that had gone to the shrine had never been seen again. Thinking that time could be of the essence I hurried to the guild guide and transported to Vivec City.

I used my boots to fly from the foreign quarter to St. Olms canton. I don't know if Caius would say that's consistent with the low profile of a Blades operative, but it isn't like I'm the only mage floating above the canals. The seemingly endless ramps, down, down, down from the plaza high atop the foreign quarter, then back up again to get into St. Olms, then down again inside to get to the lower levels; I'm exhausted just thinking about it. I went even deeper under the canton today than I did yesterday. The dank sewers are the counterpoint to the resplendent city above. I climbed the ladder cautiously, down into the darkness.

The sound of running water, normally so soothing, grated on my straining senses. I lit on the decking alongside a flowing dirty canal and immediately readied my bow. The high pitched squeaking of rats carried over the deep roar of the water. I peered into the dimness, arrow nocked, fingers pressing lightly on the bowstring. Suddenly a scream of challenge cut through the dank air of the sewer, and a rat, broken and twisted, flew out of a nearby pipeline to splash into the channel. The voice of the scream was vaguely human, but the sound was not. I crept forward to peer into the pipe.

A man, bloated and disfigured with the corprus disease, again roared his challenge. I did not roar back, but whispered the word to free the spirit in my bow, transforming it into a mighty Daedric longbow. My shaft sped true, striking with such force that the creature was knocked sprawling in the shallow water. As it flailed and splashed I advanced, and before it could rise beyond kneeling drove an arrow at close range through its skull. The creature clawed feebly at the slick surface of the pipe, then the slow, steady current tugged it free. What had been a man joined the stream of waste to be dumped from the bowels of the city.

As the hand dragged through the slime a gleam caught my eye. A ring adorned one gnarled finger; the wedding finger. I did not want to touch the diseased creature, but was driven. Could this be Danar Uvelas? I cast what spells I knew to prevent infection and cut the ring free from the massed flesh around it. A wedding band; not expensive, but distinctive enough to be identifiable. I rinsed it in the effluent flow and placed it in a small coin pouch; a pouch I would not miss when I disposed of it soon after.

Moroni Uvelas' eyes flew wide at the sight of the ring. I needed no words from her to know it was indeed her husband's. "Where did you find this?" There was fear in her eyes, but deep within there was some flicker of hope. What cruel fate brought me here, to the far eastern frontiers of the Empire, and left it to me to extinguish that hope?

"Your husband is dead, and I am very sorry," I said. "He died of the corprus disease." I didn't see any need to go into details.

"Corprus. Corprus is supposed to be contained by the ghost fence. Someone was down in the storeroom the other day and saw a rat that they thought was blighted. How are these diseases loose in the city?" She burst into tears, and one of her coworkers came to hold her.

I stood there with the two crying women. I don't know much about the diseases of the blight, but I have a pretty good idea where Danar Uvelas contracted corprus, and I think it was intentional. For the first time I have an interest in seeing the inside of a Daedric shrine.

Day Fifty-six: In the shrine of the cult

J'Dhannar was surprised to see me return intact this evening. When I told him this morning that I was bent on avenging the skooma addicts of St. Olms he suggested that I stay out of it. He is making progress, but he still questions the worth of his fellow addicts, and himself. That I risked my life this way today may help him see that even skooma addicts deserve to be respected as people. Had I known the danger I would face I might have taken his recommendation.

I returned to the sewers of St. Olms canton with the directions J'Dhannar had reluctantly given me. The entrance to the shrine was not difficult to find, and easily identified by the heavily armored guard posted outside. Obviously a warrior; her plate mail fairly glowed with the care and polish that she had lavished upon it. The well worn pommel of her longsword did glow; with enchantment. I stopped at a respectful distance.

"I am seeking Danar Uvelas. He is a skooma addict and I hear he has joined your cult," I said.

"We allow no sugar heads outlander. Your own head I may have to remove also." Her hand went to her sword, drawing it out slightly. The blade glowed venomously. "How did you find this place? Speak quickly and you may yet live, or at least die painlessly."

"Now that! That is a hard offer to decline, you pompously stuffed tin suit. The only problem with it is that you are far too heavily laden to come close to claiming my head. I will however enjoy sending yours floating downstream with the rest of the dung." I was already running before I finished speaking, and with a word to trigger my boots leapt out over the stinking channel. I lofted across, turned, and landed smoothly. Fifteen feet of murky water separated me from the livid warrior. She raced towards a nearby bridge.

I drew an arrow from a special quiver. A quiver of arrows that I have carried for a month or more, since I found them in a tomb and claimed them from the bony clutches of a skeletal archer. I did not call upon the power of my bow, these arrows do not call for great force. My would be assailant skidded slightly as she turned to race along the deck towards me. She almost laughed as the slim shaft clattered off the heavy steel breastplate. The laugh died as the paralysis magic froze her in mid stride.

Her outstretched sword arm left a gap between the breastplate and shoulder piece of her armor. I found it with my next shot and pain flickered in her immobilized eyes. "This will be a slow death. The same as you would likely have inflicted on me. But not as horrible as what you inflicted on Danar, and who knows how many others." I lofted back across the canal to get an angle, and drove another shaft into the gap above her steel boot, destroying her knee. The paralysis wore off, and she fell. I walked to the bridge and crossed. "You wear no helm, I could end this with a single shot, like a pumpkin on the practice range. Or I could paralyze you again and roll your steel clad carcass into that miasma flowing beside you. Or I could just let you bleed out through those minor wounds you seem to have picked up."

"What do you want outlander?" she grated through teeth clenched in fury. I knew if I stepped one step closer she would lurch at me with the longsword. Even on one leg she would be dangerous.

"What is the source of the disease? Why do you allow this infection in the city?"

"We follow the will of the Daedra. The coming of Dagoth Ur will cleanse this city, and all of Morrowind, and the Daedra will rejoice. The blight is just the beginning outlander. Serve the Daedra, or you will be driven forth with the rest of your kind."

No denial. No remorse. I put an arrow through her head. She deserved worse, but I wanted the armor. It will fetch a good price when Moroni Uvelas sells it. Not enough to make up for the loss of her husband, but something. She was grateful.

When I returned to the shrine there was no indication that they had noticed the loss of their guard. I slipped in the door as quietly as I could, but there was nothing I could do about the water sounds echoing through the sewers. When the door shut behind me and deadened the noise completely I knew that I had been revealed the second I opened the door. If I hadn't guessed the outcry "Intruder! Now you die!" definitely made it obvious. I gulped a potion of invisibility and scuttled for a corner.

The main chamber of the shrine holds a mighty statue of one of the major Daedra, I am not sure which. At its feet is an altar. Its head towers above. I glided through the chamber from pillar to pillar and took stock of my adversaries. A roguish Dunmer woman in netch leather armor and a cruel visaged Dunmer in bonemold waved swords in slow arcs, seeking their invisible prey. At the altar a man, possibly an Imperial of Cyrodiil, stood with cocked crossbow, his back to the statue, eyes darting warily to all corners of his vision. It was hard to choose who would be most dangerous. The Dunmer warrior's sword arm rippled with muscle. The longsword he wielded was of Daedric manufacture. That arm, with that great weight of sword, could drive a stout man to his knees with one overhand chop, even if armor or shield prevented major injury. The bolt in the crossbow of the Cyrodiil flickered with magical flames. The woman's shortsword made of gleaming Dwemer metal oozed with green poison. J'Dhannar's warning echoed loudly in my mind.

I rounded the statue to be out of all sight when the potion wore off, then cast the native shielding spell of a Breton. I drew my shortsword and freed the spirit of the spear that lurks within it. I sprang atop the statue's mighty foot, and lunged down to jab at the crossbowman. I landed too close for him to get good aim, but took a searing wound when his bolt grazed my hip. I crashed my spear across his face in a two handed grip, driving his head into the stone of the statue. Then spun to my right driving the butt of my spear under the charging Dunmer's sword arm and into his ribs. The momentum of his charge and the weight of his sword added to the blow and drove the air from his lungs in a rush. Though neither was seriously hurt, two of my opponents were momentarily incapacitated, and I turned my spear on the third.

The Dwemer metal of her sword slashed through my dark chainmail, and its venom coursed into my veins. I swept my spear head down too late to intercept her thrust, but the razor sharp edge sliced through the netch leather gauntlet, flesh, and bone, severing her wrist. I brought the point back up across her throat as I lurched for the cover of a supporting pillar. A crossbow bolt, hurriedly aimed, smeared fire across the stone inches from my head. I activated my boots and floated up behind the pillar, then around to land on the statue's broad shoulder. As I rose I clutched my healing belt, sending charge after charge of restorative energy to battle the poison wracking my body. As I clung there high above the floor I looked down into the lifeless eyes of the woman. Her companions did not think to look up, searching again for an invisible adversary.

Having completely discharged my belt I downed a powerful restorative potion and dropped to the floor below, cushioned once again by the enchantment of my levitating boots. Before my feet touched the floor I had struck the Dunmer warrior in the middle of his broad back with a paralysis arrow. I began a rapid exchange with the crossbowman. I breathed the command, freeing the Daedric longbow enchanted within my more ordinary weapon. The quickness and accuracy served well against the crossbowman, who could not fire as rapidly, and was limited in his mobility by the process of cocking the crossbow. The mighty Daedric bow allowed my arrows to strike with as much power as his bolts. He fell, with an arrow lodged in his left eye. I had no time to celebrate as my final remaining enemy leapt to the attack.

The great Daedric longsword hissed through the air, the first slice missing by inches as I dove off of the altar, dropping my bow. I grasped the hilt of my shortsword and gave the urgent command as I rolled to my feet. My spear sprang forth into my hands. My conjured spear strikes with similar weight to the Dunmer's mighty sword, but feels feather light in the hands. As we thrust and parried I could see that fatigue would be a factor, even for his massive muscles. The bonemold armor, the heavy sword; eventually they would take their toll. My opponent, for his part, counted on the spell which had obviously conjured my spear to give out, so he did not rush. His mistake. My shortsword has a powerful soul, and even though the spears it summons don't last all that long it has many charges, and can be activated in the thick of the wildest melee.

It was the fourth spear that finally found its way over the flagging shield and punched through the armor of the Dunmer's left shoulder. Not a serious wound, but blood flowed, and the duel continued. The fifth spear again found the mark, deeper still, as the shield was becoming unwieldy on the wounded left arm. This time the point was lodged in the armor and flesh, giving me purchase to hold the distance between us. I was momentarily beyond his reach, and his eyes blazed with fury as he panted for air with sword lowered. Loss of blood and exhaustion had dulled my enemy, while the battle had heightened my Breton awareness. I sensed the instant the spell would expire, and lunged against the spear. The Dunmer lurched, driven back, then was thrown completely off balance as the spear disappeared. My rush brought me crashing against him, neutralizing the powerful swings of his great blade, and my modest shortsword slid under his breastplate to open his belly as we crashed to the floor.

I stripped the corpses of any valuables, weapons, and armor and dragged them out the door. With the guard from outside as a fourth I propped them seated in pairs, back to back. The arrow in the eye, another shot through the head, the severed hand, and the muscular Dunmer with his entrails dragging; they made a gruesome display. I scrawled across the doors in blood "to enter is to die". I doubt the cult will be practicing their dark rituals tonight. I will return in the morning to search the shrine for valuables. The great Daedric longsword is safe in my room. It is far to valuable to have been left behind, even temporarily.

Day Fifty-seven: Breaking the bond

I returned directly to the Daedric shrine this morning. No one had been inside in my absence. I don't know if the corpses outside the door had been effective as a warning or as bait. I had to battle through a swarm of rats to get to the doors. Once inside I began gathering all the valuables and trade goods together in a room behind the statue, which had served as quarters for the cult's leaders.

The bonemold armor, Dwemer shortsword, and enchanted crossbow bolts were the only real notables among the cult's goods, until I looked in a bowl that had been placed on the altar. Glittering gemstones winked back at me in the torchlight. Diamond, ruby, emerald, pearl; treasure in its most convenient and beautiful form. I dumped the bowl's contents into a pouch. My Breton sense for magic again served me well.

The dremora are servants to the greater Daedra, and apparently this one was tasked with guarding the offerings placed on the altar. He appeared behind me, and without the tingling sense of magic setting me on guard his first swing would likely have crushed my skull. Instead the Daedric club smashed into my shoulder. I fell with the blow to soften the impact and rolled frantically away, taking a sound kick in the belly as I went. The club fell again as I retched up my breakfast. I took the impact on my upraised arm to protect my head, and felt bone crack. Though I could barely speak I managed to summon my spear.

The dremora circled warily, my much longer weapon holding him at bay while I regathered myself from his surprising attack. My left arm blazed with pain as the broken bone grated with every movement, but I kept the wicked point of the spear in front of his feints so that he could not charge in with club swinging. The impasse ended when my spear disappeared, leaving only the shortsword in my hand. The sudden turn of events gave me a split second of surprise to take advantage of. I ran, casting my most powerful healing spell as I went. The dremora was closing rapidly as I crashed out the door and vaulted over the bodies strewn there. Again surprise came to my assistance as the dremora stumbled over the corpses of the dispatched cultists. I activated my spear once again and landed a telling blow in the dark Daedric flesh of its ribcage. The dremora howled its outrage as it was dispatched back to its own plane of existence, leaving only its heart and the heavy Daedric club to mark its brief passage through our world.

Gathering the remaining goods went without incident, and I transported them to my cave. In Pelagiad, over lunch with Mebestian Ence I dealt another load of Dwemer artifacts. His business is booming. After lunch I went to Ahnassi's house. We sat on the stone fence that surrounds the village and watched the netch floating across the blue sky. I told her about J'Dhannar; the progress he was making. I asked if she wanted to go see him. It's funny how quickly it has become natural to me to watch her tail for clues to her mood.

"Good friend Arvil Bren, I no longer want to see J'Dhannar, but we must both agree to break our mating bond. I cannot walk with him any longer, but if he does not free me I must walk always alone, as must he. I wish for him to walk on warm sands, always. I am so very glad you are doing this thing for him. Perhaps without the skooma he will not want to be alone any more, and I will be free." I left her there rather than test her resolve. It was a long walk back to Vivec. I did not hurry.

