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.

3. Chapter 3

Day Eighty-one: Lost...and found

I spent the entire day wandering around in the West Gash. I did not find Hannat Zainsubari. I didn't even find Mamaca, the underground complex he is supposed to be investigating. I found kagouti, kwama, alit, wild guar, and an abundance of cliff racers, which is to say I found nothing of particular interest. Then late in the day I encountered a man pacing alongside one of the many twisting paths that seemed not to lead anywhere, and he gave me a good excuse.

The sun was settling very low in the west, and I was thinking there was nothing else for it but to bed down in the wilderness for the night. I was not looking forward to that. Lucan Ostorius is not someone I would want to do business with, but in this case an exception was warranted. He is a trader, and was supposed to be meeting a buyer. The obvious questions about what kind of trader meets a customer at a roadside in the middle of nowhere I left unasked. Not surprisingly, the product consisted of an assortment of quality steel weapons, and the buyer turned out to be an Orc who Lucan expected could be found at The Rat In The Pot, an unseemly tradehouse near the Fighter's Guild hall in Ald-ruhn. There were a dozen good reasons not to get involved in this deal. But I did.

The load of weapons was heavy. Not too heavy to carry, but certainly not something I would want to trudge all the way back into town with. So, one intervention spell later I was standing in the dusky twilight in the courtyard of the temple, a short walk from The Rat In The Pot, followed by dinner at the guild house and my own bed. Tomorrow I will go back and renew my search. The walk out will not take that much time away.

Late Addendum:

Despite my last line I have been pitching and turning in my bed. Smuggling weapons for Orcs and thieves wasn't why I came back to town. I came back for the comforts, disregarding that my friend's son could be suffering far greater discomfort than a night sleeping on the ground. Fortunately my conscience was keeping me awake.

Lying in my bed I heard the distinctive pop of a teleportation spell. The guild guide's platform is right down the hall from my room, but it is not that close. Someone had materialized closer; much closer; in my own room! I rolled in the darkness, pitching off the side of the bed away from the door just as the mattress erupted in a storm of feathers. I quickly cast a nighteye spell so that I could see my assailant, then upended the bed. The frame levered upward, sliding the shredded mattress into his feet, and I continued lifting until I could push the empty frame over onto the black clad assassin. My devil spear, abandoned under the bed weeks ago, leapt to hand.

The Dark Brotherhood has stepped up their efforts. This assassin was no novice. With a single slash of his wakizashi the bedframe exploded into splinters. Even in the distorted colors of the nighteye spell I recognized the gleam of a Daedric blade. I have been practicing the heavy armored styles, and close infighting of the shortblade. But my hands gripped the spear like an old friend, and the unarmored fighting styles are still my favorite. Unfortunately, the confines of the room gave the advantage to my attacker, and he struck to good effect with the vicious blade. He was obviously well versed in the Akaviri styles, using the shortbladed wakizashi to slash where a more conventional shortsword would be thrusting to bring the point to advantage.

I was bleeding profusely from a wicked gash across my chest and the situation was deteriorating rapidly when my assailant's nighteye spell ran out. He quickly gulped a potion to restore his vision, but in the brief advantage I struck with good effect, my spear point sliding off the cuff of his gauntlet and up the sleeve of the pauldron to shred his right forearm into useless meat. The heavy wakizashi clattered to the floor. His Akaviri training showed again, as he whirled into an unarmed combat mode and struck a powerful spinning kick to my wounded torso. As I well knew the light flexible mesh of his armor did nothing to hinder his movements, and hardened the already devastating impact. I fell in a heap gasping while he recovered his blade.

Scrabbling among the wreckage of the bed I flung myself into the corner by the door and threw it open. With the blade in his left hand and his right arm disabled the assassin took the swinging door with his shoulder, slowing him enough for me to roll out into the hallway and gain my feet. Outside my door is not actually a hallway. It is more of a balcony overlooking the main room one floor below. I vaulted over the railing, trusting that all my recent practice in the alteration arts would give me sufficient command to rely on my levitation spell. It worked, catching me somewhat below the balcony level, but far above the floor. As I rose I conjured a spear.

The assassin had dropped his blade once again, and his one good hand struggled with a pouch on his right hip. He never had a chance to throw the deadly ebony dart that emerged. That he would even try to throw a dart, left handed, testifies to his confidence in his marksmanship. My conjured spear struck first, piercing through the fine seam between the mask and shirt of black chain mesh. Blood gushed from the severed arteries of his throat, and he died before he hit the floor. I landed, sitting on the stone rail of the balcony, and dropped the conjured spear. Only then did I hear the shouting chaos of my fellow mages.

Day Eighty-two: Something to be lived with

Before I left Ald-ruhn this morning there were things I had to know. I found out. I don't like what I found, but it is better to know than not. The Redorans do not give the latitude to the Cammona Tong criminal syndicate that it enjoys in Hlaalu territory, but it does operate here. While none of the Dunmer merchants are openly involved there is some level of sympathy present. The tong also runs much of the gambling, and it is they who were shorted in the Sarandas affair. When the tong, who had not been paid, contacted the merchants who had, it is safe to assume that I was mentioned by one, some, or perhaps all; innocently or not.

Apparently summoned by the Cammona Tong, the assassin arrived by guild guide from Balmora. Erranil remembers him. No one realized he had stepped into my room to cast a mark spell. I can't fault them. The guild guides get a lot of traffic. The assassin was staying at the Rat In The Pot. He apparently talked about joining the Thieve's Guild, but had not. He came and went frequently, in hindsight watching the comings and goings at the guild hall; watching for me. I walked right by him while I was making my delivery. I have gotten lax.

Tonight I am sleeping in an Ashlander camp in the remote wilds of the West Gash. The three Ashlanders, who I suspect are the only others to even know of this camp, are dead. I feel sorry for them. I'm sure the spread of the blight accounts, at least in part, for their preying on unwary travelers. I could not allow my sympathies to slow my hand when they attacked however. Their corpses are rolled in their bedrolls. A marauder in the night will see four targets, not one, and I ringed the camp with trama vines. The entangling vines and thorns should snare any interloper, slowing them enough to give me warning.

Searching for Mamaca seems an endless task, but at least it will keep me out of sight for a while. Eventually it will bear fruit. It would go faster perhaps if I stopped at the various caverns and egg-mines I have found, but I want no mention made of my passage.

Day Eighty-three: Rescue

I finally found the caverns of Mamaca. Hannat Zainsubani was indeed there. He had not found the rich source of ebony he had hoped for. What he found was the Sixth House cult. The cavern swarms with dreamers; Dunmer who have forsaken their homes and their lives to answer the call of Dagoth Ur. They sleep and dream, and when awake they serve the ash legions of Dagoth Ur. I did not encounter any of the dreaded ash vampires, but had I fully explored the depths of the cave I may have.

By the time I found Zainsubani's cell I had dispatched numerous foes, but no alarm had been raised. Dreamers and the ash legions tend to fight silently, and I was very happy to do the same. While the unarmored and lightly armed dreamers fell easily to my spear, the ash monsters of Dagoth Ur are dangerous foes. Had they sounded the alarm and rallied to the defense I may have been hard pressed. Ash ghouls in particular have a fair command of destruction magic and attack with powerful shocks of electrical energy.

Young Zainsubani was badly shaken by his experience. While in the clutches of the cult his sleep has been tortured continuously by dreams. From what he says the dreams are similar to dreams I have experienced myself, though his were apparently far more vivid and have driven him to the brink of exhaustion. The haggard look of a man deprived of sleep struck a familiar note. I suspect these dreams are far more widespread than anyone would imagine, not confined to the dreamers of the cult, but rampant in the populace. Obviously they emanate from Red Mountain and are a weapon of Dagoth Ur. I left Mamaca as soon as I had found Zainsubani to lead him to safety, but I will return to lance this festering boil of poisonous dreams.

Someday, but not tonight. Once free of the cavern Zainsubani set off into the Ashlands. I was glad that Hannat did not return to my camp with me. I would hate to find out that my campmates were his friends or relatives. He requested that I deliver a message to his father to let him know he is well, and I agreed. Hassour should be done with my notes by now, and tomorrow I expect I will be on my way to Caius with them.