When I transported back to Ald-ruhn the mages were just breaking up from dinner. Edwinna, the local guild steward, sent for me. It was asking a lot to house J'Dhannar here in the guild hall, and I wondered if there would be a calling to account. There was, but not exactly as I expected. She is once again in search of a rare book, and said that since I am spending so much time flitting back and forth to Vivec I could acquire it for her. I mentioned Jobasha's rare book store, but she said this book was too rare even for him. The Chimarvamidium is so rare that there may be only one copy in existence, and it is in the guild hall in Vivec. She wants me to 'borrow' it for her. Assignments for Edwinna might not be much safer than my assignments for Ranis in Balmora, but at least she doesn't want me to kill anyone.

J'Dhannar welcomed me back warmly. Free from the skooma he is very personable, and I hoped the time was right to tell him the whole truth. "You know I was looking for skooma addicts in Vivec. I've let it seem like a quest for knowledge, or a humanitarian mission of some sort. There's more to it."

"Go ahead friend Arvil Bren. I will listen. Whatever your purpose, I offer my services."

"You better hear me out before you make any offers J'Dhannar," I said. "I went to Vivec on a mission, but since I was going a very special friend asked me to look for you. Ahnassi." His tail gave one sudden twitch at mention of her name. Had I not been spending so much time with Khajiit I wouldn't have recognized his surprise.

"Ahnassi. My mate." His eyes slitted down as he spoke. "You love her. If Khajiit mating bonds were like humans, you could have just killed me. Instead you had to find me and wrest my life away from the skooma. The ways of the divines are strange indeed, good friend." His tail swished gently, not agitation, just deep in thought. "Arvil Bren, you do not know the ways of the Khajiit. It is very rare for a mating bond to be broken. Ahnassi and I cannot meet, we must both tell another that our bond is broken. That other must be someone we both trust absolutely. You can see how difficult that would usually be. For one who would be the new mate can hardly be friend to the old, yes? But you have given me my life good friend Arvil Bren, I cannot but trust you. I have treated Ahnassi badly. I and the skooma. There will always be a place for her in my heart, but I can walk with her no more. She deserves better than to walk always alone. Treat her well."

I sighed with relief. Then I wondered. Ahnassi had not actually said anything about mating with me. What does she intend to do with her new freedom? And would I be ready for the kind of commitment the Khajiit expect in a mate? Before I got too caught up in this line of thinking I was brought back to another direction. J'Dhannar asked what mission had taken me to Vivec City in the first place, and how it had gone.

"Actually, I could use some help with that too," I admitted. "I am to find a Khajiit named Addhiranirr. She reportedly lives in St. Olms."

"You do not work for the Census and Excise, do you Arvil Bren?" That brought agitation to the swishing tail. Clearly the Census and Excise is not considered a source of friends.

"No, not at all. She is a friend of a friend, and he hopes she can give him some information she may have picked up in her travels."

"My good friend Addhiranirr is very well traveled. You would be hard pressed to find her, she is always hiding from the Census and Excise. Arvil Bren my good friend, I have enjoyed the warm sands of this fine place long enough. The mages have been most kind and hospitable, but I must move on and start life anew. Tomorrow I will go with you to Vivec and find Addhiranirr, then I shall take ship home to Elsweyr."

Fate, which sometimes seems so cruel, is smiling on me; at least for now.

Day Fifty-eight: Taxman evasion

I again have a home. A home that I cannot allow the Dark Brotherhood to find. I may not be able to come here often for now, but someday I will complete whatever my fate demands of me and be able to settle here. It is a modest house, though compared to the shacks I have lived in on Vvardenfell it is a castle. A castle fit for a king, with Ahnassi as my queen.

J'Dhannar, true to his word, went to Vivec with me to seek Addhiranirr. I met him for lunch at the Brewer's and Fishmonger's Hall. "Did you find her?" I asked, as steaming bowls of crabmeat chowder were placed before us.

"Yes friend, I found her," he purred back between sips. "She is in the sewers, hiding. There is a Customs and Excise man, very clever, who has come to Vivec City. This agent has taken it into his head that Addhiranirr is a smuggler; a smuggler that for some reason he is very much wanting to catch."

"Well, from what you said before she is a smuggler," I pointed out.

"Yes my good friend Arvil Bren, she is. So are you. I have come to know you well enough. You didn't destroy that skooma. You sold it. Probably some Dwemer weapons from your little war with the cult down in the underworks as well. Your Emperor declares things illegal; skooma, sugar, ebony, Dwemer artifacts. All of a sudden good people are smugglers. My good friend Addhiranirr is a good person, and really not much of a smuggler. This agent has just set his sights on her. For you to talk to her we must do something about this n'wah, Duvianus Platorius."

"What can we do?" I asked. The thought of spearing an Imperial agent in the middle of St. Olms canton crossed my mind briefly. I am really starting to worry about my conscience. Sometimes it seems to have abandoned me when I reached this violent shore. We both pondered quietly while we devoured some magnificent steaks.

The plan we arrived at was worthy of Caius the spymaster himself. Most Dunmer consider that all Khajiit look alike anyway, so it was not too hard for J'Dhannar to disguise himself as a female, given the right clothes. I wished him all the best and gave him a good stake in gold septims. He set off, making it clear to the gondolier and anyone else in earshot that "Vvardenfell would not be wiping its feet on the fur of Addhiranirr any more." I chuckled at his dramatic flair as I set off to complete my part in the plan.

I began in the plaza. As people passed I would stop them to ask if they had seen a Khajiit. Most said no, but some said yes. Those who did would get a description that would do little good, and the name Addhiranirr. Occasionally someone would admit they knew her. " I hear she left the city. She is a good friend of a friend, and I am supposed to get her a message before she leaves for Elswhyr. If someone could definately tell me she left I would try to catch up to her." This line had some slight truth in it. Some. Somewhere.

It was in the common area of the waistworks that the fish took the bait. I was speaking to a Dunmer woman when a man interupted. "Addhiranirr? She is my friend also. You say she has left the city?"

"So I was told. Actually I was told she said she was leaving, but I haven't been able to verify that. I'm not familiar with the city, so I don't know where to start."

The Dunmer woman suggested "You should ask around among the gondoliers. If she was leaving and not coming back she would have too much to carry for a long walk." I couldn't have asked for more if I'd told her what to say.

"Good idea," said the man, and hurried off.

The woman gave me a wink. "Always good to see a taxman scurry. He thinks he is so sly, that one. I heard that Addhiranirr made a great display out of getting on a gondola this afternoon. If she was that obvious about it she must have wanted him to know. She probably swam right back. She is a pretty good swimmer, for a kitty."

I met Addhiranirr in the underworks. The once again abandoned shrine makes a good landmark. She was very pleased with the deception we had crafted, and her friends had already informed her that the taxman had taken ship for Ebonheart following the obvious trail J'Dhannar had left. He would continue using her name until he sailed for Elswhyr.

I got what information she had for Caius. She dismissed the Nerevarine prophecies as a tale to scare little kittens. The Sixth House cult she did not dismiss. They are having a major impact in her world; the world of smuggling. She doesn't know what they are after, but she knows that many of her contacts are now too busy to work with anyone else but the cult. And some have disappeared.

Day Fifty-nine: A rest for the weary

This morning it was just too hard to pursue my fate. Ahnassi's hospitality seems to stop the world around us. We both know that with the Dark Brotherhood hunting me I have to keep moving, and that we can't let it be known that she is dear to me. Tomorrow I will get back to my mission, and my fate. For today I picked flowers.

I did get a couple things done. Nelos and Maurrie, under the guise of a shopping excursion, delivered my notes to Caius in Balmora. They are such a happy couple. Nelos is still the rogue, charming the crowds who he plays for every night at the Halfway Tavern, but everyone knows at the end of the evening it is Maurrie on his arm as he wends his way home. Whenever I am confronted by the ugly tasks my fate might demand, I will think of the part it gave me to play in bringing those two together.

Another positive thing about my fate couldn't be ignored. When Ahnassi offered to share her life and her house she said I could take anything I need. She is comfortable, but far from wealthy. Typical of the Khajiit she has no real sense of property. Her curious nature leads her to places that are meant to be secure, through locked doors and guarded passages, but she usually will take nothing more than a trinket for a souvenir. She knew I had sold some Dwemer artifacts to Mebestian Ence, so she knew she wasn't taking in a complete pauper, but she had no idea the wealth my fate has dealt into my hands since I arrived penniless at Seyda Neen. I set my mark in her hallway and transported all my goods from my cave. She was stunned.

Complete sets of steel and bonemold plate, bits and pieces of imperial steel and Indoril bonemold, piles of swords and other weapons that I couldn't give up; the hallway is somewhat cluttered. The cost of the Indoril armor alone would feed us for the rest of our lives. I could open an armorer's shop and live well. Ahnassi was horrified. "How could my true friend have just left this all sitting in a cave?" she cried.

"It's just armor, Ahnassi," I told her. "It could be replaced." She picked up an axe made of gleaming Dwemer metal. "That may be rare, but I sold one just like it to Mebestian. The really rare things I keep in Ald-ruhn. Not for their value; it's just things that would be hard to replace. I have some rare books in my library, and I've put a lot of effort into my enchanting lab."

"True enough," she said. "There is nothing here that could not be found." She waved a sleek paw over my armory. "There is a lot though. More than a Khajiit could use, certainly, so a Khajiit would not worry if it got lost, but a Breton, a Breton worries about property. Valuable property. How do you not worry?"

I opened my pouch. I keep a couple hundred gold septims in it. It weighs a couple pounds. Then I showed her the broad strap that it hangs from. In its multitude of compartments it holds the gems and Dwemer coins that make my accumulated wealth manageable. Were it all in gold it would be about fifteen thousand septims. Fate has made demands, but it has compensated me well.

She pressed the coda flower I had brought her to her nose, enjoying the fragrance. "I asked you for this. You gave it to me and said I was your queen."

I laughed. "You could have asked for a crown."

Day Sixty: This is a problem

I have been in Morrowind for two months. Two months. The changes Vvardenfell have wrought on me in two months are hard to believe. I arrived penniless, now I am wealthy beyond my grandest ambition. I was in prison when my father died in a cell down the hall. I arrived here totally alone, now I have a home, a mate, and good friends; Drelasa at the Halfway, Nelos and Maurrie, Mebestian the trader. I arrived a criminal, but Larrius Varro, the Legion Champion at Moonmoth Fort, has apparently put in a word at the fort here. The legions treat me with respect, not suspicion; respect even beyond what they give the average citizen. I could enjoy a great peaceful lifetime in Pelagiad. I could, except there is another change. I arrived here the way I did because I was a common criminal who cared for nothing beyond myself. Now the problems of an entire land and its people are settling onto my shoulders.

Nine-toes appeared at my door this morning. I said a hurried goodbye to Ahnassi, and accompanied the Argonian to Seyda Neen. Elone the Redguard, who tends bar at the tradehouse, welcomed us quietly as we slipped unseen into her house. Nine-toes' skills in the school of illusion are impressive. The duration of his invisibility spells would be far beyond my abilities. Elone served him a restorative to build his reserves of magica, and he slipped back out of the house. I drank tea. When Nine-toes returned he was not alone. Caius and Tyermaillin, the high elf healer, appeared at his side. This was a counsel of the Blades, called out of respect for the seriousness of the situation. I was glad for the tea, I needed a clear head.

Elone spoke first. "Caius, I've said many times that you worry too much. I'm sorry. I am disappointed in myself for not having been able to find out anything about what is going on, but I have seen, clearly, the scope of it; whatever it is. Smuggling has ground almost completely to a halt, at least in terms of the usual black markets. Part of that can be laid at those feet," she pointed at me, "since he decimated the Cammona Tong for whatever reason got into his head, but the independents are gone also. A lot of them have just disappeared, others show up to drink, but they are very quiet about what they are up to. They have money to drink, lots of it, but they seem to have no goods to sell."

"None to the usual buyers Elone," Caius said, "but they are plying their trade." The spymaster gave a nod in my direction.

"Our contact among the smugglers in Vivec says the same thing; sources of the usual black market goods are drying up. People she used to do business with are too busy now, busy with a new player; the Sixth House cult." I spoke clearly, calmly. I was honored to be in this counsel, and wanted desperately to be looked at as more than a wild card, my vendetta against the Cammona Tong aside. "I believe this cult also accounts for those who disappeared, and they are no friends of the Cammona Tong either. I was in a cave to the south, a hideout my Thieve's Guild contacts reported as a Tong waystation. It had been taken over, and I would guess the Tong operatives account for at least some of the corprus stalkers roaming the cavern."

"Corprus!" Tyermaillin interjected. "Are you saying this cult uses corprus disease to eliminate their opposition? That's absolutely monstrous."

Caius made it even worse. "Not just to eliminate opposition," he said. "They use it to control their followers. Strength, power, freedom from hunger; there are those who take it on willingly, choosing the cult and a life of mindless savagery."

"In the cave I saw a corprus stalker, feeding on itself," I reported. "Their wounds heal so fast that taking a chunk to eat is no problem for them. I don't understand how they can grow back more than they cut off though."

"Corprus is more like a curse than a disease," Tyermaillin explained. "It has a huge magica factor that fuels the growth. All of the blight diseases do, but corprus is by far the strongest."

"So the current Sixth House cult is somehow connected with a blight disease, which should be contained on Red Mountain," said Caius. "Red Mountain, coincidentally the ancestral home of House Dagoth, the defeated sixth house of the Dunmer. The Tribunal Temple contends that the ghostfence contains the blight, a curse unleashed by Dagoth Ur as his citadel fell, but anyone afoot in Vvardenfell can see that the containment is not complete. Reports of blighted creatures are on the rise, and the Empire is about to impose a quarantine on the island."

Nine-toes put in a thought that was in my own mind as well. "Unleashed by Dagoth Ur? If that is so, how does it continue. Magica loses its focus quickly. Even the mightiest spells do not long outlive their caster."

"Quarantine? On the entire island?" Elone said. "If there is no legal shipment out of goods, and the smugglers all belong to the Sixth House, the entire population will be at their mercy!"

"A lot of people will get hungry, certainly," Caius concluded, "and the Sixth House has a solution to hunger. But you credit them for something they lack Elone. They have no mercy."

"Caius, you are saying that the Empire is playing directly into their hands. You have to stop them," said Tyermaillen.

"I'm open to suggestions," snapped the spymaster. "The Emperor is not going to ignore the spread of the blight, he has to respond somehow, and a quarantine seems effective, from the outside. He was concerned that someone would step up to the mantle of Nerevar and unite the Dunmer in revolt. I fear that only the legendary Nerevarene can keep them from being united by whatever has taken up the cause of House Dagoth."

As we left, the invisibility provided by Nine-toes' illusions hid somber faces. My own perhaps more than the others. To them the idea of the Nerevarine being the answer to the problem of the Sixth House falls in the area of hope; wishful thinking. To me the idea is terrifying. I might be the Nerevarine. I might have to be.

I was not surprised by the hiss in my ear. I am getting used to Nine-toes I guess. "Arvil Bren, I respect your command of magica."

"You are a master of illusion..." I began, but he waved me to silence.

"Yours to speak Arvil Bren, and ours to listen, but not the usual softskin spreading of compliments. It is time for thought. The Tribunal of the Dunmer are 'living gods', who have survived since the time of the great house wars. Their enemy in those wars, Dagoth Ur, they say cast the blight, like a spell. What does this make you think?"

I wanted to tell him I thought something else, something other than the obvious conclusion he had reached. I wanted to, but I couldn't. The immortal Tribunal's enemy is just like them. Dagoth Ur is still alive.

Day Sixty-one: On the right side of Vivec City

This morning I had an early breakfast at the Halfway Tavern. Leaving Pelagiad, and Ahnassi, was difficult. It may be a while before I can go home. How Drelasa Ramothran, the publican, keeps up I will never understand. The Halfway is always busy in the evenings; with clandestine meetings of thieves guild operatives, travelers on the Vivec to Balmora road, and off duty Legionnaires from the fort. Drelasa never closes the bar if there is a hint of a paying customer. But she is there cooking breakfast before dawn for the guards who are going on shift and want something more appealing than the barracks fare. She is a marvel.

When I arrived in Vivec I warily approached the first Ordinator that I saw. He was surly, as usual.

"What do you want, outlander?"

"I want no trouble, I assure you of that. I just want to report that there is a Daedric cult operating in the underworks."

"We here rumors like that every day, outlander. Move along and don't waste my time."

I couldn't help it. My mind started running a tally on the value of the Indoril armor this fool was so pompously filling. My thoughts ran their course, but I stuck to mine. "In this case though the rumor includes a location of their shrine to their bad Daedra. I've seen it myself. In the underworks beneath St. Olms canton."

"I am patrolling here, outlander, in the foreign quarter." He waved his hand up at the towering canton. "Someone is killing outlanders, outlanders like you. Personally, I'm all for it, but right now I have a job to do; finding this killer before they find you, or some other outlander, and slit their throat. Now, you might tell someone patrolling over in St. Olms, or you might take your tale right to the Office of the Watch in the Hall of Justice. If you keep bothering me I might slit your throat myself. One more outlander chalked up to the killer."

I left. That conversation did not go at all the way I had hoped. Once I had walked a ways I was able to give the Ordinator a little benefit of the doubt. A murderer loose on his own beat would take precedence over a Daedra cult in a far corner of the city I guessed. His advice, though badly delivered, seemed sound. I headed for the Hall of Justice.

The Hall of Justice could not be called friendly confines. The more polite muttered 'outlander' as we passed in the hall, but many of them did not greet me at all. Some I wondered if they even saw me; others I knew did when I heard them hiss 'scum', or something worse, after they had passed. By the time I found the Office of the Watch I was wondering if I was wasting my time. I had intended to show some good faith and earn some support from the local authorities, but it seemed unlikely to work. My timing turned out to be pretty good though.

At the Office of the Watch I was met by Tarar Braryn, a subcommander of the watch. The Order of the Watch is one of four Orders, and is responsible for security within the city. He was clearly unfriendly, but polite. I gave him a thorough report of all that I knew about the shrine.

"And what had you wandering the sewers under our city?" he asked abruptly.

I told him about Moroni Uvelas and her lost husband, how I had found his ring on the corprus stalker, and my suspicions about the cult being the source of the disease. "I didn't get a name, but a skooma addict, Khajiit, that I ran into said the cult sometimes takes in addicts and they are never seen again. I assume that is what happened to Uvelas."

"You need to be careful in the sewers, Breton," he said. "You seem a good man, for an outlander. It seems someone has taken to killing outlanders, and until we find them you should probably stay in better traveled areas."

"Mostly I do," I said.

"Good. Where could we find you if we have any questions?"

"At the Mage's Guild in the foreign quarter," I replied. "I don't stay there, but if you leave a message with the guild guide I will get it. I will be coming and going quite a bit in the next few days. Mage Guild business."

"Ah, the Mage's Guild," his voice softened. "Arvil Bren, this is unofficial, but I need a favor."

A chance to get in good with a subcommander of the watch! "What do you need?"

"I let the drink get a little the better of me last night, and responded to arrogance with arrogance of my own. I need you to convey my apologies."

"To who?" I asked.

"Trebonius Artorius. I called him a flathead. This morning I woke up with a rash that seems impervious to all spells, potions and cures. I suspect I will be scratching until he gets my apology."

I could hardly believe that he had called the Archmage of Vvardenfell a flathead, and could even less believe that the Archmage would be so petty, but I told him I would see what I could do. As it turns out, I overestimated Trebonius. He is that petty...and a bit of a flathead as well. When I delivered Braryn's apology he drew a potion from within his robe. "Ha! I thought that would teach him some humility! Give him this, with my regards." I bristled slightly at being ordered about, but only to myself. The self absorbed archmage took no notice.

Sirlonwe did notice. The willowy high elf called me aside and led me to her chamber. "You need to be quicker Arvil Bren. That arrogant son of a guar hands off orders like a kagouti shakes off ticks. Who has he cursed with his petty rash this time?" When I told her she just shook her head. "A subcommander of the Ordinators! Who will he offend next? As if we outlanders weren't unwelcome enough!"

From my previous visits I knew that Sirlonwe would waste no time spreading this gossip through the guild hall. Once I saw that she was deeply engrossed I slipped back to her room and took the book Edwinna needs from her closet. Sirlonwe is so involved in undermining Trebonius that she might never notice it missing.

I delivered the cure to Tarar Braryn. He had already sent a pair of Ordinators into the sewers of St. Olms to check out the shrine. They had apparently identified the remains of one or more of the cult's leaders. Tarar grudgingly added respect to his gratitude for the cure. "Dangerous characters. The city is better off without them. We don't encourage taking the law into your own hands around here Arvil Bren, but I suppose we can thank you this once. My men will be quite busy rounding up their followers."

The rumor mill of the city will get that around. It should make it a little easier to complete my tasks for Caius. The last informant I need to contact works in the main temple library. Being somewhat a friend of a watch subcommander I may be able to get in there without being hounded by the Ordinators.

I slipped through the guild hall, avoiding the archmage, and got transported to Ald-ruhn. Edwinna was very pleased to have the Chimarvamidium, and promised to return it quickly. I think I'll let the word churn among the Ordinators and take a few days away from Vivec, just in case Sirlonwe notices her loss.

Day Sixty-two: The conjurer's apprentice

I wanted to spend a little time away from Vivec City, and tonight I am far away indeed. Maar Gan is a small Redoran outpost in the Ashlands, on the slopes of Red Mountain itself. Standing on the wall that surrounds the main part of the town I can see the ghostfence glowing dimly to the east. What an incredible artifact! The ghostfence completely surrounds the crater area of the ancient volcano, containing the blight curse of Dagoth Ur. Mostly containing it anyway.

I spent the evening drinking here at the tradehouse, a rough and ready establishment run by Manse Andus. The food is adequate but not memorable, the drink abundant enough that I might not remember it much either. Drinking with warriors and crusaders demands a certain constitution that is not a part of my Breton heritage. It was an honorable company though, and I gave my best.

Maar Gan is sorely beset by the blight. Blighted creatures roam into town on an almost daily basis. The Ashlander natives are running short of game, and are beginning to prey on caravans and travelers. Horrible ash storms blow over the town intermittently, blotting out the sun. The faint of heart have fled, but there are few of those among the Dunmer of House Redoran. The few who left have been more than replaced by the heroic contingent from throughout Morrowind that has answered the call to support the local guards. That's not what I came for, though in passing I did contribute.

I actually came to Maar Gan at Edwinna's request, motivated as usual by my own concerns. As the steward of the guild hall in Ald-ruhn, Maar Gan is her responsibility. When reports of trouble with their local mage came in from Maar Gan I offered to investigate so she could continue her research. Hopefully she will finish with the book I borrowed from Sirlonwe by the time I return. The disturbance did not take long to quell, but I may walk back to Ald-ruhn tomorrow. Tonight's revelry may not sit well with the rolling gait of the silt strider.

When I arrived it was quite simple to get directions to Huleen's hut. The Argonian is, I suppose, the only mage in the area, and is well known among the townspeople even though his house is outside the walls. Getting to his house was another matter. A scrib, bloated beyond the capacity of its six spindly legs, writhed on a nearby hillside, and I stopped to still the poor beast with a well placed shot from my bow. Climbing up to make sure the creature was dead took me out of sight of the town.

The Ashlanders are well attuned to their arid homelands. I did not see the attack coming until the axe fell. I was saved by the black chainmail I wear under my clothes. My shirt hung in tatters from the serrated edges of the weapon, which was made from the chitinous shell of what appears to be a large insect, probably a beetle. Had my attacker known the resilience of my armor he would have aimed for my head. I grappled him and we rolled down the hillside in a tangle of arms and legs. When we skidded to a halt I was on my feet first, with shortsword in hand. I hoped that he would surrender, or at least flee. I saw no need to continue to the death with a man driven to desperation by hunger. I suppose to the Ashlander it was too late to stop; a question of honor. After a brief exchange of blows he lay dead in the dust, his honor more intact than his skin.

When I found Huleen's hut the cause of complaint was obvious. The brief outcries were mixed with the sound of crashing glass and splintering wood. I don't know where Huleen is. His apprentice, Listien Bierles, said he would be back in a few days. The apprentice has a lot of cleaning up to do before then, and a lot of explaining to do after. The scamp that he conjured locked him in a closet and fairly well destroyed everything in the house. Fortunately it did not escape, though it had clawed about halfway through the heavy wooden front door. I suppose if it had gotten free it would have just been a small addition to the problems facing Maar Gan.

Day Sixty-three: Wandering mage

My plan to walk back to Ald-ruhn was blown away by an ill wind this morning. I was awakened early by a strange sound, and slipped from my bed with shortsword in hand. Adrenaline coursed into my veins, quickly clearing my expected hangover. I guess it's true that even the most ill wind blows some good. Guest rooms at the tradehouse are on the lower level, below ground, and I crept up the stairs. The groaning creaking grew louder. I paused near the top step, and nearly bolted out of my skin when a great hand clapped loudly on my shoulder, backed by the hearty bellow of a huge orc. "Good morning Arvil! Didn't expect to see you up and about this morning! Looking mighty wide awake too, with sword in hand! You are more than I expected."

If we hadn't been fast friends drinking each other's health far into the night I might have stuck him with the sword. From the multitude of scars crosshatching the green hide the great warrior probably wouldn't have given one more any great concern. My hangover burst back with a rush. "Quietly. Please my friend. Quietly. What is that noise?" As if on cue a deep groan rumbled through the building.

"Oh ho!" he boomed, and I winced again. "These Redorans use the native shells of the giant insects of the Ashlands for their constructions. That sound is the sound of great plates of beetle shell grinding together as a gust heaves against them. The constant rustling is gritty ash being thrown against the building on the wind. This is an ash storm, not a good day to be outside. The ash carries the blight. Tomorrow will be a good day to find monsters, heavy and powerful with the blight, but not yet so bloated that they can't think or move well." The orc warrior's eyes blazed at the thought of glorious battle. I'd just as soon let them bloat up and pop them with an arrow.

The warriors gathered to defend Maar Gan shared a cheerful breakfast table under the great groaning shell. Andus will have a profitable day; they were drinking before the dishes were cleared. They were insistent in their invitation that I ride out the storm with them and join them in the battle that is sure to follow, but I had to pass. I'm confident I would survive the battle, but the preliminaries in the bar full of warriors were daunting. I braved the wind and made it to the strider port, and fled Maar Gan. As things worked out it was just as well I made a fast return to Ald-ruhn.

The journey was unforgettable, unfortunately. The caravaner stretched a tarp over the cockpit to keep the blowing ash out. I have somewhat adjusted to the hollowed space inside the shell of the silt strider. I've even gotten used to seeing the caravaners work the controls; some of which are cords running down into the guts of the beast to attach to unseen organs, others being exposed tangles of nerves directly accessed with prods and kicks. What I had not really noticed before is the smell! Keeping the ash out is critical, not only for our comfort, but obviously for the health of the strider, but I would have killed the caravaner for a breath of fresh air by the time we arrived in Ald-ruhn. I ran through the swirling ash and dust and burst gratefully into the guild hall.

Edwinna had left word for me to see her as soon as I arrived. The book, as it turns out, had been of no use to her research. I immediately took transport to Vivec City, where the guild hall was in an uproar. The missing book had been noticed, apparently. Sirlonwe had all but accused Trebonius of taking it out of spite. The archmage, for his part, was threatening her with disciplinary action for having lost the book, which he said was guild property. Tensions were running high. I visited the alchemist, purchasing comberries, gold kanet, and some other flowers that are abundant around Vivec City but don't grow in the Ashlands. With a good reason for my brief visit established I slipped into Sirlonwe's room, stashed the book in her closet under a neatly folded robe, and nonchalantly took transport back to Ald-ruhn.

Edwinna was pleased. "Sounds like you could be a suspect, but there will never be any proof. They're so wrapped up in their own petty sniping that they won't actually do anything, once the book is found. That pompous fool Trebonius wouldn't know a book if it slammed shut on his bald Imperial head! A handful of destruction spells and a will to blast away at anything he doesn't understand hardly makes an archmage!" It is clear that Trebonius' appointment as the Archmage of Vvardenfell by the council in Cyrodiil meets little local approval.

As always, Edwinna rapidly turned the conversation back to her research. Tonight I am collapsed with exhaustion in a tradehouse in the town of Gnissis, after yet another immersion in the miasma of a silt strider's innards. Thankfully, Gnissis is on the coast, and we broke clear of the dust storm about halfway here. The bracing sea air is working wonders, and I'm sure I will sleep well. Tomorrow I will travel north, to the outpost at Ald Velothi, and from there follow the coast to a Dwemer ruin called Arkngthunch-Sturdumz. As a language, I must say Dwemer does not translate well. Anyway, Edwinna needs a Dwemer tube for her project,and it falls to me to find one for her.