Day Eighty-four: False trail

I woke up this morning trying to blink the grit out of my eyes. I am really not made for camping out. I would not make a very good Ashlander. If I'm going to die from an attack in my sleep let it be at the Dark Brotherhood's hand in a comfortable bed. No need to make it easy for them though.

I returned to Ald-ruhn in time to have lunch with Hassour Zainsubani. I told him his son was alive and well and would be returning home soon. While the harsh Ashlands do not provide much comfort, thus producing a very hardy folk, they give something else. Something that produces a sense of honor that is almost tangible. I found Hannat Zainsubani as a favor to his father, who was doing a favor for me. I neither needed nor expected a reward. In fact, since Hannat's mission to explore Mamaca as a source of wealth had clearly come up empty any expectation I might have had I would have forsaken. I am learning about Ashlander customs, and not just from my notes.

Hannat had told me a line of poetry, and requested I repeat it to his father. I thought it was a way to ensure that I as the messenger was delivering a true message. It was that, and also more. When I quoted the line Hassour said, "You have rescued my son from grave danger, and he owes you a debt of gratitude that he could not repay." We had greeted each other as friends, and the formality of his tone surprised me. He told me to wait while he went to his room.

Upon his return Hassour placed a heavy cloth sack on the table. "Fifty pounds of raw ebony. This, my own blade." He unbuckled his shortsword, a fine Imperial weapon, and placed it alongside the sack. I recognized the venomous enchantment gleaming from the hilt. "And this, a ring from my own finger. My son's debt is repayed." "Hassour! No payment is..." He cut me off. "Silence friend. You came to me to learn the customs of my people. This is a lesson. Never refuse an Ashlander's gift, or their payment. It is a mortal insult."

I nodded. "Thank you my friend. For the opportunity to serve your family, and for the payment of your son's debt."

A smile creased his weathered face, bringing a light to the red eyes. "You learn fast," was all he said, and then the food and drink began to flow. By the time I reached the Ald-ruhn guild hall I was not thinking clearly, and only cooler heads kept me from falling deeply asleep in the room known by the Dark Brotherhood as mine.

Mage's can be such opportunists. I had just lain down on the bed when Edwinna burst peremptorily into the room. "Arvil Bren! You cannot sleep there!" she shouted. "I will not have a conjurer slain in my guild hall, and you are clearly in no shape to defend yourself." I had to concede that was true. I wouldn't have stood a chance with an assassin; I couldn't even escape her onslaught. By closing one eye I could get her into focus at least. "You need to get out of Ald-ruhn, and out of sight. I have just the thing." She pushed a thick packet into my hands as she led me onto the guild guide platform. "No one will know you are in Balmora tonight, and anyone asking for you will be told you are in your lab doing research. Good luck, and hurry back with my plans."

"Plans?" I said, as the teleportation took effect. "What plans?"

It is late at night in Balmora. The guild hall here is secure and on alert. I am finally sober enough to write, and to figure out that I have been dispatched to the remote island of Sheogorad. There is a Dwemer ruin there that Edwinna believes houses a set of blueprints. I hesitate to think what she wants to build. So much for comfortable beds.

Day Eighty-five: The Emperor's plan

I am worried about my reception at the Urshilaku camp. Hopefully the security of a larger clan will give me a moment to speak my piece. At small hunting camps it appears an outlander qualifies for killing on sight. I am once again bedded down in such a small camp, surrounded by my dead hosts. I don't really want to carve a swath of death through the Ashlands. That doesn't seem appropriate for the Nerevarine.

Being the Nerevarine, or at least looking very much like the Nerevarine, was the Emperor's plan for me all along. After breakfast at the guild hall I went to see Caius. He has come to trust me; enough to share the original coded message I delivered to him the first time I saw him. In it the Emperor directed that he use me and the Nerevarine prophecies to further the Empire's objectives in Morrowind. He apparently looks at the Prophecy as somewhat of a native superstition, but ordered that it be treated seriously. We have. So seriously that Caius has come to pretty firmly believe it. Dunmer live for centuries. They are not easily taken in, even the so called 'primitive' Ashlanders.

Whether to find out if I am the Nerevarine, or to find out what would be required to make me look like the Nerevarine, the next step is to approach the Nerevarine Cult directly. The Urshilaku clan leaders head the cult, so I am on the journey to their camp. My first stop is in Maar Gan to check in with a friend of Caius; a scout who can give me directions.

The Mage's Guild, which I joined to provide cover for my covert activities, is certainly providing it now. Doubly so. Ranis in Balmora and Edwinna in Ald-ruhn are reporting that I am holed up in my lab in Ald-ruhn. Under that cover they think I am on my way to the Dwemer ruins, with a stop in Maar Gan for Ranis. The Dark Brotherhood will have a hard time tracking me through all that haze. For my part I left Ald-ruhn hidden by my chameleon amulet and disappeared into the wastes. Tomorrow I will enter Maar Gan, and pursue my destiny.

Day Eighty-six: The necromancer of Maar Gan

I found the scout Nuleno Tedas in Maar Gan. He is a reliable friend of Caius, I hope. The fewer people know about my movements and destinations the better. The directions to the Urshilaku camp that he gave me will be useful in a way, even though I am not following them.

Nuleno's recommended path lead to a narrow pass into a steep walled foyada. His recommendation from there involved following the foyada to the coast and swimming around the headlands to the east. A fine path for a scout, not a conjurer. For me the shorter straight line path appeals more than the swim, so I levitated out of the foyada and will strike directly north in the morning.

While I was talking to Nuleno I started checking information for my other assignment in Maar Gan. When I asked about necromancy he just looked puzzled. When I asked about Tashpi he told me where to find her, but was clearly astonished that anyone would think she was a necromancer. He definitely would never believe that the village healer could be practicing the dark rites of necromancy. I knew it was quite possible, but decided to do some more checking.

The Redoran guards that patrol the streets of the outpost were my next source. I am coming to respect the Redorans. They seem to have found a balance between honoring the temple and the ancestral ways of the Dunmer, and they carry themselves with the dignity and courage of the Ashlanders without the short temper and xenophobia. The guards were helpful in clarifying information, though their information did not help with my mission. Nothing any of them has seen would indicate that there is an active practicing necromancer anywhere in or near Maar Gan. I went to Tashpi's hut hoping that the mystery could be resolved at the source.

Tashpi was completely taken aback when I asked her about necromancy. She is a lovely Dunmer woman who came to this remote outpost to be of service to her people. With her skills she could make a much better living in a major city, but the smaller villages are frequently in dire need, and she has chosen to meet that need. How could this good woman find herself accused of necromancy? How could I find myself sent here to end her life?

I should have guessed. Nowhere in her chosen life is there a need or a place for the Mage's Guild, so she never joined. Even when she was directly approached by Ranis herself, she refused. There are many villages in need of a healer. I feel bad for the people of Maar Gan, but their healer must go. Tashpi will find a place on the mainland to practice her arts. I will tell Ranis she is dead. I am losing patience with being Ranis' chosen assassin.

Day Eighty-seven: Shelter in the storm

The day dawned clear, but with a brisk wind. Looking down I could see that the deep channel of the foyada focused the wind, and billowing clouds of dusty ash were already rising. By the time I broke camp it was obvious I would need to find shelter as the wind continued to pick up, heading towards a howling fury. I sped down the hill to the north. Before long I was swallowed by the swirling torment of the ash storm. I wrapped my shirt around my head to filter the air. I had to breathe, but with no shirt the grit that seeped inside my armor ground away at my skin. And nothing could protect my eyes. I considered just lying down, curled in a protective ball, but I was afraid the marching dunes would bury me alive.

I hoped I was still headed north, but I wasn't sure. Whatever the direction, off to my left I saw the blurred figure of a man stumbling through the storm. Hoping that he would know a place to seek shelter I turned to join him. As I approached I saw that he was making for a cave entrance, sealed by a worn wooden door. Gratefully I called out to my fellow traveler.