.Day Sixty-four: Paying the price of the blight

Having me for a mate has certainly put a whole new world of unpredictability in Ahnassi's life. Life on Vvardenfell is unpredictable enough, I suppose. My sudden appearance standing on my magic mark in her hallway may be a bit much. She is happy to have me home though, and I'm happy to be here. Ahnassi will bring Mebestian to the house in the morning so I can pass him this load of Dwemer relics and slip out of town unseen. Keeping my presence in Pelagiad unknown to the Dark Brotherhood is vital, and today fortune dropped a great tool into my hands for doing just that.

When I set out this morning on the road to Ald Velothi I had no idea I would end up here. The West Gash region is beautiful; clear skies glowing over lush vegetation. Even though the road did not follow directly along the coast the air carries a salty tang. I enjoyed the hike, though the numerous roads were sometimes confusing. As in any paradise, there were unexpected dangers, and as is often the case the most beautiful was the most deadly.

The sun was nearing its peak when I rounded a curve in the road and saw a lovely woman pacing agitatedly to and fro along the roadside. She exuded a wanton desire that instantly clashed with my commitment to Ahnassi. Perhaps without that commitment she may have commanded enough of my attention for her plan to work. As it happened, in my internal conflict my eyes darted about and picked up something. Something that raised my guard, though I wasn't sure what. A sense of movement, a brief outline of an armored shoulder perhaps. Not invisibility, but a powerful chameleon spell in use. Had I been riveted on the woman, as I would have been a month ago, the plan would have worked and I would be dead at the bottom of a murky pool.

The woman introduced herself as Synette Jeline, a 'private dancer' on her way to Gnises for an engagement. She professed to hoping for someone heroic to come by, as she had dropped her ring into the nearby pool. In the bright noon sun it could be seen glistening, even through the murky water. She pouted. "I couldn't just leave it, but I couldn't very well show up for my engagement smelling like a muck pond, now could I? If you would be my hero and get that ring for me I'm sure we could think of some suitable reward." Her sultry voice was intended to leave no doubt where this was going. Having noticed her lurking accomplice I already had no doubt where it was going. There was a steep, narrow approach down to the pond. The rest was rimmed with steep rock. It was a perfect trap.

I waded into the water. My black armor is light enough to swim in, so I didn't have to remove it, as I'm sure they intended. I ducked into the murk, grabbed the ring, and began casting spells. Shielding, armor skin; all the protection I could muster. Then I broke the surface. As expected, I was met by an arrow that seemed to spring from the rock, and a steel throwing star glowing with venom as it flew from the dancers perfectly formed hand. They tore through my sleeve and clattered off my armored forearm. Had I not been prepared they would have stopped in my skull. I was so sorry to be right. I dropped back below the surface, cast a water breathing spell, and hid in a patch of weeds.

Had they been patient I would have cast a levitation spell and invisibility, and floated up and out over the rocks to reverse the ambush. They were not patient. The two women charged into the water, expecting to flush cornered prey from the weeds. I went into the water with only a shortsword; the first thrust of my conjured spear caught them completely unprepared. Regretfully I watched the shapely form of Synette Jeline float lifelessly in the murk, darkening the water with her gushing blood.

The murky water and weeds made me just as hard to see as my chameleon shrouded foe; harder in fact. The rippling waters revealed the source of their disturbance, even if my eyes could not pick her out. She had to break the surface to breath, and I drove my spear into the center of the sudden rings that marked her location. Chitin armor sheared cleanly, and the fearsome Daedric spear tore through her throat. The spell ended with her life, and the swirling energies of the illusion were drawn into an amulet that hung from her neck as the corpse settled slowly towards the bottom. That amulet now graces my own neck, and will serve me well in leaving Pelagiad unseen. The rest of their armor and weapons I sold to a smith in Ald Velothi.

The smith, Orero Omothan, was the first person I met in the town, and she was not ready to do business. I actually met her in the street, far from her forge, not knowing she was the smith. She seemed to be just a distraught woman. After the ambush at the pond another distraught woman was not what I was looking for, but I stopped to see what the problem was.

Orero immediately put out a hand to relieve me of the bundled armor that I carried. "I'll hold that for you adventurer. Please. You have to help Madura! She is a harmless pilgrim. The savage Ashlanders have kidnapped her!" How do I continually walk into these things?

I did not want to get sidetracked on a fruitless search through the Ashlands. If they had taken this pilgrim away there would be no point trying to track the natives. "How long are they gone?" I asked.

"Not long, and not far. They have her in their camp on the top of the hill there." She pointed, and I could see the wisp of smoke from a campfire. "They want to ransom her, but who can afford to pay them. Savages! If we pay them they will just kidnap someone else tomorrow."

I handed over the bundle. "Take these to the local smith. I'll be there to barter them later today."

She smiled. "I am the smith. Rescue Madura and I'll give you a great price." Chitin armor; if she gave me twice what it was worth it still wouldn't be much. I trudged towards the Ashlander camp.

The chameleon amulet is extremely effective. I slipped through the camp like a shadow, pausing to listen to snatches of conversation, and locating the leader's yurt, where I guessed the hostage would be held. These ashlanders had lived peacefully in the west gash for generations, and given the centuries long lifespan of the Dunmer, generations is a long time. The coming of the Redorans had squeezed them, and now their own brethren, driven down from Red Mountain by the blight, were squeezing them further, beyond a breaking point. To them there was no more right or wrong in ransoming a pilgrim than there would be in taking a cliff racer or harvesting the trama root. What their ancestors brought to their land was brought for their use, from their point of view.

I pulled the amulet off as I entered the leader's yurt, bypassing his guards. The Daedric spear glowing in my hands and my sudden appearance conveyed that I would be a dangerous opponent, keeping the point down and a relaxed grip would let him know I did not really want to fight, I hoped. "It is death to enter an Ashkahn's yurt uninvited outlander, but I forgive you. You are here for the woman no doubt." He waved dismissively towards a sturdy Dunmer woman who sat on a stool. "As you can see she is unharmed. Not even bound. There is no need, she would not make it past the warriors outside. You might. She won't. If you want her you will have to pay for her."

I activated the amulet, briefly, and pulled it off once more. "Or go out and kill them one by one while she waits in safety, but no one wants that. I would actually rather pay a reasonable ransom so your people can be fed. Is that what you would prefer, or do you want to lead them into death? Or you might even kill me, and her, and starve. You choose."

"We did not take her to kill her outlander. Nor do I want to kill you, or your blood would be seeping into the floor right now. My people are hungry. The soft people of the great house clans take more food than they can eat, and ship it away to markets, while we go hungry. They are soft, but the Redoran soldiers are not. They have honor, and I do not want to fight them, but the soft ones have no honor and let the guards fight for them. When the Tribunal Temple let the great houses onto the land they gave away what was not theirs to give, now with the blight we must take it back, or starve."

"The blight will pass Ashkahn. Learn to live with the great houses. They aren't going to go away, but hopefully there will not be many more of them invading your land." I gave him a thousand gold pieces. "Buy the food that they ship to far away lands. They will do better selling it to you, and they will know that if they cheat you you will run out of gold, and that will just cause more problems. War can be honorably chosen, but don't let the blight drive you to it."

He nodded reluctantly, and shook my hand. "Go in peace, outlander, and take this one with you." He pulled the woman roughly to her feet. I wondered as we walked out of the tent if he would signal the guards to let us pass, or have us slain. To the great house Dunmer the Ashlanders may be savages, but they keep their word. I brought the hostage, much subdued, into the outpost.

"It is up to you to let the townspeople know that cheating the Ashlanders, or refusing to sell them food, will lead to war, a war without honor. The Redoran guard doesn't need that, the Ashlanders don't need that, and the townspeople don't need that." She nodded quiet agreement.

"Outlander, you paid a king's ransom for my release. Why? They would have taken far less."

"And then they would have taken someone else. Hopefully that was enough to hold them over until the blight eases," I explained.

"What makes you think the blight will ever ease?" she asked with no hope in her voice.

"I'm working on it," I said, as if that would somehow make a difference.

The ruins were easily found by following the coast west from Ald Velothi, just as Edwinna said. I am glad I didn't have to approach this redoubtable fortress during the Dwemer's day. It stands on a rocky pinnacle, high above the sea. A series of two stout bridges, made of Dwemer metal, must be crossed as mighty chasms yawn below. The remains of a mighty siege engine, a device like a crossbow, but with a span longer than the height of two men, still points the length of the bridge. Charging into the bolts such a device could hurl would be a daunting task for the boldest warriors. A towering statue still stands, overseeing the ruined defenses.

The ruins yielded the tube Edwinna needs, and enough other artifacts to make a good load for Mebestian, but I suspect it will not cover my losses on the day. A small price paid for peace, however fleeting. The blight must be stopped, or this island is going to be torn apart.

Day Sixty-five: Promoted by the Archmage

I have been called to Vivec. Had I known that when I got up this morning I might have just walked there. Instead I have been all over the island, mostly by silt strider. I needed the time to think anyway. Not that the thinking did me any good. The bad Daedra cults are spreading the blight. The Sixth House cult is spreading the blight. The Empire is embargoing Vvardenfell, which is going to make matters worse. The Tribunal Temple is pretending they have it all under control, which is making matters worse. If I am the reincarnation of Nerevar I would have thought I would know it, and I would certainly think I'd have at least a clue what to do about it all; and I don't. On the walk to Seyda Neen and the long strider ride to Ald-ruhn I didn't solve any problems, and as soon as I got there new problems started raining down on me.

Edwinna welcomed me, thanked me profusely for the Dwemer tube, and sent me directly to the guild guide for transport to Vivec. The summons from the Archmage Trebonius apparently left no time for pleasantries. I thought I was prepared for the worst, even if I got expelled from the guild I have enough friends. Edwinna and Ranis would probably lobby to get me reinstated. In the shifting allegiances of the guild I think I could get around Trebonius' ire fairly easily. His favor may be a lot more difficult to live with. He greeted me before I got five steps from the guide platform.

"Arvil my lad! Great to have you back from the hinterlands!" he boomed. I'm sure everyone in the guild hall was aware of my return, and probably most of the foreign quarter. I tried not to seem completely thrown off, but I'm sure I failed, and followed the archmage lamely into his office. "I'm promoting you to conjurer! Why those luffers in the lesser halls have been holding you back I'll never know." I could feel the venom of the rest of the guild rising against me with every word. Then he quietly said "nice work with that book, gave me a chance to put that snobbish Altmer Sirlonwe right in her place." Great. "Now listen, you need to start paying dues. I know that won't be a problem, but what you really must do is start sharpening your skills. You have a good diverse range, but some of the other ranking mages think you rely on your spear to the detriment of your abilities. You need a specialty, and you need to practice. You don't need to study all that much. Edwinna in Ald-ruhn has read all the books, near as I can make out, and it wouldn't help her a whit if I sent a fireball up her robe, eh?"

I stammered something that probably made no sense, and handed over two hundred septims in guild dues. Then he kicked me out. The looks I got from the rest of the local mage's left no doubt that this was worse than the expulsion I had expected. Sirlonwe in particular looked like she was measuring me for a casket.

I wanted to get out of the guild hall, and a message waiting for me from Tarar Braryn gave me a good excuse. I levitated down from the plaza level and landed on the surface of the bay using my water walking spell, and walked the length of the city to the temple canton. Practice, practice, practice. I had better bring my skills up to justify my rank fast.

The subcommander of the watch greeted me warmly, again putting me on my guard. I had done him a favor, and had broken up the Daedric cult operating in St. Olms canton, but it wasn't like we parted as friends. As the saying goes, need makes strange fellows. The Ordinators have decided they need somebody, and I'm it.

Their problem is the killings in the foreign quarter. Actually, if the killings had only been outlanders in the foreign quarter I suspect it wouldn't be a problem for them at all. What made it a problem is that the killer had struck again, this time in the Hlaalu canton. Apparently the killer had been surprised in the act during their foray into this expanded range. Two Ordinators were also slain; throats slit, without ever drawing their weapons. In some quarters the dreaded word vampire was being uttered, though the knowledgeable know that the slashed throat would not suit the undead. To a vampire blood spilled is food wasted. The rumors, growing ever wilder, demand a response, and the Ordinators have let it be known they are doing everything they can, even seeking outside help. Me.

Tarar introduced me to Elam Andas, chief of the watch. He gave me all the information they have, which is not much. An outlander mage reported being threatened by a Dunmer woman with a dagger in Hlaalu canton not long before the killings, but his description is vague at best. He got only a brief look before teleporting to safety. He did say that she was wearing netch leather armor. Most people don't openly wear armor around the city. That may be a start at least, and the Ordinators will be cooperative. I might be able to do something to help.

Day Sixty-six: Research

I took some advantage of being assigned to help the Ordinators with the murders. When I woke this morning I went directly to the library in the Hall of Wisdom, ostensibly to do some research regarding the magic apparently in use. I did learn some things that may help with the murders, but I also had the opportunity to speak to Caius' friend Mehra Milo. From her I learned a lot of things. Then I went to Jobasha's bookstore and got a book that she recommended, and I learned a lot more.

In 'Progress of Truth' the views of a group known as the Dissident priests are set forth. The Dissidents seem to have started by questioning why the Temple hierarchy is so adamant in their persecution of the Nerevarine cult, and progressed from there along lines that have already occurred to me. Like; would the Tribunal want Nerevar back? The Dissidents, in their study of Ashlander legend, have found many points to ponder there. The official story of Nerevar's demise at the hands of Dagoth Ur is countered by the Ashlander belief that the Tribunal is somehow responsible. In fact the Ashlanders claim that Nerevar left Dagoth Ur to guard the Dwemer secrets inside Red Mountain. Those secrets of the Dwemer would account for Dagoth Ur's apparent immortality, and some claim that the Tribunal's immortality was not conferred upon them by the collected ancestors and good Daedra, but is a result of their own use of the Dwemer technologies that they profess were destroyed as profane.

The Dissidents, pursuing these lines of research, naturally ran afoul of the Ordinators. This lead to their own persecution. As they began to personally experience the methods of the Ordinators their own position grew further and further from the Temple leadership. They have reached a point where they are in open defiance of Temple policy in many areas, accusing the leadership of the modern temple of being more interested in maintaining their own authority and luxury than the welfare of the people. The authority of the Ordinators they have flatly rejected.

I must get this book to Caius.

By showing up in Ald-ruhn with a book and immersing myself in study I at least kept Edwinna from being overly offended at my new status in the guild. As she put it, clumsy politics on the part of Trebonius. I also transported to Balmora to gather some ingredients from Ajira, and I am still well liked there. In addition to studying the book of the Dissident priests, I spent some time distilling restoratives with the help of Anarenen the Alchemist. Despite his tendency to ramble he is so skillful that I gratefully spent the time with him. All indications point to some sort of powerful fatigue magic being used by the killer in Vivec, and I want to be prepared. When the killer puts people to sleep, it appears to be permanent.

Day Sixty-seven: Journeyman Blade

I began my search for the Dunmer woman in the netch armor in the foriegn quarter. I don't know that she is the killer, but looking for her seems like the best way to start. I set out from this point: the Ordinators haven't found her, so she must be somewhere they aren't. This leads directly into the sewers beneath the canton. Another dubious benefit that came to mind is that if I go prowling around in the secluded areas of the foriegn quarter there is a very good chance the killer will find me.

The killer did not find me today, however. I actually didn't make it all the way to the sewers either. The canalworks, a level below the main thoroughfares of the city but above the flowing wastes of the sewers, caught my attention. Despite its huge size, the foriegn quarter canton is crowded, and I found that even the canalworks level hosts shops and other functions. To my surprise I found an Imperial cult shrine discretely occupying a small chapel. Among the businesses an Ordinator paced the halls.

He was not happy. Ordinators, in my experience, never are; but this one was particularly unhappy. I suppose that he also recognized this as the most likely place to look for the killer, and now that the killer has two Ordinators to their credit that isn't so appealing. Before descending into the sewers I asked him about the rest of the canalworks, specifically if there were any unoccupied areas he didn't patrol. He suggested the tombs.

I suppose during some periods of history Morrowind was almost completely isolated, which would mean no foriegners to throng the foriegn quarter. Apparently during those times the native Dunmer occuppied the canton, and where Dunmer live there are tombs for their ancestors. The tombs in the canalworks beneath the foriegn quarter are mostly ignored by those living in our current time, but they are still there, and still home to the dead. A Dunmer with a bent for killing outlanders might consider it a good home as well. I crept inside.

Unlike the family tombs I have visited in the countryside, there are no burial urns in the foriegn quarter tombs. Long centuries of disuse have left it barren; dusty and abandoned. The Dunmer ancestors do not rest quietly in such quarters. In their aggravation they present powerful opposition to disturbance. I was sorely challenged. Skeletal warriors beset me at every turn, armed with mighty claymores crafted of silver. Among them floated strange skeletal constructs with multiple arms held together by glowing robes that revealed no feet or legs as they fluttered above the floor in the creature's wake. These horrors struck with spells, and raked with their great bony claws. Their malice lent credence to the idea that they might shelter a Dunmer with outlander blood on their hands, but they apparently do not. I spent most of the day in the winding passages of the tomb, and found nothing.

I returned to the guild hall in time for dinner. I had an appetite after the efforts of the day, but was covered with dust and my shirt hung in rags over my armor. Rather than face the hostile glare of Sirlonwe and some other obvious jealousies, I got transport to Balmora. Ajira fussed and fretted over my condition. Galbedir gave me a shirt that she hadn't gotten around to enchanting. I had a hot bath and they saved me some dinner. I may not get the respect due my rank in Balmora, but I get friendship, which is far more valuable.

With a full stomache and fresh clothes I set out into the darkened streets, cloaked by my chameleon amulet. I found Caius at home, surrounded by piles of notes. He looked tired. I almost felt guilty as I added the Dissident priest's book 'Progress of Truth' to the stacks.

"Arvil," said the spymaster, "I must admit that when the Emperor sent you to me I did not expect much. The Nerevarine prophecies present some opportunities, and some risks, and to explore those opportunities we needed someone with the right birthday and unknown parentage. Not much of a qualification, but I didn't expect him to go to the Imperial prisons to find someone to fill it. I expected someone from the Legion I suppose, or something. I assumed you would disappear into the swamps, as either a smuggler or a corpse, in short order. You surprised me, and you continue to surprise me, and if there is such a thing as this Nerevarene I can't think of anyone better for it to be than you. Your performance on the missions I've given you has been exemplary. I agree in principle with your stand against the Cammona Tong, and I can't tell you how impressed I was with your efficiency and effectiveness in that matter. And your rise in the Mage's Guild has been meteoric. I've drafted a letter to the Emperor congratulating him on his choosing you for the assignment, and promoting you to journeyman rank."

From convict to ranking member of His Majesty's Secret Service. Amazing. I need to stop looking like a ragimuffin. My black armor was fine when I was using a spear all the time, but the close quarters style of the shortsword is destroying my wardrobe. Tomorrow I will wear a steel cuirasse that will protect me, and my clothes.

Day Sixty-eight: The dreamer prophet

Tonight I sleep in my own bed in Pelagiad, satisfied with having brought a murderer to justice and so laden by the reward that I had to use my recall spell to get out of the Chief of the Watch's office.

I spent most of my day wandering the sewers of the foreign quarter. The city has a seemingly endless supply of rats, and they provided constant opportunity to practice my marksmanship. While not as comfortable as my spear, the bow is becoming a very effective weapon for me. Which benefited me well in the early afternoon, when a fleeting glimpse of my quarry began the dance of death.

As the woman came into view around a far away corner I saw the netch leather armor. Her immediate dive back around the corner confirmed that she was likely to be guilty of something. I charged down the sewer tunnel, slowing warily as I neared the branching where she had disappeared. When I peered around the corner she was nowhere to be seen. I could hear her though; the sound of boots on stone echoed in the darkness. I pursued.

It did not take long for me to realize that she was not trying to get away. In the twisting, turning passages every corner called for caution. I had started out the hunter, but become the prey. Her footfalls would lead me the direction she wanted me to go, but then fall silent, leaving me to slide with my back to a wall peering into darkened passages. The pursuit wore on, with neither of us getting the opportunity we sought. Then opportunity struck, and so did my dangerous foe. From the darkness a slender dark skinned arm lashed out, the chitin dagger biting into my shoulder.

It was a minor wound, easily recovered from, or ignored, but a terrible weariness immediately sapped my strength away. My eyelids began to droop. I knew if they shut it would be on the last view I would ever see. I lurched towards the flowing canal and activated my levitation boots. I could hear the woman cursing me, as if from a great distance. "Dream the dreams of Dagoth Ur outlander. Sleep the sleep from which there is no waking." As I floated out over the canal I fumbled for the flask of restorative potion on my belt.

An enchanted item will focus magica for as long as the soul of the item can endure. That's the benefit of enchanted items, the user is free to concentrate on other things, or in this case not to concentrate at all. Apparently I fell asleep suspended by my boots above the fetid muck of the canal. When the spell was exhausted I fell into the mire, the stench and chill briefly rousing me from my stupor. Fortunately, the restorative potion was clutched in my fist. I gulped it desperately, gagging on the foulness of the canal water that unavoidably mixed in.

As the restorative surged through my veins I again activated my boots, rising from the muck like an ascending spirit of vengeance. The woman fled as I alit on the far side of the canal with bow in hand. The enchanted arrows I drew from my quiver strike as lightning, and the first took her low in the ribs and swept her forward off her feet. I gave her no chance to rise. Three more strikes and the dreamer prophet of Dagoth Ur lay still on the grimy bank of the sewer.

I took her dagger, which was quite obviously the murder weapon, and considered my options. My clothes, inside my armor, reeked of the sewer, as did my hair. To walk the halls of the canton in this condition would draw attention of the most unwelcome sort. The sewer, on the other hand, could threaten no further indignity. I followed the canal downstream to the passageways end, cast a water breathing spell and dove in, emerging into the bay through a deep grate. With my water breathing spells and my heavy steel armor I walked the bottom of the bay all the way to the temple canton. I emerged, wet but clean, by casting my water walking spell and stepping onto the gondolier dock.

I arrived at Elam Andas's office still damp and bedraggled, but was admitted immediately when I presented the chitin dagger and said "this is the weapon that killed your fellows, and the outlanders. I'm sure the commander would want to hear my report."

He did. He handled the dagger carefully, assessing its enchantments. "You are lucky to be alive, Arvil Bren; lucky, skilled, and determined. The city of Vivec owes you a debt of gratitude. For my part I will provide a more tangible reward." He offered me some choices. I chose the armor of one of the fallen Ordinators. The intricately crafted Indoril armor now graces my collection on the hallway floor. I don't know why I chose it from the rewards offered, since I cannot wear it for fear of being mistaken for an Ordinator, but there may come a time when such a mistake would be desirable, and it is exceptional armor. Ahnassi is impressed.

Day Sixty-nine: Enough of the sewers

My sleep last night was tormented by dreams, hopefully a last vestige of my encounter with the dreamer prophet rather than a portent of things to come. The prophet herself looked small and unassuming in death when I led the Ordinators to her body this morning. As they carried her up out of the sewers I resolved to search for her lair. I seem to be spending more time in the sewers of Vivec than the sewer rats.

I did not find her lair, but did run afoul of another evil nest. The Orcs of the Wrothgarian mountains have been legally adopted into the Empire. They have all the rights of any other citizens, and many have channeled their innate ferocity into rewarding careers in the Imperial Legions. Legally they are like any other citizens, but they are set apart by their green skins, coarse language, and barbaric ways; and by their widespread devotion to what civilized folk regard as the bad Daedra. Unsurprisingly the orcs of the foreign quarter of Vivec have founded a shrine, hidden in the sewers beneath the city.

Normally I try to be tolerant of the beliefs of others, and so does the Empire. The ancestor worship of the Dunmer is accepted, and the Orcish followers of their Daedra are as well. But my recent experience has shown me that the bad Daedra are exerting their influence on current events; exerting it in favor of Dagoth Ur and the blight. I felt compelled to investigate the Orc's shrine. They did not accept my intrusion gracefully.

The guard at the door was drunk, lolling on a bench. Rather than providing security he fairly announced the presence of the shrine. I used my amulet of shadows to slip past him and through the door. Two Orcs where inside making their offerings to a figure of a Daedra carved of red stone. In the short guttural phrases of their kind they promised their fealty, and reported their successes in spreading death and destruction through the city. Once again an opportunity to combine a public service with satisfying my own avarice presented itself. The woman wore the simple robes of a shaman, but the male was clad in Orcish mail. Orcish armorers are considered to be among the finest in the Empire.

I emerged from the shadows. They could have fled, or greeted me even with hostile suspicion, and lived. But they chose to fight and die. As fast as the barbarian was in drawing his mighty ebony longsword, my conjured spear leapt to hand even faster, and I lanced him through the leg to limit his mobility. The shaman took her opportunity to strike with venomous magic, but the strength of her spell was not sufficient to lay me low, so I let it run its course while I buffeted her with blows from my spear. She was well versed in unarmed combat, nimble and quick, and she blocked or dodged many of my attacks, but soon enough she lay on the floor of the shrine in a spreading pool of blood.

As I turned to face the armored barbarian he roared, "You strike leg in surprise. You kill she with no weapon. Come to sword pinkskin. Your bones will be my dinner." The longsword sliced through the air with a hiss. He had great strength and a sharp heavy blade, and courage of the insanely foolhardy sort. On one leg against the longer reach of my spear he stood no chance. Where it not for the things I had heard him boast to his lord, about women and children whose bones had made his dinners before, I would have felt remorse. I slew him without a second thought.

I have no regrets for the guard at the door either. I did not slay him. I emerged from the shrine with my water walking spell activated, struck him a bare handed blow that roused him from his stupor, and ran onto the surface of the canal. The Orcs have generations of ferocity, strength, and stupidity behind them. They are citizens of the Empire now, and will need to have other qualities of their race emerge. I felt like I was contributing to that as the swirling muck sucked the armor clad warrior down to his death. I strode back onto the deck, looted the shrine, and transported home. I have had enough of the sewers.

Day Seventy: To join the Temple

I have tired of the warrens of Vivec City. Even in the upper levels of the cantons there is a sense of being indoors. Travelling by spells, be they my own or the guild guides there is no chance to feel the dirt underfoot, breathe open air, see the sky and far vistas. Today I made up for that by strolling the countryside between Pelagiad and Balmora. I wanted to adjust to heavy armor again as well as practice my alteration magic, specifically water breathing. I am becoming quite adept. Much of the countryside in the Ascadian Isles region being underwater gave me many opportunities. Walking through the depths in heavy armor is a much slower way to travel than teleportation, but I arrived in Balmora with a fair sack of pearls gathered in passing from the Kallops of the lakebeds.

In Balmora I had dinner with Caius. It took an effort to pull him away from his books and notes. Finally I said "Something may be revealed in discussion that could be read over a dozen times." We dined on fresh mudcrab and nix hound steaks that I had gathered during my hike. I don't know if anything revealed by our discussion will prove important or not, but it gave me a chance to get more familiar with the mysterious spymaster, and gave him a break from his endless studying. He has not yet determined where to send me next, but we agreed I should take the time to get familiar with more of the island.

"Have you heard of a book called 'The Pilgrim's Path'?" he asked.

"I think I saw it in Jobasha's Rare Bookstore," I replied. "Am I remembering correctly; he said it was a temple book?"

"That's the one. It recounts the seven graces of Vivec. There are shrines, and initiates of the temple make pilgimages to them representing these seven graces. I've been thinking about the temple; and you. The Tribunal Temple has no tolerance for the Nerevarine Cult. They have even less tolerance for anyone claiming to be the Nerevarine. I think there are some in the temple who would just as soon round up everyone born on the specified day, have a big bonfire and roast them all. That would include you. And the further along this path we go, the more inclined they will be to have at least a small fire and roast you."

"Thanks Caius. When you brought me here that was part of the plan I assume. Looking forward to grilling nix hound on a spit at the big occassion?"

He chuckled. "No lad, I never intended for it to get that far. At the time the whole Nerevarine question was just...sort of out there. Now I'm starting to think it all makes sense. Gone native a bit maybe. At any rate, I don't want to see you get tossed in a fire by the Ordinators. There's a bit of wisdom I've picked up in my years of service. Know your friends well, and your enemies better. The temple may well become dangerous enemies. It may serve you well to learn more about them."