My usual caution had been overcome by the torment of the storm, but as soon as I called out I saw all the reasons that I shouldn't have. Shirtless in the storm; the hulking gait; my hope for safe harbor from the storm collapsed with my recognition of a man far gone with corprus disease. The abomination wheeled clumsily and charged through the swirling ash and dust. With no time for thought I instinctively rammed my spear into its chest. The force of its charge bore me over backwards. The creature thrashed about, showing no sign of human intelligence, or even the slower thoughts of an animal. The fast growing flesh tried to close around the spear, but with every movement the weight of the long shaft would pull and twist the blade releasing great gushes of bloody froth from the shredded lungs. No effort was made to pull the spear free. Driven by malice over self preservation the poor blighted soul poured out its life while vainly struggling to reach me.

Once it was still I recovered my spear and turned to the door. I hesitated briefly, fearful of what must lie within. A corprus stalker on their doorstep did not speak well for the occupants of the cave. Driven by the storm I slipped inside.

Iam afraid to sleep in this evil place, but the storm continues to rage outside. It is a Sixth House base; fortunately small; a single descending spiral ending at a shrine. With no cross passages the fell creatures had no way to get behind me, and were dispatched in sequence and fairly quickly. Still I am uncomfortable here. I am resting against the surface door, as far from the horrid altar with its bins of corprus laden meat as I can get. I pray the storm passes soon.

Day Eighty-eight: The Urshilaku

I slept fitfully through the night, and more through the morning. The storm raged unabated outside the door. No further threats arose from the shrine below, but I was very happy to take my leave when the wind finally died down. The midday sun hung pale red above the settling dust. I set out to the north.

It was not all that far to the shore, and I had not strayed far from my course. The Urshilaku camp appeared off to the west as I topped a rise. I turned to approach, keeping a wary eye on the Ashlanders that could be seen moving among the grouping of yurts. I wanted to appear respectful and cautious, but must admit that I would have been far more comfortable with my bow in my hands rather than slung on my back.

I was well within bowshot, and knew there were many eyes upon me when a rangy Dunmer sauntered out to meet me at the edge of the camp. "Outlander. What do you want?" he asked. His tone was not the hissing accusation I had heard before, just a flat statement of fact. I am an outlander.

I kept my own voice equally flat as I replied. "I have come seeking the counsel of your Ashkhan and your wise woman. I must know more of the prophecy of the Nerevarine."

"What would an outlander need to know of this? What brings you to this place? The Tribunal Temple has called the prophecy heresy. Do you say we are heretics? Would you burn our camp for the tribunes?" The red eyes were narrowed, and even though his hands stayed clear of his weapons danger radiated from him in a near visible cloud.

"I call no one a heretic. I was born on the certain day. I do not know my parents. I must know more about the prophecies. A good friend, an honorable man of the Ashlands, told me this is where I could find the answers I seek. I do not know what gifts to bring to you, your clan, or your honored chief, but I am willing to learn so I can follow that custom."

"An outlander thinks he is the Nerevarine," he said. "This is too much for me. See Zabamund, in that yurt there." He stepped aside as he motioned towards one of the large yurts set in a semicircle in the center of the camp. "He is a gulakhan, a trusted advisor to Sul-Matuul. He can weigh the merits of your story better than I."

I thanked him and walked towards the center of the camp.

"Outlander," he called from behind me. "Gold. We are in a modern age. Zabamund likes gold."

I entered the tent slowly. "Your pardon for the intrusion gulakhan. I would speak to you, and bring a gift of gold which I hope is suitable."

"You know our ways outlander. Many of your kind would call that a 'bribe', something dishonorable to be offered in darkness. I thank you for your gift. You may speak." Zabamund's eyes grew wide and incredulity spread over his features. "An outlander the Nerevarine! Why not a kagouti, or a shalk beetle? I think you may be mad Arvil Bren, but your voice rings true and I warrant you are no liar. Tell your tale to the Ashkahn. If he is upset at the disturbance he will be upset with me. I can afford that.."

The Ashkahn Sul-Matuul was not upset, stating simply that he trusted his advisors as he pocketed the gift of gold I delivered. He also seemed more open to the possibility of an outlander being the Nerevarine, but perhaps as the leader of his people he is just more diplomatic and humored me along. In any event he told me nothing of the prophecies, holding that knowledge secret among the clan. To get the answers I seek I must be named as a clanfriend. I thought this might be just a question of gold, and maybe if it was just up to the living members of the clan it would be, but it isn't.

Sul-Matuul sent me on a rite of initiation, to retrieve his father's bow from the clan burial caverns. I will be tested by his ancestors; either accepted or killed.

Day Eighty-nine: Burial caverns

I camped last night on the beach. Sul-Matuul's directions to the burial caverns started from a cairn of stones on the shore, and it seemed like an auspicious place to start the day. It was also far enough from the Urshilaku camp to make it clear that I wasn't presuming success in becoming a clanfriend. Good thing.

I did not find the bone-biter bow. In fact I'm not sure I even found any burial chambers. Overall I was unprepared and ill equipped for the task. Fortunately there was no time limit set for completing this initiation.

Finding the cavern was easy enough. The north facing door is always shadowed by the rocky outcrop above it, but the directions were exact. I fended off some cliff racers and arrived in good spirits well before mid-day. My confidence did not last long.

The heavy wooden door swung shut of its own weight behind me, leaving me in a twilight world of glowing magica and dripping water seemingly far removed from the arid Ashlands above. The raw magica flowing in visible fountains; the basic stuff of the universe on display; no wonder the Urshilaku ancestors had chosen this place to bury their dead. Like all men in all times I'm sure they dreamed of channeling that power. Perhaps in death they have.

The entry passage sloped downwards gently, and was flanked by two short columns that flared into platforms just above my head. On each platform, seated with knees drawn up to their chests, an ancient mummy gazed down, unperturbed by my passing. My passage did not disturb them, but in passing them I clearly entered the realm of the Urshilaku dead. No sooner had I passed between them than I was beset by a skeletal warrior bearing a mighty silver sword.

With the massive haft clutched in both bony hands the skeleton unleashed a great chopping downstoke meant to cleave me in half. I dodged aside, leaving the great blade to glance off my shoulder and crash against the rocky floor. Even the glancing blow took me off my feet. Whatever ethereal muscle animated the skeletal frame held astonishing strength. I rolled against the cave wall to avoid another tremendous chop while unleashing the spear within my enchanted shortsword.

The warrior knew that the outcrops of the roughly hewn wall would catch or deflect the sword's downward chopping path, but the blade could follow a great glittering arc slicing sideways and down to where I lay trying desperately to gather myself. I swung my spear out against the cavern floor at a shallow angle, and the shaft guided the huge claymore upwards, to crash against the rock wall above me. A shower of gritty fragments rained down on me as I continued to my feet.

I am accustomed to the long reach of a spear giving me an advantage over swordsmen, but the giant claymore and supernatural speed of my articulated foe more than matched my advantage, and the ceaseless endurance of the undead kept blows hammering down on me in a torrent. I dodged. I deflected with my spear's sturdy shaft. I leapt backwards, begging my own ancestors to keep me from stumbling on the uneven floor. And I watched. Eventually I saw what I needed to see.

I sidestepped a great chop, then bounded back to land with all my weight on my arms, which brought my spear across the blade before it could rebound off the stone. Driving forward, the shaft slid up the blade to the hilt, gaining leverage with every inch it traveled further from where the point met the floor, eventually crashing the full length of the sword to the ground. The skeleton clung desperately, not wanting to be disarmed, and was dragged helplessly down to crash its bare skull into my armored shoulder. I got a knee onto the haft of the sword, pinning and crushing finger bones, and slammed the spear crossways into the monster's writhing spine. With a loud crunch bones parted, leaving the legs scrambling for purchase and the upper portion scrabbling for its sword. I pounded both parts to splinters.

As the heat of battle faded I recognized that I was far from unharmed and cast a healing spell. I had grown tired of carrying the weight of my steel shield, finding that I am better protected by improved nimbleness without it, but I missed the powerful healing enchantment I had placed on it. My healing spell is slightly more effective, but depletes my reserves of magica. Fine for the occasional battle in the wilderness, but clearly I will not be able to get far enough into the tombs to accomplish my task without every advantage.

I continued down the passage warily, and defeated two more skeletons before reaching a door protected by a wide moat of water. To levitate across would have taken all of my remaining magica. I was out of arrows. I gathered the three heavy silver claymores, opting to use the last of my magica to teleport home in defeat. At least I got out alive, unlike the two battered corpses in various states of decay that showed I was not the first adventurer bent on exploring the crypt.

Day Ninety: Regroup and research

Amazing how often what is intended to be a lie turns into the truth. I created the cover story that I was holed up in Ald-ruhn doing research to mislead any Dark Brotherhood assassin that might be looking for me, and now I am holed up in Ald-ruhn doing research. Actually I used the guild guide late this evening, so I'm sleeping in Balmora; safely off the target I hope.

I got up early this morning and hauled my collected silver weapons off to Mebestien's shop. He was disappointed that I didn't have another load of Dwemer artifacts for him, but satisfied when I allowed him a good price for the swords. That weight off my shoulders I set out for Balmora, with my healing shield and well worn levitation boots. Not my most effective armor, but I will have need of their enchantments.

I maintained my cover by slipping invisibly through the streets of Balmora to the guild hall. By entering through the upper door I spared any passersby the mystery of a door opening by itself, though I did surprise Galbedir when I appeared suddenly in her lab. Ranis was pleased with my report of Tashpi's demise, though I hate to think what will happen if she ever finds out the truth. Edwinna was not as pleased to see me when I transported to Ald-ruhn, since I had to admit I had not gotten anywhere near her Dwemer ruin. She is forgiving though, and understands the occasional need to teleport to safety.

The rest of the day I spent with Hassour Zainsubani. When he heard that Sul-Matuul was considering making me a clanfriend he was impressed. When he heard about the initiation rite I was facing he was dubious. "You will be sorely tested Arvil Bren," he said, and shook his head.

One thing that emerged from our conversation is the difference between an Ashland clan burial cavern and the tombs of the settled Dunmer families that I am already familiar with. I had not considered that the Urshilaku clan, not just a single family, has been using that cavern for possibly hundreds of generations. I can expect that it will be a gigantic underground complex. It was likely a huge cavern to start with, and has had many vaults and chambers added to it. When I described the tunnel I had already explored, which has a chamber on each side high above the floor, Hassour suggested those were likely the original burial vaults, abandoned and unused for millennia. Suitable for discarding the remains of intruders. Hassour didn't say that it was a likely place for me to end up, but I'm sure it crossed his mind.

There are three broad challenges that the Urshilaku ancestors will present. Obviously, this is a test of courage. To face possibly hundreds of undying guardians is daring taken to the border of madness. Also obviously, it challenges all my skill and endurance. Hassour says the undead will reform ranks behind me. If I teleport myself out I will have to start as if I had never entered the caverns, and I will not be able to rest inside. The third challenge is a test of greed. The skeletal warriors will bring their silver weapons from the plane of the dead. If the riches call me they will weigh me down long before I reach the deeper caverns, and again, to leave is to start over.

If this is what the Ashlanders require of their friends, what will they demand of the Nerevarine?

Day Ninety-one: Quest for the Bone-biter Bow

I rose before dawn and took the guild guide transport to Ald-ruhn, where I slipped out of town under cover of darkness and my amulet's strong chameleon spell. The long hike into the Ashlands is wearing. I wish I could take the silt strider to Maar Gan, but I don't want to leave any trail for the Dark Brotherhood. In fact I avoided Maar Gan completely, and all other outposts of civilization.

How to describe the wide grey expanses of the Ashlands? Hard black rock rises like the exposed bones of some great dead beast; sometimes a ridge, like a spine; sometimes a series of sharp pinnacles, like grasping claws. Trama vines eke their living from the wastes, writhing to the surface as fast as the mighty dust storms can bury them. Lichen grows on the surface of rocks on the side away from Red Mountain. Anchored against the wind it could cover the stones, but the storms scour the faces, leaving them pitted and scarred.

It is a harsh land, and home to harsh creatures. Cliff racers soar from their high aeries to scavenge vast territories; or kill. Northern Kagouti may be even dumber than their cousins in the lush southern regions, though that is a cold judgment. The two that charged me as I passed today showed the effects of their environment, but can hardly be blamed for suffering the difficulties they were born into. They are thinner, with heavier hides protecting them from the scourging sands, and if possible even worse dispositions.

I think the best fit creature for the Ashlands is the shalk beetle. They are about the size of a man, but scurrying low on their six legs they are better able to weather the winds. Their thick black carapace affords protection from the grating sands, and the ravages of cliff racers. The shell is thinner underneath, and a hungry enterprising racer may strike to flip them over, but they are well equipped for offense as well. As they charge they spew a cloud of burning stinging mist. It is best to kill them before they get close, but that can be difficult as their shell is some proof against arrows. Fortunately, a shot that damages a foreleg, or severs a somewhat vulnerable antenna can completely disrupt their charge, leaving them skidding across the sands.

Tonight I am camped among these creatures, and I suspect sleep will be fitful at best. In the morning I will reenter the burial caverns. I will emerge a clanfriend, or not at all.

Day Ninety-two: Spirit of Sul-Senipul

I rose from my fitful slumber shortly after dawn and quaffed a restorative potion to make up for the lost sleep. A small pile of crumbly dry trama vine and a flame spell, a kwama egg fried on my steel shield, toast with scrib jelly, and I was ready to face my fate.

As Hassour had predicted new skeletal sentinels had taken their posts in the entry tunnel. Expecting their presence I crept in hidden by my chameleon amulet and let fly with a barrage of arrows. I have found that skeletal warriors are best dealt with by targeting the pelvic bones. The broad flat bones offer a fair target, and a bone splintering impact from an iron broadhead can knock them completely off their bony feet. With that initial advantage I dispatched many of my adversaries without actually having to cross blades with their mighty silver claymores.

Beyond the entry tunnel I found a large water filled cavern. Stalagtites from an earlier drier age broke the surface, providing a path that could be followed by nimble leaping or levitation. I crossed carefully, not wanting to find out what lurked in the still waters. Burial urns and mummies adorned numerous outcrops and niches in the stone walls. I didn't know how I would recognize Sul-Senipul, but this cavern seemed to have been used long centuries before so I did not expect to find Sul-Matuul's father there. Rising slightly from the far side of the lake a tunnel led into the next cavern.

I continued on, knowing that I was already deep below ground. The next cavern confirmed that, as the top of the eerily lit dome closed high above my head. Water tumbled down from far above, pooling around the base of a great pile of jumbled stone that rose in the center to meet the vault far above. Precarious ramps led upward in a haphazard spiral. As I scaled upwards I kept the command word for my levitating boots on the tip of my tongue.

Four burial chambers open from the great central dome. I peered into them briefly as I passed, but I could see that far above there were ledges that held mummified remains. I thought that perhaps the central cavern could be a place of honor appropriate for the latest Urshilaku chiefs. When I completed the climb the dust of ages once again indicated that this chamber had been used many generations ago. It was definitely worth the climb though. Clutched against the chest of an ancient corpse I found the Magebane sword. This powerful and beautiful relic is forged from the volcanic glass of Red Mountain and adorned with precious metals. It would be worth a fortune, even without the powerful enchantments that protect the wielder from magical attack. I may have to get instruction in the art of combat with a two handed sword, just so I can have the experience of using such a blade.

Hassour's instruction rang in my ears. I had abandoned dozens of the silver weapons brought from the undead plane by the skeletal guardians, but Magebane was different. It was as if the ancient weapon whispered to me, demanding to be free of the tomb of its previous master. I slung the sword across my back, surprised at how light it is for such a massive weapon. Light, but still an addition to my load that I hoped would not undo my quest.

I explored the burial vaults until I found the object of my quest. A stone temple shelters the remains of the recently deceased chieftain and offers his spirit a haunting ground. A ground that gave the shade a distinct advantage. Before I had any chance to see it lurking in the shadowy heights the ghost unleashed the power of the Bone-biter. Great bolts of magic blasted down on me, draining the agility from my limbs. My own bow fell from my suddenly clumsy grasp, and as the specter swooped to the attack I was afraid to dodge for fear of stumbling to the floor. Ghostly arrows clattered off my armor or pierced deep into my flesh. I dropped to my knees, huddling behind my steel shield and calling forth the healing enchantment within it, then gulping a potion brewed to dispel magical effects.