"So you think I should do these pilgrimages?"

"It wouldn't hurt. Make some friends in the temple. Might accidently come to know some of these disidents, or some that might become disidents. And the pilgrimages will take you into parts of Vvardenfell you've not yet seen. Things are cooling off here in Balmora with the Hlaalu, but Feldrelo Sadri over at the temple doesn't like you much. Might help with that as well. Since she is in charge here in Balmora she is not a good enemy to have."

I went back to the guild hall and took transport to Ald-ruhn. I don't have 'The Pilgrim's Path' in my collection. Tomorrow I will visit the temple here and pick up a copy.

Day Seventy-one: Humility

This morning I joined the Temple and began the Pilgrimage of the Seven Graces. Tuls Valen, the senior priest at the temple in Ald-ruhn accepted me warmly. Hopefully I can impress him and build enough of a reputation in the temple to get past the ill will in Balmora. I don't know how good a start today was.

The first of the seven graces is humility. There is a shrine at a place called the Fields of Kummu. Kummu was a farmer. Upon the death of his guar he could not work his fields, and without the harvest he could not afford a replacement for the guar. Kummu and his family were facing starvation when Vivec, the warrior poet, happened upon them. Kummu believed that his plea to his ancestors had somehow been answered, and Vivec, to honor the ancestors, resolved to help the farmer. Rather than just buying a new guar, which he obviously could have done, Vivec humbled himself and joined the farmer in his fields to take in the harvest. I personally suspect the farmer would rather have had a new guar, but that is neither here nor there.

The Shrine of Vivec's Humility turns out to be on the shore of lake Amaya, not far from Pelagiad. I thought that was an excellent turn, and was planning to use my recall spell to come home when Tuls Valen pointed out that the truly humble would not shortcut the pilgrimage by magically flitting about. I wanted to point out that the Ald-ruhn temple is a lot further from Lake Amaya than Vivec City or Balmora, and I could just as easily have started my pilgrimage from either of those much handier temples, but...humility. I trudged up the dusty hill to the southeast of Ald-ruhn muttering to myself.

The first thing I learned from being a pilgrim is that a straight line might be the shortest distance, but not necessarily the quickest path. There is a road from Ald-ruhn to Caldera, and on to Balmora. The road heads west from Ald-ruhn before winding south, skirting the foothills of Red Mountain. I am a Journeyman in the Blades exploring Vvardenfell, I will not be confined to the roads. I am a Conjurer in the Mage's Guild, I can levitate over otherwise impassable ridges. Humility was clearly lacking.

By noon I was hot and miserable in my heavy armor. Despite floating over the steepest and rockiest passages I had climbed numerous hills, raising clouds of dusty ash that inevitably found their way inside my armor. The grey landscape, barren except for the thorny trama vines that writhe across the gritty surface, depressed my spirits. In the distance to the east I could see the shimmer of the towering ghostfence. The blight contained behind it added to the oppression. As I crossed yet another ridge a shear drop yawned at my feet, and I recognized the mighty Foyada Mamaca. I abandoned the straight line approach to pilgrimages. The bottom of the deep foyada would offer shade, and would take me down the slopes of Red Mountain into the lush greens of the Ascadian Isles without further climbing. Arrogance had given way to convenience. Humility was still distant, but waiting.

The path along the bottom of the Foyada was all that I had hoped it would be, though I was beset by swarms of cliff racers. These rapacious predators diving from the walls kept me alert, until I reached a huge Daedric ruin that clots the foyada. There my alertness failed me. It wasn't a diving cliff racer that escaped my notice, but something far worse.

As I approached the ruins I couldn't miss the glow of a flame atronach. The elemental monster stalked the ruins, trailing smoke as bits of grass and trama vine smoldered in its wake. I activated my amulet, blending into the chaotic patterns etched into the stone. The powerful chameleon spell and the atronach's sense of its own power made it easy to sneak up behind it with my conjured spear at the ready. I put everything I had behind a mighty thrust, squarely into the mass of flames between the broad shoulders. The atronach pitched forward into a mass of trama vine, which instantly burst into flame. I struck swiftly to finish the beast before it could launch the blistering jets of flame that are the favorite weapon of these visitors from the elemental planes.

That was when my lack of alertness nearly finished me. Having just speared the atronach in the back I cannot complain of the tactics. The thin whistle of a blade through the air came a split second before the blow, but gave no useful warning. The mighty Daedric axe shattered steel and bone, crushing my shoulder and ribs and driving me headlong into the arms of the atronach writhing on my spear. The stench of burning flesh invaded my senses as agony blackened my vision.

Long ago in High Rock my father took me to an alchemist's shop and bought a potion. The potion binds the mystical energy of a recall spell. He told me to always keep the small vial handy on my belt, for quick escapes. I picked up a vial in Balmora shortly after my arrival. In my arrogance lately I have considered many times giving up the habit of carrying it. My skills have grown, I can cast a recall spell reliably enough. My spear has slain innumerable horrors. I thought I was beyond the need for quick escapes, but I kept the vial; my father's voice haunting me over the vast distance and time. I thank him tonight for my life.

Thankfully my mate has the abilities and demeanor to have reached a high rank in the theive's guild. She was certainly startled when I appeared in the hall shattered and afire, but with feline grace she swept a blanket over me to put out the flames, then doused me with water from the mop bucket to cool the glowing oven of my steel breastplate. Whether she used spells or poured magical restoratives down my throat I don't know, but she pulled me back from the brink of death far enough for me to activate my own healing magic. Soon the wounds were reduced to angry scars, and the burned off hair will grow back, but the memory of that shattering blow will be with me always. Tomorrow I will complete the pilgrimage to the Shrine of Humility. I may not have walked the entire distance, but I will have traveled a long course.

Day Seventy-two: Fields of Kummu

I completed the pilgrimage today. The shrine stands in a beautiful area along the north shore of Lake Amaya. One of the local farm products is muck, harvested from the muck sponges along the shore. Though it does not look very appealing, and the name is certainly not appetizing, it is a staple and properly prepared adds to many dishes. Since the harvest that Vivec assisted Kummu with was the muck harvest it was appropriate to leave an offering of muck at the base of the shrine. The blessing of the shrine left me feeling lightened of my burdens all day. My return trip to Ald-ruhn was completed with a bouncing step.

Tuls Valen welcomed me back at the temple. "The pilgrimage has served you well Arvil Bren. The blessing of Vivec eases your burdens, and the virtue of humility enfolds you. You have learned well." I told him about the Daedric shrine, and my experiences in the Foyada Mamaca. He says I will have to pass that ruin on my pilgrimage to the Ghostfence Shrine, and suggested that it would be a service to other pilgrims if I sent the Daedric guardians back to their own planes. While vengeance is not a virtue, in this case it may serve a purpose.

My next pilgrimage is to the Shrine of Stop the Moon. Sheogorath of the bad Daedra, in battle with Lord Vivec, hurled the moon Baar Dau from its orbit to crush Vivec's palace. Vivec stopped the moon in its fall, and it hovers still over the city it would have destroyed, serving the Ordinators as the Ministry of Truth, the temple prison. I must journey to the shrine and offer a potion of levitation in honor of this feat. My new learned humility is already under test. I will walk to Vivec from Ald-ruhn, without consideration that had I taken on this quest from the Temple in the High Fane of Vivec the pilgrimage would be nothing more than walking outside to the shrine.

As I was about to leave the temple Tuls Valen stopped me. He didn't use magica or grab me, but his words rooted me to the floor. "I've asked around a little about you. There is more to you than meets the eye. What do you know about the Nerevarine prophecies?" I turned slowly to face him, considering how best to make my escape should he consign me to prison or execution. No Ordinators were in evidence, and I wondered if I could overpower him. As the temple's ranking member in one of Vvardenfell's largest cities I suspect he would be a powerful foe.

Fortunately I said the right thing, which was nothing, and he proceeded to sketch out the basics of the prophecy, all of which I already knew. "I am telling you all of this since I don't consider you a mere layman, in fact you would be better called a novice of the temple, and I have a task that suits your...unique skills. A false incarnate of Nerevar has appeared in Suran. With the attention that the Empire is turning on the prophecies we are hesitant to have the Ordinators seize this pretender. From what I've heard from Edwinna over at the Mage's Guild you have some experience in handling...delicate matters. On your way to Vivec I want you to visit Suran and find this 'Nerevarine' and convince him that he is not what he claims."

My reputation for handling 'delicate matters' in the Mage's Guild had to come from Ranis in Balmora, so I hesitated before asking the obvious question. I didn't want to hear the obvious answer. "How would I go about convincing him that he isn't who he thinks he is?"

"Well, you are a persuasive and resourceful fellow Arvil Bren. I'm sure you'll think of something. If nothing else, the Nerevarine can't die, so you could prove him false by just killing him." How did I know that was coming?

Day Seventy-three: Ghostgate surprise

Well, this is certainly not where I expected to be tonight; in a Redoran run hostel in the Tower of Dusk at Ghostgate. Ghostgate, which is the only passage through the ghostfence around Red Mountain, is flanked by two towers; this one and the Tower of Dawn. The Redorans provide services in this tower, which houses a branch of temple soldiers called the Buoyant Armigers, while Ordinators and temple functionaries throng the opposite tower. Temple functionaries, including my current traveling companion.

I met Viatrix Petilia this morning. She was waiting for me in the entry room of the guild hall. Without courtesy or preamble she said "I understand you know a path into the Foyada Mamaca. I need to be in Ghostgate in two days. Urgent temple business." She reached down and hefted her light pack onto her shoulder.

She had to have come from Tuls Valen. Clearly he would not have sent her if it wasn't important to him that she reach Ghostgate. I could reach Ghostgate in a day. Could this foppishly dressed lady keep the pace? I had no way of knowing. Could I protect her from the gauntlet of cliff racers and other monsters we would have to run? I had no way to know that either. Little did I know that the biggest challenge would be not abandoning the acid tongued, arrogant agent to be taken to mate by some free ranging kagouti. I might have done it, but I am too sympathetic to the dumb animals.

Throughout the day, at every pause to let her catch up, she would greet me with "Hurry up! I told you I don't have time to waste." Every battle with cliff racer, kagouti, wild guar, or shalk beetle I would have to heal her wounds, as she refused to stay out of the way. "You were taking too long and I'm in a hurry," she would say to my suggestions that she let me handle the creatures. She had time to complain, but never time to say thank you as I expended my magica healing her. Of course she never noticed how the battles slowed down once she came within range and I had to concentrate on protecting her as well as myself. By the time we reached the steep wall of the foyada my commitment to whatever urgent temple business she carried was stretched thin.

"Listen!" I said. "I've protected you all morning, and put up with your complaints. The business of the temple is your passport, and I'm willing to be your guide, but I could honestly report that I did my part even if you slide down this slope and break your neck. I could even say I had done my part if the slide started with me pitching you over the edge. Who's to know? Now either shut up or say thank you, your choice, but whichever you choose make it a choice that lasts out the day." I don't know how I will look in her reports, but at least the rest of the day was passed in sullen but blessed silence.

When we arrived we entered the Tower of Dawn. She is settled in quarters maintained for visiting temple members and pilgrims. In the morning I will escort her to the Ghostgate shrine, which is inside the Ghostfence, and then thankfully take my leave of her. I opted to stay in the Redoran hostel. Neither tower seemed big enough for both the agent and myself. It turned out to be a good choice.

Rather than getting quietly drunk in the bar I ended up enjoying the company. This tower, as I said, is the base of the Buoyant Armigers. I went to the bar expecting to find stuffy temple bureaucrats and even stuffier Ordinators, but the armigers are not at all like their opposing branch. They face the constant pressure of Red Mountain with a quick wit and a hearty laugh, and enjoy their off duty time to the fullest. It was a pleasant evening, and tomorrow I will have my full wits about me for the sojourn inside the Ghostfence rather than dragging the hangover I expected. Dragging Viatrix will be bad enough.

Day Seventy-four: Fooled only once

Once again my pilgrimage has been augmented by my recall spell. With the extra errands assigned along the way I don't feel bad about that. This time it wasn't due to a near death experience, I was just so laden down that I could barely walk. I don't feel bad about that either.

This morning I was enjoying breakfast at the Redoran hostel, picking up what I could as some Buoyant Armigers swapped stories, when the shrill voice of Viatrix Petilia rang through the room. "Arvil Bren! What are you doing! I need to get to the shrine!" I took a last sorrowful look at my half eaten omelet, grabbed a slice of toast laden with scrib jelly and followed her out.

"You told me you wanted to get here in two days, I got you here in one. I don't expect gratitude, but you could have let me finish my breakfast in peace," I grumbled around a mouthful.

"You and your breakfast are not my concern," she snapped, but thankfully after that she resumed yesterday's sullen silence.

We passed through the ghostgate and followed the short path to the shrine. I stood guard as she made her offerings and led her back. She received a blessing from Vivec's shrine, I got mine at the gate when we parted company. I wonder if Tuls inflicted this shrew on me as a test of my newfound humility. More likely he was just glad someone could escort her to a place far away, and hopes she will not find escort back.

Free of my traveling companion I sped down the bottom of the foyada. The cliff racers gave me numerous opportunities to practice with my shortsword and shield. While I have gotten very adept at spearing them out of the air, the lack of reach of the shortsword calls for entirely different stratagems. Blocking the lancing tail as it strikes, while slicing at the buffeting wings with the blade eventually wears the beasts down. Enough rips in the membrane of the wings and they settle slowly into range of the sword. Not as efficient, but if I am to shed my reputation as a spearman first, mage second, I will need to get used to the less obtrusive weaponry.

I made no pretense when I reached the Daedric ruins. I conjured a spear and held it at the ready as I activated my amulet and melted into the shadows. This time I intended to get a full lay of the land before charging into battle, but if I got caught it would not be without my most lethal weapon in hand.

The vast ruin sprawls up the southeast side of the foyada, but I confined my initial search to the lower pavilions. In my previous encounter I apparently did severe damage to the flame atronach. In his place an even more powerful storm atronach paced, sparks crackling along the surface of the thick cloud that gives substance to its humanoid form. I skirted the area carefully, and spotted the dremora leaning in the shadows. The daedric armor blended well with the swirling engraving of the ruin. Its flat black color suited the shadows almost as well as my own powerful chameleon spell.