With my coordination restored I rose to face the angry spirit. "Revered ancestor, I would choose not to harm you, and mean no harm to your people, but I must take your bow back into the light of day and deliver it to your son." I dove and rolled to one knee with my own enchanted bow back in my hands. When I enchanted my bow I never would have anticipated this moment. My bow's magic is an exact counter for the Bone-biter, fortifying the agility of the wielder rather than diminishing that of the target. We exchanged spells until both weapons sputtered, the magica pent up in their souls spent.

"Sul-Senipul, I did not come here to steal your weapon from the Urshilaku, but to restore it to hands that can use it every day. I fear you, and the judgment of the ancestors, but the quest given by Sul-Matuul must be completed. I would leave your spirit here, where it can guide the clan and continue to serve, but if there is no other way I will dispatch you back to the plane of the dead."

The spirit settled to the stone floor and seemed to gain substance until it was almost solid. The glowing red eyes looked deeply into me. I wonder if my own physical substance appears as insubstantial to him as his does to me. With a clatter the bonemold bow landed at my feet.

I am home. Home with the Bone-biter bow of Sul-Senipul. I cannot say the Urshilaku ancestors welcomed me with open arms, but the initiation is complete.

Day Ninety-three:Tested

Many times today I wished I had not used my recall spell last night. Carrying the Bone-biter bow of Sul-Senipul might have given me passage out of the burial caverns past the rest of the Urshilaku ancestors, but I didn't think of that. It seemed easier to recall out and spend the night with Ahnassi. Definitely no complaint there, or overall, but it is a long trek back to the Urshilaku camp, especially since I didn't want to use the guild guide and pass through Ald-ruhn again without having started on Edwinna's assignment. Overall a hectic day of running, restoratives, and self defense. One would think this island would run out of cliff racers eventually.

I arrived at the Urshilaku camp after sunset, but not too late to be welcomed. Sul-Matuul was suitably astonished at my return. True to his word he accepted me as a clanfriend, offering the fullest hospitality of the camp, but he had not expected to see me again. According to the legend the Nerevarine is supposed to drive all the outlanders out of Morrowind. How an outlander could do that is pretty hard for him to get his head around. It's beyond me, and I've been thinking about it for a lot longer. I hoped to get an answer from the wise woman. Now that I am a clanfriend I was allowed to speak to her.

Nibani Maesa surprised me. I don't really forget that the Dunmer live for centuries, but I don't always think of the consequences. The words 'wise woman' bring an image of an aged crone, huddled in a robe three sizes too big for the shriveled body. Nibani is a beautiful, vibrant woman, despite having lived long enough to commit all the lore of the clan to memory. She seemed better able to deal with the idea of an outlander Nerevarine. Partly because I am not the Nerevarine.

The first thing she explained to me is that I am someone who might become the Nerevarine, but I am not now. The Urshilaku ancestors apparently accepted that I might and let me pass, but there are many more trials to be faced. The rise of the 'sleepers' and the Sixth House cult she takes as signs that the time of the Nerevarine has arrived. My arriving at the same time doesn't mean I'm the Nerevarine, but she is thinking that I may have some part to play.

I don't know if I even want that part to turn out to be as the Nerevarine. One of the prophecies is called 'The Seven Trials'. The first trial I completed just by being born on the right day, but the remaining trials are not even clearly understood. How am I supposed to pass them?

"Neither blight nor age can harm him. The curse-of-flesh before him flies." Nibani thinks 'curse of flesh' refers to the corprus disease. Maybe it means that the Nerevarine has to cure the corprus. Maybe it means he is immune to the corprus. Maybe it means that the Nerevarine returns as a ghost with no flesh.

"In caverns dark Azura's eye sees, and makes to shine the moon and star." This one Nibani seems to know something about, but wouldn't speak of it. There is a cavern called 'the Shrine of the Incarnate', but I'm not allowed to ask about it. She did tell me that Nerevar bore some sort of moon and star marking, but some people say it was a birthmark while others say it was a ring or other token. In any event I don't have it and since I can't ask about this shrine I see no way to get it.

"A stranger's voice unites the houses. Three halls call him Hortator." At least this one is easy to figure out. Three of the five great houses are represented on Vvardenfell. In times of dire crisis the great houses suspend their usual rivalries and unite under the authority of a Hortator; a sort of war leader. Understandable, but clearly beyond me. House Hlaalu is basically under the control of the Cammona Tong. Those bigots are not going to accept an outlander Hortator. They hate all outlanders, and me more than most.

"A stranger's hand unites the Velothi. Four tribes call him Nerevarine." This has to refer to the four tribes of the Ashlanders. From what Hassour has said the other three tribes aren't even sure they believe in a Nerevarine. What would make them believe, and what would even begin to make them believe in an outlander Nerevarine?

"He honors blood of the tribe unmourned. He eats their sin, and is reborn." Nibani guesses that the 'tribe unmourned' would be house Dagoth, but it might be the Dwemer. As to atoning for the vast sins of either one she offers no clue.

"His mercy frees the cursed false gods, binds the broken, redeems the mad." 'False Gods' no doubt refers to the tribunal, but again there is no clue as to what they need to be free of. At last report Vivec is in his palace, not a prison, and the other two don't seem to be complaining either.

Whatever my part is, I have to think it does not involve passing these trials. What I can do is find what Nibani calls the lost prophecies. Caius and his contacts in the temple should be able to find a way to put me in touch with the dissident priests.

Day Ninety-four: Journey to Sheogorad

The ruins Edwinna wants me to explore are at Mzuleft, on the main island of Sheogorad. Sheogorad lies off the north coast. They are untamed; a wilderness that provides a buffer between Vvardenfell and the Sea of Ghosts. Off the shore near the Urshilaku camp the chain has dwindled down to nothing more than a scattering of fang like rocks rising above the sea. My intent was to travel along the coast until I could cross to a major island, then work along the chain to the main island. An outpost called Dagon Fel lies near the ruins, and I thought I could make it in a day. I almost made it, but not as planned.

I awoke to the sound of hide slamming against poles. Nibani Maesa had allowed me to pitch my bedroll in her yurt. The howling wind threatened to collapse it over us. She laughed as I sat bolt upright. "It is a sturdy tent Arvil Bren, fit for the Nerevarine himself," she said. I took a brief glance out at the swirling ash and dust and changed my plan. Just as well.

My recall spell again took me home to Pelagiad and Ahnassi's house. The first benefit of my changed plan was seeing her. She had acquired an appropriate scabbard for me, and the great sword Magebane now rides across my back. Though cracking mudcrabs and slaying rats is certainly beneath the dignity of such a fine weapon it provided good practice throughout the day.

I hiked into Balmora. The clear skies and sunshine of the Ascadian Isles was even more enjoyable than usual after the brief taste of ashstorm. Caius was impressed by the tale of the Bone-biter bow and my new status among the Ashlanders. We read over the notes I had taken, and he was amazed by the idea that I could possibly become the real Nerevarine rather than the copy that I was originally intended to be. The trials did set him back however. "Well that explains why Nerevarines don't just fall off the trees," he said with a shrug. He agreed to contact Mehra Milo and start setting me up to meet the dissident priests. He also gave me some useful advice regarding my mission to Sheogorad.

When my meeting with the spymaster was complete I went to the guild hall. I did not want to face Edwinna, or the Ashstorm that would likely still be blowing between Ald-ruhn and the coast. Caius let me know that I didn't need to. I took the guild guide to Sidrith Mora, capital of the Telvanni district, and took ship directly to Dagon Fel. I sleep tonight in comfort, safe on the rolling sea, and will see the sun rise over Dagon Fel tomorrow.

Day Ninety-five:Mzuleft

The ship docked at Dagon Fel as I rose this morning. I had heard nothing very good about this tiny village, but as always one has to see for themselves. I found the people friendly and the village sturdy. The location is obviously highly desirable as it has been occupied, and fought over, for millennia. Beneath the foundations of the present village lie the remains of Nord fishermen who settled here in a time long beyond reckoning. They were driven out by the Dunmer or the Dwemer, and the site changed hands between them frequently until the disappearance of the Dwemer left it to the administration of the Temple. The Empire has brought new life to the fallow site, and in the cycle of time the modern village is home to fishermen; mostly Nords.