The dremora are without substance in our plane; basically appearing as an animated suit of Daedric armor. When slain, the armor dematerializes back to the plane of the Daedra, but the spirit of the Dremora is frequently bound into their weapons, leaving them trapped in this solid inanimate form. Daedric weapons are highly prized for their keen edges, durability, and their capacity for enchantment. They are heavy, but extraordinarily valuable. If I could find someone who could afford them I could be hugely wealthy as I have gathered quite a collection, much of it today. I don't know if this dremora was the same one that struck me down, armed with a different weapon, or if the axe wielder had retired to his own plane to be replaced by this figure, which stood stock still with a mighty warhammer at port arms across its chest. Same one or different, this one would pay the price.

I again struck from behind. An atronach has no sense of honor, or mercy, or anything else. They are a conjuration embodying the elemental violence of their plane of origin, and to assign them any human values is to court death. Before striking I cast my most powerful defensive spells, and conjured a fresh spear, then gulped down most of a jug of sujamma. Though it dulled my wits, the potent liquor swelled the strength of my arms, and I drove the spear through the monster in one shattering blow that scattered wisps of cloud onto the hot wind blowing down from Red Mountain. This time I did not pause to survey my handiwork.

I did pause, but only for the carefully timed moment I had planned. I stepped forward into the swirl of dissipating cloud, holding my spear loosely in one hand and unlimbering my shield with the other. I did not put my arm through its straps, just pulled it off of my back. I knew the dremora would be closing on the now even less protected target, but the gleaming steel of my shield served a better purpose in my hand. I appeared to be looking down into the remains of the shattered elemental. I was actually watching the dremora's stealthy approach, reflected in the shield.

The great circular swing of the Daedric hammer would have ended the battle, crumpling my steel armor like paper. Would have, but once that great weight was committed to its arc I dropped to my knees and pitched forward, rolling into my own swiping blow. There was not much behind it, but with the dremora being dragged around by its own attack it was enough to knock it off its feet, the hammer thudding into the sandy floor of the foyada. As the spirit scrambled to regain its footing and its weapon I disrupted it further by flinging my shield as I rose. When I was first learning how to fight the drillmaster would scream at us 'first afoot carries the day'. He would repeatedly knock us down as we tried to stumble to our feet. I hated that old man then, but I would thank him today. I was first afoot, and pinned the thrashing dremora to the ground with a mighty thrust through its middle. Two powerful foes defeated, and I was unscathed.

I gathered my shield and turned at the sound of claws scrabbling over stone. In light of what I had just done the appearance of the scamp struck me as more comical than threatening. Perhaps it was the sujamma still clouding my senses. The small Daedric servant did catch me a nasty scratch with its claws before my shortsword sent it into a panicked frenzy, but after the atronach and dremora the battle was an anticlimax. Afterward I explored the rest of the ruins, finding the door to the shrine and no additional guardians. I half dragged and half carried the mighty hammer to the door. I have no idea what I will do with it, but it is far to valuable to have been left to be buried in the blowing sands.

Inside the shrine my spells served well. A brief area of silence and a vicious spear thrust from the concealment of my amulet's chameleon spell felled the guard without raising alarm. The cult's leader, taken by surprise, fell quickly, her netch leather armor shredded by the conjured spear before their other guardian dremora could reach the fray. The creature stood over its fallen master scanning the surroundings, but my amulet kept me hidden long enough to strike again. The dremora was quickly reduced to a mighty Daedric two handed sword, which clanged to the stone floor.

My appearance in her hallway was no less surprising to Ahnassi this time, but the awesome treasures I clutched in my hands did not have exactly the same effect as my former blazing arrival. The cult had accumulated quite the arsenal; hugely valuable, but mostly of no use to me. The exception being an ebony shortsword. Though not on a par with Daedric weaponry it is vastly superior to steel. I will have to think of some suitable enchantments for it.

Day Seventy-five: The false incarnate

This morning I completed the short remaining pilgrimage to the Shrine of Daring. It was the last walking of the day. The blessing of the shrine is a very powerful spell, similar to my own levitation spell but allowing for much faster flight. It lasted the rest of the day, all the way back to Ald-ruhn, and served me well in my mission to Suran.

Having made my offering and received my blessing I set off to Suran, a small city on the shore of Lake Amaya, not far from the Shrine of Humility. I had considered taking a silt strider, as the caravaners have a direct route from the strider port in Vivec City, but flying was even more direct; and exhilarating! The rolling hills, bays and inlets, and lush plantations of the Ascadian Isles unrolled beneath me. I found the city easily, and floated down into the courtyard of the local temple. I'm sure my obvious arrival was noted, and immediately gossiped all over town.

Before I became the rumor topic I needed to get information about the previous sensation of the moment; the latest Nerevarine. In some ways I actually hoped he would be the real thing; solve the problem of me possibly being the Nerevarine once and for all. Elynu Seren at the temple gave me little cause for hope as she expressed complete disdain for Elvil Vedron. She directed me to the public square in the northern end of town. I went to see for myself, though I left Elynu no reason to think I was not in complete agreement with the official temple position that this common man could not be the reincarnation of Nerevar.

Leaving the temple I soared into the air once more. As I cleared the buildings ringing the square I could hear the strident shouting. "Red Mountain spews ash and blight! Sleepers return to gather at the house! The time of the Incarnate is at hand!" Passers by mostly seemed to be ignoring him, and the Hlaalu guard who stood in the shade nearby looked on impassively. House Hlaalu are not the most devout followers of temple doctrine, to say the least. The very ordinary looking Dunmer stopped his tirade abruptly as I settled in front of him. "Outlander!" he hissed. "When I have reunited my people you and your kind will be cast from our shores forever!"

"Elvil, be reasonable. Your people do not look to be thronging around you. It takes more than a loud voice and the right birthday to be the Nerevarine."

"What do you know of the prophecy, outlander?"

"I know enough that the temple sent me for you instead of a squad of Ordinators to toss you into a fire."

"The temple sent me an outlander so I can begin driving them from our lands." His hand went to the hilt of his dagger. "Slaying you will draw the believers to me."

"Slaying me will draw that guard over here to throw you in prison. That would be the end of you as the Nerevarine, if you managed to slay me. Much more likely you would be proven to be a false incarnate when I painted this square with your blood." The gleaming ebony blade of my shortsword sparkled in the sunlight. "I could gut you and fly away before the guard even drew his weapon. The leader of a Daedric cult owned this sword yesterday, until she died at my hand. She seemed far more deadly than you. Are you really so sure you are the incarnate that you will put your life on the line? Hand off your dagger Elvil, I don't want to kill you, but have no doubt that I will."

Since arriving in Vvardenfell I have lost count of the number that I've slain. Warriors and witches, undead spirits, Daedric servants; it has left me marked. It shows in my eyes. The professed incarnate looked deep, and saw the truth. His hand fell away from the dagger. "The time of the incarnate is at hand outlander, but you have shown that it is not me. I will be chastened, but I will return to the temple." He walked away; a broken young man. I was not proud of what I had done, but I had spared his life. The Ordinators would not have I'm sure.

I flew on to Ald-ruhn. The Ascadian Isles quickly gave way to the wasted Ashlands, and my flight was beset with cliff racers. Soaring through their own element brought them in droves, and I vented my anger on the hapless beasts. Their vicious nature and command of the air makes them the bane of travelers throughout Vvardenfell, especially in the vastness of the Ashlands where they swarm, but they were ill prepared for a stout sword that could be brought to bear directly at their own level. With the delays it took me far into the night before I arrived over Ald-ruhn to settle exhausted in front of the guild hall. Tomorrow will be soon enough to report to Tuls Valen at the temple.

Day Seventy-six: What does it all mean?

I am again overwhelmed with assignments. I am spending the night at Surane Leoriane's house in Caldera. She tells me word is out among the Blades; Caius wants to see me. I considered taking the guild guide to Balmora tonight, but opted to take the opportunity to catch up with Surane. The ring of smugglers and Cammona Tong thugs that I broke up near Hla Oad do seem to tie back to House Hlaalu and the Caldera Mining Company, but the connections are still not clear. I wish I could repay Surane's hospitality by doing some investigating. My amulet of shadows and relative anonymity in Caldera would allow me some latitude that Surane does not have. I have no time right now though. Even without knowing what Caius has in mind I can guess it will have me busy. Busier than I am already.

My newfound interest in the temple is not sitting well with everyone in the Mage's Guild. Ranis sent word to Ald-ruhn, saying that if I had time to take the pilgrimages I had time for more duties. I will need to check in with her in Balmora tomorrow also. Edwinna gave me that bit of news, and threw in a task of her own besides. An expedition doing research in a Dwemer ruin is supposed to send her regular reports, and they are overdue. She gave me brief directions to the ruin and went back to her research before I could swallow the bite of kwama egg I was chewing. I wouldn't refuse her anyway, but it would be nice to be allowed to accept. Whatever task Ranis has, I'm sure refusing her isn't an option either. Having delivered numerous 'or die' messages for her I'm sure turning down her assignments would be considered high treason punishable by death. I will have to balance my guild duties with the pilgrimages. I am learning valuable information about the temple, so I don't want to quit them.

Tuls Valen was very pleased with my report from Suran. While he is the ranking temple priest in Ald-ruhn, the remoteness of the posting indicates he is not a loud voice in the temple hierarchy. The virtues exemplified in the pilgrimages seem to operate very powerfully in his life. At the same time, he does follow orders. It was precisely the remoteness of Ald-ruhn that saddled him with the task of dealing with Elvil Vedron, the false incarnate, without attracting Imperial attention. He was glad to have that business handled, but did not seem to really understand why the temple is making such a big deal about the Nerevarine Prophecies. He was very glad no blood had been spilled, though I get the impression those above him would have cared less. The simple virtues of the local temples are certainly good, but I wonder how far they extend upwards into the leadership of the temple as a whole. My next pilgrimage is again to Vivec City, to the Shrine of Generosity, at the doors of the Palace of Vivec himself. I think that as part of this trip I will make a visit to the High Fane, the governing center for the temple throughout Vvardenfell.

I took my time on the road sorting all this through today. It was noon before I was ready to leave Ald-ruhn anyway, so I made it a leisurely march to Caldera rather than trying to rush the pilgrimage, or my other tasks. I will depart early in the morning and should reach Balmora by noon. I could take the guild guide, but I'm still not ready to hurry. My various task masters will just have to be patient. If I am the reincarnation of Nerevar, how could there be so many people in positions to tell me what to do?

Day Seventy-seven: The Altmer scholar

I rose this morning and hurried to Balmora. I opted against using the guild guide for transport, because I wanted to meet with Caius before seeing Ranis at the guild hall. He appreciated the effort, but agreed that I should keep up with my duties to maintain my cover. My other tasks will carry me back to Ald-ruhn in due time, and that is where my next mission for Caius lies.

That settled, I went to the guild hall, arriving in time for lunch. As it turns out my arrival was perfectly timed for Ranis, who immediately pulled me into her office. "Arvil! Well met, conjurer! I'm glad you got here when you did. It gives me a chance to talk to you privately. Itermerel will be returning shortly though, so we need to be quick!." I didn't ask any questions, figuring that was the quickest way to get all the information. I was right. Itermerel is an Altmer, and a scholar. He was having lunch at the Eight Plates. He needed an escort to Pelagiad. That was the basics. Nothing there that had to be said before he got back. Then came the key piece of Ranis' assignment. "He has notes on his research. I want them. I don't care if he makes it to Pelagiad or not, but I want those notes."

I met Itermerel when he got back from lunch. Like all Altmer he is tall and very thin, with a yellow tinge to his skin and a connection to magica that gives him a ready command of spellcraft but leaves him vulnerable to it in turn. Unlike many Altmer he is very personable. Before we had passed the city gates we were chatting amiably about the wildlife of Vvardenfell and the road ahead. A small corner of my mind was already cursing Ranis and her assignment, then things got worse.

We weren't more than a hundred yards from the gate when a nix hound charged up the bank from the Odai River. I fired a quick shot from my bow that struck home, but was not really necessary. Itermerel had launched a fireball that reduced the rampaging monster to a charred hulk. Just letting him die from the challenges of travel in Vvardenfell disappeared into the dustbin of forgotten ideas. Clearly, if he was going to have to die for me to get his notes it would have to be me that killed him. Having seen the devastating effect of that fireball I wasn't really sure I could, even if I wanted to.

I began digging through my mind for an alternative. Pelagiad is my home ground. He plans to stay for at least some time at the Halfway Tavern. Ahnassi could steal the notes. That seemed workable. Then an even better plan fell into place. Actually it was well along before I even recognized that it was working.

After the scorching of the nix hound we resumed the trek. I commented on the effectiveness of his spell, and that opened a floodgate. Five minutes later the scholar paused to apologize. "I'm sorry for lecturing my friend. It is just that so few people are interested in my work. I took your simple question about my enhanced fireball and was off racing you through a full analysis of oblivion flows in void space. Forgive me."

I told him there was no need to apologize, and that in fact I was very interested in his work. It started out as a way to keep him talking while I thought about ways to get the notes. It took much of the afternoon before I recognized that it was the way to get his notes; a direct appeal to his scholarly ego! The march took most of the afternoon. We went the long way; down the Odai and around the badlands at the end of the Foyada Mamaca rather than cutting across. Every passing cliff racer, and even a charging Kagouti, provided laboratory demonstrations of his theories. In between he explained. Almost everything he said went far over my head, but I caught enough words that I could ask a question whenever he started to wind down. By the time we reached Pelagiad he offered to let me copy his notes as a way to improve my understanding of his theories.

We had dinner at the Halfway. Ahnassi was charming, Itermerel urbane and personable, and very complimentary to his newfound student. I brought his notes home and spent the rest of the evening copying rapidly so I can return them in the morning. For all his compliments I must admit that the whole subject is far beyond my grasp. If Ranis actually gets anything from these notes I will be impressed, and surprised.

Day Seventy-eight: The Shrine of Generosity

I enjoyed the walk into Vivec City this morning. Ahnassi was up early, and sent me off with a hearty breakfast and a stack of crab salad sandwiches for the road. The rising sun glittering off the surface of the many lakes and bays of the Ascadian Isles was glorious. Netch floated on the clear air, and light breezes ruffled through the trees. It was the kind of morning that makes me glad to be in Morrowind, just for the beauty of it. I sat on the shore near the bridge into the foreign quarter and ate my lunch, contemplating the Seven Graces that my pilgrimages represent; so far humility, daring, generosity. I even tossed some crumbs of crab meat to a passing slaughterfish.

In the High Fane, the greatest Temple in all of Vvardenfell, I did not see much of the graces. The priests, dressed in their finery and bustling about, seemed to have little time for me. The air was filled with politics; the behind the scenes maneuvering for position, the finding of the safe path to a tolerable end, the commitment to what will be accepted rather than what seems right. I asked a couple of functionaries if they would be interested in taking the climb up the steps of the palace to the Shrine of Generosity, and was told they had made their donations and I should get on with my pilgrimage. The average Dunmer is ever aware of the watchful eye of their departed ancestors. The priests of the High Fane do not seem very concerned with the virtues of their living god in his palace. I climbed the long stair and made my offering.

As I descended the long staircase I looked at my own relationship to the Tribunal Temple. I joined to find out about what is bound to become my enemy if I am the Nerevarine, and the more I see of the Temple leadership the more it seems that they will have no remorse about that. For my part though I am seeing a lot of good in the temple. I followed through on my plan today, and left another offering at the Shrine of Daring that gave me another round of the powerful levitation blessing and sped me on my way. I think that is the last time. Something about reducing the shrines to the level of a simple vendor selling blessings doesn't sit well.

It certainly came in handy though. I am sleeping tonight in a hammock within the Dwemer ruin of Nehuleftingth, a guest of Senilius Cadiusus, leader of the expedition. The ruin is deep in the region known as Molag Mar, and I cannot even guess how long it would have taken to walk here. I also have to say that the atronachs roaming the hills would have presented much more of a danger had I been on foot. Hovering in the air knocking them down with arrows may not have been fair, but dispatching these elemental constructs back to the planes from which they sprang is a service to all travelers.

Senilius says that the excavation report is overdue because it was lost with his colleague, Anes Vendu. Anes had been working in a chamber called the Hall of Pattern, and Senilius thinks he found an access to the lower levels. In the morning I will examine this Hall of Pattern and see if I can find a way to follow.

Day Seventy-nine: Depths of Nehuleftingth

Senilius Cadiusus is a fine scholar, but I would not choose him to lead an expedition. The traits that make a good scholar do not necessarily make a good leader. This morning he showed me the great hall known as 'Test of Pattern'. You would never have guessed that his colleague and friend was lost, or that he felt in any way responsible as the leader of the expedition.

Great machinery groaned throughout the hall, steam wisping from joints in the intricate piping. Three alcoves spaced along the left side of the hall held great boilers, heated by some unknown process. On the end of each boiler was a large handcrank.

"What happens if you turn these cranks?" I asked.

"I don't know. We have been trying to decipher these runes, but haven't had much luck," he replied.

"Well, Anes was in this room when he disappeared. These cranks are just like the one at the entrance to Arkngthand. He must have used one of them to open a passage to the lower levels, and now he is stuck there. Why haven't you gone after him?" I must admit, my voice was rising. I could not imagine why no one had tried to help the lost Anes Vendu.

"This is complex machinery," he said with disdain. "One cannot just start turning cranks and making adjustments."

"A man's life is at stake! You are the leader of this expedition! You can't just sit on your hands!" I was wrong. That is exactly what he had been doing, and planned to continue doing. With a great huffing sigh he turned to stalk back to his camp. I quickly grabbed the nearest crank and spun it violently. The cloud of steam that burst forth burnt me severely, but at least the edge of it scalded that pompous fool as well. "Well, that didn't work," I said as I activated the healing enchantment in my shield. Senilius sputtered with rage, but I really had no use for anything he had to say.

The results at the second crank were very much like the first, and again my healing shield restored me, but the third and final crank turned with effect. A large section of the opposite stone wall pivoted inward, revealing a stair. Footprints in the thick dust revealed that this was indeed the direction taken by the lost researcher. They led down. None came back up. At the bottom of the stair stood a typical Dwemer round steel door. It was shut. "Follow those tracks and I'm sure you will find your friend," I said coldly.

"That level is unexplored. We need a support team. You will have to report to Edwinna..." He saw my face and his voice trailed off.

"I will be reporting to Edwinna, but I wouldn't count on her assigning you any more men. You haven't shown the slightest interest in taking care of the team you have. Case in point, it is clear as glass that I'm going to have to go down there and find out if Anes Vendu is alive, and keep him that way if he is. You would leave him there to starve with a sprained ankle." I stomped down the stairs without bothering to see if he was following. He didn't.

I seriously doubted that Anes would be lying around with something as minor as a sprained ankle, but I was hoping. The faint hope expired as I slipped through the steel door. The hallway on the other side of the door was free of dust. I suppose the Dwemer centurions keep things tidy when they don't have interlopers to kill. The passage opened into a chamber lined with a double row of columns. Between the columns I could see that the hall continued on the other side. The ruddy glow of a lava pit shone in the distance, illuminating two pacing centurions. I crouched in the shadowy corner and watched.

These centurions were neither spider like nor rolling spheres. They walked like men, but where there would have been a right hand there hung a huge ball of gleaming Dwemer metal, studded with spikes. That metal ball was bigger than a man's head, and I estimated it to weigh hundreds of pounds. They paced back and forth, each turning its great metal head to look down the passage as they passed. Steam oozed from their joints. Occasionally one would pause to raise its great mace, like a flexing of great metallic muscles. The mighty ball would spring outward on some sort of extension of the arm, then retract; like a punching fist. I crept down the hall, trying to ignore the shakiness in my knees.

One of the centurions spotted me, and turned ponderously to thunder down the hall, his companion close behind. I raced into the chamber, a conjured spear leaping into my hands. The awesome constructs were more agile than one would expect, but still somewhat limited by their great bulk. The heavy Dwemer metal shells were proof against even the magically keen edges of my spear. I jabbed at the joints of their legs, and danced away through the columns. The wisps of steam turned into spurts and streams, and oily liquid gleamed as it flowed down the metal limbs.

The damage began taking a toll on them, slowing them further, but I knew the battle would turn with one strike from their giant weapons. I raised my point, and added the massive shoulder and neck joints to my targets. Finally, with a last gushing of steam, one of the giant machines ground to a halt. Its metal face almost seemed to express puzzlement. The arm slowly extended, lowering the great weight of the mace, and the stilled form swayed slowly, rocking on its motionless feet. Then, with an immense crash, the metal carcass fell face first to the stone floor. Seeing its companion fall had no effect on the second behemoth. It continued to slash at me, the huge mace whistling through the air. Eventually it too ran out of steam and collapsed. Oil pooled around them as the great shells cooled, their internal fires extinguished.

I found Anes Vendu, dead. His dagger and magic had wrecked a sphere centurion, but he had been smashed lifeless by a bonecrushing blow. The chamber in which he lay held barrels, chests, and shelves laden with artifacts, but it appeared that his only interest had been a heavy book, bound in green cloth covers. I took the book, and the rolled excavation report from his pack, and returned to the upper levels.

Senilius demanded the book. "That is the key. That's what we were seeking. The Hanging Garden. Look, it is written in the language of the Dwemer, but translated into old Aldmeris. With this a scholar versed in Aldmeris could translate other Dwemer works."

I did not give it to him. Anes Vendu earned it. The expedition's leader did not. I hefted a Dwemer axe which will bring a good price from Mebestian, and clutched the book as I cast my recall spell. I'm sure I will find a more suitable scholar.

Day Eighty: Literate Ashlander

I left early this morning, though leaving Ahnassi is difficult. Too many loose ends to be wrapped up, and my next assignment from Caius was pressing. I used an intervention spell and teleported to the temple in Balmora as dawn was breaking over the city.

Ranis was not up and about when I passed through the guild hall, which was fine. I left the notes she wanted with Ajira and hurried to Caius' house to share breakfast. He filled me in on the Ashlander he wanted found. Hassour Zainsubani was born in the Ashlands, but left to become a trader. A wealthy trader, as it turns out. When I got to Ald-ruhn I started asking around among the local merchants. Zainsubani gets products from the Ashlands that most traders cannot get, or at least have to pay premium prices for. He is a fair man, and does not exploit them, but he is able to deal effectively with the Ashlanders where no one else can. The more I heard about him the more I looked forward to meeting him.

I had taken the guild guide transport to Ald-ruhn, so my first stops were in the guild hall. The Ashlanders who are learning to read at the school there were a great help. I asked them about Ashlander customs, and how I as a stranger should approach the trader. They told me about the Ashlander gift customs. When a stranger wants to do business, he shows the depth of his interest by bringing a gift. The quality and effectiveness of the gift is not measured by its value. It depends on how the gift fits the recipient. A stranger who is willing to research his subject and learn their likes and dislikes and what would suit their needs will be well received.

Before setting out into the city I gave the excavation report from Nehuleftingth to Edwinna. I also told her about my own impressions of Senilius Cadiusus. She was saddened by the news of Anes Vendu's death, but excited about the book and the possibilities of translation that it represents. The book is safe in my room until a suitable scholar can be found.

To present the right gift the first thing I wanted to know about Zainsubani was where to find him. Caius had suggested he would probably be known around the Ald Skar Inn, and as usual he was right. The trader not only frequents the inn, he actually has a permanent room there. The proprietor was happy to talk to me, being as there was little business at the early hour. "A fine man, Zainsubani," he said. "Picked his own self up, right out of the Ashlands. Taught himself to read before the Mage's Guild set up their fancy school, then taught himself all about business. Since he speaks their language and knows their ways he does a lot of business with the Ashlanders. And he takes care of his own. Truth be told he provides most of the provisions for the kitchen here at great prices, and never sniffs for a break on the fair rent I charge."

The lone morning patron chuckled aloud. "Old Hassour wouldn't pay the rent if it wasn't fair Boderi. He'd be back in an Ashland yurt before he'd pay more than fair for a room. Now if ya charged him special for that chair he sits in readin', that he'd pay for." At that the proprietor chuckled as well. I gave the brief laugh of the outsider that sees the humor but only secondhand. I also took note to myself. A reader.

Satisfied that I would be able to find the man I was looking for once I had the gift I set out again into the streets. Various merchants confirmed what I already had heard. A hard trader, but fair; self made, with little concern for the affairs of the great houses; and an avid reader. It was hard to get them to talk about Zainsubani though. It seemed they were mostly interested in talking about Ienas Sarandas.

The Sarandas family, I learned, has been a pillar of the Ald-ruhn community for a long time. Their solid reputation and accumulated estate had fallen into the care of Ienas, a charming and likeable lad by all accounts, upon the recent death of his parents. By all accounts...not the ideal phrase to use when speaking about young Ienas. More than a couple of the local merchants openly asked if I would be willing, for a fee, to collect from Ienas monies that he had failed to pay for goods purchased on account. I noticed that the goods were all of the finest quality. If he had just spent the money he put as down payment he could have bought usable items outright. As one merchant put it 'dresses like a lord and not a drake for a meal'. I felt sorry for the young man, but agreed to help the merchants recover their goods.

I found Ienas at home. The house was a bit disheveled, but he welcomed me warmly. He is a good hearted sort, but not wise. He didn't even seem to be holding a grudge as he told me the sad tale of the sure thing tips he had gotten that led him to betting heavily on the guar races. Sure things that had, for the most part, gone wrong. he had no cash to pay his debts, to the merchants or the local gambling agents. The gamblers had made their fortune from him already, and I had no sympathy for them, but the merchants had delivered their finest in good faith. Moved by my recent pilgrimage to the Shrine of Generosity I suggested to Ienas that I would be willing to buy his expensive clothing from him, paying what he had put down on it so he could have food, and I would provide him a more suitable wardrobe. He was surprised by this offer.

"An outlander, just joined in the temple, and you have the virtue of generosity so clearly," he said. "While I, who was raised in the temple, have been nothing but a fool and a drunkard." His eyes were sad, but strangely peaceful. "Arvil Bren I thank you. Keep your money, and return these fine things to the merchants with my apologies. Any money you gave me the gambling syndicate would only try to claim, or swindle me out of. I am going to donate my house to the temple and devote myself to their good works."

If we had been in Vivec City I would have doubted that the Temple was any more deserving than the gambling syndicate, but I have confidence in Tuls Valen. I am sure he will put the house to good use and set Ienas on a solid path. I returned the goods, collecting some finders fees, and went to the temple. Tuls Valen was pleased with my completion of the third pilgrimage, and the demonstrable results. I gave him the fees I had collected and told him to hold them in trust for Ienas. We talked about the next pilgrimage, but I told him it would be a while as I had Mage Guild duties to take care of.

While making the rounds of merchants I made one all important stop. The local book seller. Codus Callonus stood surrounded by books. If I were a merchant that is how I would want to do it. No stacks of hides and slabs of meat, no sweating over a blazing forge, just piles of books, reading leisurely until a customer came along. Anyway, Codus was very helpful. Apparently Zainsubani is one of his best customers. "He reads everything, fast as he can get his hands on it. He says the written word is magic and it is a sad lament that his people have turned their backs to it. Every book has magic in it to him, but what he really enjoys reading is poetry, particularly the spare poetry that speaks to the harshness of the Ashlands and the hardiness of its people."

I told him I wanted to buy a gift, and he made some recommendations. As it happens the book I chose Zainsubani already had, but he graciously pointed out the worn bindings of his old copy. "The gift was well thought out Arvil Bren," he said. "Very well thought out since you could not be expected to know Ashlander customs. What is it that I can do for you that would have you come to me this way?"

Hassour Zainsubani and I talked far into the night. He told me Ashlander customs, how they live in the harsh wastes, what I could expect from them and how I could approach them. He told me all about the Nerevarine Cult, which is actually very small and only really active in one of the four tribes. He gave me names of the leaders of the cult and told me how to find them. Whether Caius sends me or not I will be following this path. But first I have a favor to do for my new friend and benefactor.

Hassour not only told me more than I could retain about the Ashlanders, he agreed to write an outline for me. I left him to that with the impression that the notes were for me to keep everything straight, which they are. They are also to share with Caius. While he is doing this writing, I will go to Mamaca, an abandoned underground complex in the West Gash. Hassour's son went there some time ago to explore, proposing that it may be a source of ebony and other goods. It has been a while since he has sent word home, too long a while for a father. There is no reason to think Mamaca dangerous or that anything bad has befallen the very capable young man, but I will check just to ease his father's mind.