I was warned to not be fooled by the beauty of the surrounding wilderness or the peacefulness of the village. Sheogorad is untamed and even the roads must be traveled with caution. When I asked a guard, a member of the Imperial Legion, for directions to Mzuleft he gave them grudgingly. The island is dotted with ancient ruins and other sites of interest. In his opinion many of them are much safer to visit. When I insisted that my task called for Mzuleft and no other site would do he sent me on my way with a reminder that outside the confines of the village I should expect no rescue from the Legion.

It did not take long for his pessimism to prove to be warranted. There is a beast that roams the plane of the Daedra called a hunger. They feed on metals and have a strong taste for enchanted metals particularly, so they are sometimes summoned for use in war and other conflict. A group of them driven into the enemy formations can wreck havoc, disintegrating weapons right out of their hands and the armor off of their backs. I have no idea how one of these voracious creatures came to be wandering loose on this mortal plane, but there he was.

The hunger had set itself up at a crossroads, and was obviously well fed. The litter of straps, scabbards, and other bits and pieces indicated that many unwary travelers had left prize possessions to be consumed. Occasional bones marked those who had not given up on some rapidly deteriorated weapon and been struck down by the sharp claws for their efforts. I slipped into the shadow of a jumble of boulders and watched the pacing monster to get a feel for its movements.

It had a definite lair. Off the road a bit, but with easy access. If someone came along it could lurk there unseen until they were well within its range. With no one in sight the creature shuffled about, walking on two legs though hunched far over, shuffling through the fallen remnants for tidbits left from previous meals. I made a slow stealthy approach, and struck the hunger from behind before it could weaken my spear. Though it did do some damage before it thrashed out the last of its life, I suffered no loss or damage that a few minutes at the forge can't repair. Fearsome creatures from the Daedric and elemental planes just wandering the countryside. I may never complain about cliff racers again.

When I reached the ruins I found them taken over by Orcs; warriors and barbarians, heavily armed. I was very glad that the hunger had not badly damaged the Dwemer metal of my spear, and that I had enchanted it with the frost spell that I did. A minor wound or even a thrust completely blocked by armor left my foes stricken with a piercing cold that numbed the limbs and cracked the heavy green skin. Fortunately the Orcs were stupid in their lust for battle and charged recklessly as fast as they arrived at the scene. Had they just tried to hold me at bay and defend themselves until they could all strike together after the first bellowing war cry alerted them I would have been in serious trouble. As it happened they fell in ones and twos as my spear caked with their frozen blood.

I feel much better about the fortune in silver weapons that I abandoned in the burial caverns. Orcish smiths make some of the most prized armor and weapons, and I teleported home so heavily laden that I couldn't move a step. I even made a necklace out of great gears of Dwemer metal. They were on the floor, not really supported by the cord around my neck, but that was sufficient for my recall spell to catch them in its field. Ahnassi was amused, but Mebestian will be very pleased with my ingenuity. Five hundred pounds of raw Dwemer metal will fetch a good price. The plans and an ancient Dwemer book were probably the greatest treasures in the ruin, but of course they had been passed over by the stupid Orcs.

Day Ninety-six: New ruins

I delivered the Scarab blueprint to Edwinna today. She was greatly pleased, not only with the plans but that I showed up at exactly the right moment. She said the guild hall was in an uproar.

I got up this morning expecting a fairly peaceful day. Ahnassi and I shared a quiet breakfast. I am truly in love with my tiger woman. She went to Mebestian's shop before he was open for business. He lives upstairs, and she brought him back to the house. Over soothing tea brewed from hackle-lo leaf we negotiated a fair price for the latest load of Dwemer artifacts. He took what he could, limited by what he could pay for as well as what he could carry. Over the next couple weeks he will be stopping by to pick up the rest from Ahnassi.

Pelagiad is perfectly located. I have found that my intervention spell, used for teleporting to the nearest temple will take me to Vivec if I am on the south side of the main street, but by the simple crossing of the street I am closer to Balmora. One of the benefits of Pelagiad as a place to stay out of sight is that it has no ready access to fast transportation; no silt strider, no guild guides, no port. Only traffic from the main road passes through, mostly traders leading pack guar or herdsmen. Not the idle travelers that could turn out to be Dark Brotherhood assassins. Having my magic mark set in the house is the only thing that gives me the ready access that I have.

Anyway, I avoided making an appearance in Balmora, where I would likely be recognized, by teleporting into the throngs of pilgrims and functionaries of teeming Vivec City. Again, I am thankful for Ahnassi. I told her my plan, and my reasoning...and she purred softly but looked perplexed. "My love, you go this way to Vivec to avoid recognition, yes?" she asked. I nodded. "I have a gift. A fine common brown robe for you to wear." The Khajiit are very sensitive to feelings, and she did not want to offend me, but I could tell by the light dancing in her eyes that there was more to this disguise than met the eye.

My eye, not hers. I looked down at myself. Indoril boots, made of chitinous shells bound with hardened resins, gleaming a deep blue. Armored leggings reinforced with the bright green fibers of Red Mountain's volcanic glass. Breastplate made from the ruddy hide of a dreugh and the golden glow of Dwemer metal bracers on my forearms completed the rainbow. I wanted to be inconspicuous, but looked like I had gotten seperated from my circus. When I looked back at the delicately stripped face we both collapsed with laughter. I took the robe.

The hike across Vivec was interesting, as always, but uneventful, and I hurried through the guild hall. The petty jealousies there seem to have cooled. My promotion by the Archmage was well earned, I think, and despite the generally low morale of his staff they are coming to accept that he may have been right for once. I was quite happy though to transport on to Ald-ruhn.

I had no sooner appeared on the guild guide platform than Erranil was shouting. "Edwinna! Edwinna! Arvil Bren is here!" Then she muttered "thank the divines, maybe now she will calm down." With that as a herald I stepped into the mayhem, hoping the plans in my hand would shield me from whatever was going on. They didn't. My arrival did get everyone else off the hook though.

Edwinna snatched them with a quick word of thanks and continued without stopping for breath, "You are just in time! A new ruin has been discovered! Someone needs to get over there right away and recover any critical artifacts before some dreugh clawed barbarian with the brain of a mudcrab sells them to a smuggler for a jug of sujamma!" I could tell by the way the local guild hall staff were slipping quietly into corners that they were thankful her 'someone' had taken form other than them. There was no question that I was the one she now had firmly in mind. "The kwama broke into it from the Gnissis egg mine. The legion there has been apparently keeping it quiet. The Deathshead garrison there is mostly conscripts and Orcs so they certainly can't be trusted with such a find. Go at once! Take the silt strider to Gnissis and get down in that egg mine."

"Edwinna, if I get riding around on a silt strider the Dark Brotherhood is sure to pick up my trail," I protested.

She smiled a cold smile. "You've handled their petty assassins before Arvil Bren, and this is important. Our scuttleheaded Archmage doesn't understand the importance of my research, but I thought you did." The smile turned from cold to dazzling in an instant. I suspect some amount of magica went into a charm spell but I didn't actually catch it. Edwinna didn't get to be a guild hall steward without a powerful command of spellcraft. The next thing I knew I was on my way to the strider port.

I slipped into the Gnissis temple as quickly and quietly as I could. It's a good thing I joined the temple. They were happy to provide a bed for the night, and among the pilgrims that come and go here I may be able to remain out of sight; for one night at least.

Day Ninety-seven: The Gnissis egg mine

Gnissis is a very tense place. House Redoran is very traditional. They strongly support the temple, but there is an undercurrent of sympathy towards the even older ways of ancestor worship. The presence of significant temple shrines in Gnissis and the surrounding area made it difficult for the temple to turn jurisdiction over to the Redorans. The Empire, in their usual overbearing way, has built a fort here in the questionable guise of keeping the peace. To some extent it worked, the Redorans and the Temple are united in their unhappiness with this turn of events.

The demands on the Legion left General Darius with few options. To garrison the new fort he has had to find soldiers as best he could. Monsters flowing out of Red Mountain are providing a lucrative market for mercenaries familiar with Vvardenfell as well as occupying the locals who have a heroic bent, so recruiting is difficult. Orcs, fresh from the mountains of the far west, have been inducted into the Legion in droves, and swell the ranks in backwater posts like Gnissis. A horde of green skinned barbarians unfamiliar with Vvardenfell's factions and subtleties perhaps raises more tension than it eases. Just keeping order in the ranks is a challenge I'm sure. I don't think the General was even aware of the discovery of the Dwemer ruin.

The mine has been closed to the public due to the kwama queen contracting the blight. The miners are allowed limited access to work, and there is a thriving black market for kwama eggs, but the export trade is completely stopped. The port is idle, adding to the economic woes of the underworked miners. The legion has a guard posted at the locked door of the mine. Although he was reasonably courteous it was clear that to get the key from him would involve a display that would have roused the entire garrison. The armored Orcs roaming the streets would surely respond without even limited courtesy.

It seemed I was at an impasse. I was sure that taking on the legion garrison was not what Edwinna had in mind, and it certainly didn't strike me as a good idea. I had lunch at the tradehouse after a morning of fruitless inquiries. My fortunes rose as I ate.

Though priced high, the tradehouse menu did offer kwama egg fare. The proprietor was not the most open source, but a few drakes slipped across the counter got me a recommendation about someone who 'might know a bit' about where eggs could be had. I set off to find a Hainab Lasamsi, an unemployed Dunmer who had opted out of the egg mine completely rather than scraping along on the limited work being allowed.

Hainab was not hard to find. The unveiled hatred passing between him and the Orcs of the garrison arced through the air like lightning as he passed through the streets. Just being seen talking to him seemed like a bad idea. I managed to walk near enough to say "I'd like to propose some business, but not the kind your admirers would approve. Can we get out of sight?" He gave the slightest nod, and I went to a nearby merchant's open air stall to watch him surreptitiously. He wandered idly, but eventually drifted out of town to the south. I continued my shopping until the guards had eased into more relaxed postures, then followed at my own leisurely pace.

As I walked along a trail by the river the dark elf leapt out of the brush. It was not an ambush, but he was clearly wanting to show that it could have been. Our negotiations did not start well. "The loss of output from your mine is causing concern among some...associates," I began.

He cut me off. "Your words fall from your mouth like the droppings of a guar outlander. There are a hundred egg mines in Vvardenfell, all bursting at the seams with eggs that have no transport to market. The ships do not come for fear of the blight. There is no shortage of eggs to keep the legion from closing us down, and your 'associates' have no concern for our problems. Tell me the truth of your business or I will be throwing your bones to the slaughterfish."

Perceptive, better informed, and straight to the point; I hated him, briefly. After some frank discussion though we realized we had mutual interests. One Orc in particular presented a serious problem to Hainab's new business, and that particular Orc was going to be an unavoidable obstacle in my search for the ruins.

Hainab was among the first miners to recognize that the burrowing kwama had broken into something special. His first thought was that all the miners were going to be rich, as perhaps by right they should have been. But the Orcs of the garrison had been quick to point out that Dwemer artifacts were property of the Emperor despite the standard mining agreements that said the workers of a mine would split any and all profits from unusual finds. Their leader in fact, though not rank; a former warrior chieftain whose fractious nature kept him from rising in the legion, established a plan to smuggle the artifacts away that was supposed to enrich everyone involved. In practice only the Orcs profited. Claims that the ruins had yielded little; threats to blame everything on the miners; fierce beatings from armored warriors; the miners were a down trodden lot with no recourse. Hainab turned to smuggling eggs out of the mines.

Our paths crossed at the Orc leader. This villain had established himself in the lowest levels of the egg mine near the entrance to the ruins, where he could turn away any investigation by the miners. He had a bedroll, and apparently his minions covered his duties and kept him supplied; mostly with liquor as he could get fat from the vast supply of kwama eggs and scrib jelly in the inoperative mine. Hainab knew of a secret entrance to the mines, by way of an underground stream, but slinking past the Orc with his loads of eggs was a constant risk. He revealed the entrance to me, and gave me directions to the ruins. The only catch in this generous sharing being that his directions included one unmistakable landmark; the Orc.

The trek through the submerged passage was long, and I was still dripping when I met the enemy. There was no question of negotiation. I was there to kill him, and since I was obviously no passing miner he was set on killing me. The battle was short and vicious. He did not seem as skilled with his longsword as I expected, and the Legion armor he wore was heavier than the Orcish mail to which he was no doubt accustomed. The ebony lifetaker, my shortsword that draws life from those it strikes and channels it into healing magic for me, made short work of him. I think he was probably drunk, though with an Orc that can be hard to tell.

The ruins have been stripped of artifacts, but fortunately only the Orcs of the garrison were involved. A book, written in Dwemer, lay discarded under a dusty table. Being Orcs they probably pushed it aside in their hurry to claim the glittering baubles of Dwemer metal, not realizing that to a scholar the book would be far more valuable. I will be keeping it for myself. With the translation key that I found these ancient texts may provide the solution to the riddle of the Dwemer's disappearance. Edwinna will be happy enough without the book. Inside the cover, folded and brittle, I found a set of plans that seem to be for some sort of mechanical netch. It appears to be designed to float through the air. I can only guess what she will make of that.

The strider will be arriving in Ald-ruhn shortly. I will take straight to my bed. It has been a long day.

Day Ninety-eight: Lure of the enchanting lab

This morning I delivered the airship blueprint to Edwinna. I should have waited until after breakfast. She disappeared into her chambers muttering something about cogs and power cells and may not emerge to eat for days. At her door she turned as if stirred by sudden memory. "Arvil, talk to Tanar. You need a plan." Tanar Llervi has her quarters and lab downstairs. She is a Dunmer, a highly skilled enchanter, and an able smith who makes her own weapons at a full forge in her enchanting lab. Her laboratory is envied throughout the mage's guild in Vvardenfell. I shrugged and went to find her.

I told her what Edwinna had said, and about the blueprint I had brought. "Well, she will be no help," Tanar said. "She knows she got you into this mess too. Two men were here yesterday; outlanders. They didn't ask directly about you, just said they needed a mage for hire. Specified they needed someone who was familiar with weapons as well, like a battlemage or a nightblade; a heavy hitter. By the time they were done there was no one that could suit them but you. Edwinna told them there was no one in the local who could suit their needs and they left, but they were seen asking around the strider port and then they settled in over at the Rat in the Pot. We had them watched. They were taking turns out in the streets until late last night; watching. Watching for you."

Two of them. My blood ran cold. After so many failures the Dark Brotherhood is sending out their assassins in pairs. "Were they ever left alone in the guild hall?"

She nodded and bit her lip. "I'm sorry. They bought some minor enchantments before they started asking questions. One of them said he had a money belt under his robes and asked if I could step out while he took out the gold to pay me. Everything in my lab is locked so I saw no harm stepping into my quarters."

We joined the others at breakfast. Tanar got everyone's attention, then told them "Edwinna is secluded in her library. Arvil Bren the conjurer is the ranking guild member here, and we have a problem." She turned to me, and everyone else did too.

My mouth opened once, twice, a third time. Finally I thought of something to say. I just followed the hall steward's lead. "We need a plan." Once I got going it was pretty easy to outline the problem. "Two Dark Brotherhood assassins are very likely to appear tonight in Tanar's lab. They will be looking for me, but no doubt they intend to kill her and anyone else that gets in their way. One option is that I could leave town. If I depart in an obvious enough fashion they will very likely follow, but if they don't keep track of me they will likely recall to their marker here. As you know I have some experience fighting these assassins. Two of them popping up in the depth of the night is not something to look forward to, or a possibility you can ignore. I would rather fight them here and now than leave you to contend with them. Think."

Ideas came and withered under scrutiny, but eventually something took form. By lunchtime the details seemed to have been ironed out. Tanar and one of the Ashlander students wandered off to the Rat in the Pot to put the plan in motion. Apparently it worked. On a high stool at a worktable in her lab perched a sack of grain, supporting the inconspicuous brown robe Ahnassi had pressed on me. My hair, bound in its usual guar tail, adorned a gourd set on the top. It will grow back I suppose, but having it cut off was a sacrifice made only under extreme duress. A scattering of books on the table, with one open binding the robe sleeves by the cuffs in a mostly natural position completed the scene. It was far from perfect, but provided a distraction in the brief disorientation that follows a teleportation spell.

Tanar laid it on thick, complaining to her lunch companion about being ousted from her lab by that 'arrogant conjurer'. Her complaint included that all I was doing was reading, nose buried so deep in my books that I hadn't even responded when she stormed out of the room. She presented me as an appealing bait, then set the hook by concluding 'at least he will be gone by tonight. He never sleeps here any more since that assassin tried to get him. No one really knows where he goes at night, but at least it's somewhere other than here."

I could have stayed all night in the cramped cabinet I suppose, but I was very pleased when the soft pop of a teleportation spell sounded in the room early in the afternoon. I quickly cast my most powerful protective spell, then called upon the barkskin spell of my Breton heritage as I sprang from the cabinet. A slashing wakizashi had just shattered the gourd, scattering my sacrificed hair, and the second assassin was popping into place in the center of the room. I rammed my spear through him cleanly before he even had his bearings, shreds of heart meat frozen to the spearhead as it burst from his chest.

The first assassin, not pleased with having slain the gourd and grain sack, spun into a defensive crouch. His Daedric wakizashi rang off my shield as I drew the ebony lifetaker. The duel was challenging, but the outcome was fixed by magic and preparation. With my defenses at their peak it was almost beyond even his great skills to inflict any damage, while every minor wound my opponent received augmented my own health. Healing magic actually collected around me, restoring my wounds as fast as I received them. Soon a second black clad body sprawled on the floor.

I left Tanar a set of the black chainmail for her part in the plan, and brought the other here to Balmora. Galbedir may not have as fine a lab, but the guild in Balmora has accumulated some powerfully charged soul gems. I have been practicing the slashing style of the wakizashi, and even though I am very pleased with my ebony lifetaker shortsword I could not pass up the opportunity having two Daedric blades in my possession presented.

My own skills as an enchanter are sufficient for some things, but I destroy a lot of soul gems in the process of getting one to take. Fine with lesser gems, but the rare and powerful gems I will leave in the hands of the experts. I traded one of the immensely valuable Daedric wakizashi to Galbedir. One thing that makes Daedric weapons so valuable is thier propensity to enchantment. They can hold a far more powerful spell than any other weapon. Galbedir, in her turn, used a powerful gem and enchanted my remaining wakizashi for me. The Daedric Lifestealer; it is a masterpiece.

Day Ninety-nine: Paranoid or protective?

I woke this morning with the deep satisfaction of success. I think I will have at least a little time before the Dark Brotherhood tries again. When they do I will meet them with their own Daedric weapon, charged with an enchantment that I probably could not have afforded without the supply of priceless weaponry that they seem willing to throw into their assault. It started out a good day. Still a good day in the end, but the slippery slopes of Mage Guild politics seem to be reaching out to grab me.

Ranis called me into her office as soon as I had finished breakfast. The attentions of Galbedir and Ajira have cooled somewhat in light of my lack of response, but since I am keeping Ahnassi and my life in Pelagiad deeply hidden from the danger of the Dark Brotherhood there is still a pleasant undercurrent here. I was smiling when I passed through her door, even though I anticipated an unpleasant task. I underestimated how unpleasant it might be.

Ranis is not known for subtlety or slow build ups; "I believe there is a Telvanni spy in the guild; in a position of significant influence in the guild."

"Hold on Ranis. If this is headed towards me going to some guild hall and killing someone in cold blood and plain sight you are really going to have to come up with some hard evidence. Hard evidence and approval from someone..." I trailed off. I couldn't think whose approval would suffice; Archmage Trebonius maybe?

"I'm not talking about killing anyone," she protested. "Alright, I have said that often enough before, but really I don't want any action taken. I just want you to find me some of that hard evidence you would be looking for if I did want action taken."

"Then you would want me to take the action. No deal Ranis. I want no part of this. Tashpi was no necromancer. You could have sent me to get her to join the guild. There was something personal there but I took you at your word that her dying was guild business. Now you are on the hunt for a spy. Why?"

"To protect the guild! Okay. There were better ways to handle Tashpi. Maybe better ways to handle a lot of things. But that doesn't change that House Telvanni would destroy the guild in Morrowind if they get half a chance. There is a spy. That arrogant buffoon Trebonius refuses to see it; refuses to see anything going on. We Dunmer live ten times longer than you or him. The Telvanni plan, and move, and grind away at us. I want to find the spy to discredit Trebonius further. I admit that too. But that is also for the good of the guild. He is a disaster as the Archmage of Vvardenfell. I need your help. Not to discredit Trebonius, but to guard us against a Dunmer Great House that he does not understand."

I sighed. I squirmed. The red eyes bored into me. "I'll investigate Ranis. But so help me I am not gonna kill anybody over this." Then I looked her square in the eye. "And I let Tashpi go. She is fleeing to the mainland. She is no necromancer so I didn't kill her for being one. If there is something I should legitimately kill her for tell me before she gets off of Vvardenfell and I will track her down. If you want her dead as a personal grudge hire an assassin." She did not move. "Sorry I lied about killing her."

She nodded slightly. "I'm sorry I lied about her being a necromancer. You have come a long way since you walked in that door Arvil. A long way indeed." I wasn't sure if she meant the first time I walked in the door, or if she meant just in the few minutes since I came in and sat down today. Either one would be true I think.

We went over everyone in Ald-ruhn. I have spent a lot of time there, and really didn't think there was a spy. Ranis slowly came to agree. Edwinna runs the guild hall as a reflection of herself, and she steers clear of intrigue. Since she keeps herself so far removed Ald-ruhn would not be a very effective place for a spy to exert any influence. Then I brought up Ranis' own hall. It was easy to see her bristle, but she nodded. "My ego says that could not happen here, but this is for the guild not my ego." But in the end we agreed no one in Balmora fit as a spy for the Telvanni. Caldera? A new hall, struggling to get established, not fertile ground for intrigue. That left Sadrith Mora, a thorn in the heart of the Telvanni capital; or the headquarters itself in Vivic City. I came to Sadrith Mora first.

I couldn't just barge into the hall and start looking for spies. I've done a couple favors for Skink-in-trees-shade, the Argonian steward of the hall, but I am far from well known here. The guild is quartered in the Imperial fortress called Wolverine Hall, and space is at a premium. Skink suggested that it would be best if I stayed in the town proper for the duration of my stay, and that to stay in the town I would need Telvanni hospitality papers. More like lack of hospitality papers. As an outlander mage and member of the Imperial Mage's Guild I feel lucky to have not been attacked in the street. The open hostility of the Telvanni certainly supports Ranis' theories.

The papers come from the proprietor of the Gateway Inn, which is the only place anyone who is not a Telvanni retainer is allowed to stay. All very inconvenient, but at least it is all in one place. Telvanni architecture involves growing huge trees that have naturally hollow stems, which are trained and distorted into corridors and rooms. The curving grace is nice from the outside, inside it is a twisting maze. Finding my way through the maze of the inn left me hoping not to have to enter any more buildings, but that was a vain hope.

Everyone in the Gateway Inn it seems is talking about the haunting, including the very irritable proprietor. A fine room called the south turret room has been rendered uninhabitible by a spirit. The spirit can be driven away, but returns in very short order. Rumor has it that it has been slain over a thousand times. Thinking that it would soften my reception a bit I offered to take a look at the problem. My mistake; I was summarily accused of arrogance among questions regarding my ancestry. Mage Mistress Arara Uvulas, I was told, has already looked into it. Where this expert had not found the source of the haunting it was easy to dismiss me out of hand I suppose. Instead of searching for the spy I found myself searching for Arara Uvulas at the Telvanni Council Chambers; a veritable rat warren of passages.

Arara Uvulas is a mouth. The Telvanni councilors are far too busy and self important to actually attend council meetings, so they are represented by mouths who speak for them. What happens if a mouth says the wrong thing I have no idea. She represents Master Neloth, who can't attend despite the fact that he lives right here in Sadrith Mora. I am not impressed with the Telvanni. Once I had the worthy mouth's attention she told me what she had determined about the haunting. She found no sign of a restless spirit or ancestral influences; not surprising since the Gateway Inn has not been there all that long. She said that banishing the ghost was easy; which I had already done once myself. A slave told me he had beaten the spirit out of existence with a broom once, just for sport. Then she got to the crux of the matter; she had no idea why it kept coming back and suggested consulting an expert in the school of conjuration. I wanted to say 'no kidding, wish I'd thought of that', but I don't think mouths are chosen for their sense of humor.

Rather than root around the plant buildings of the city looking for a conjuration expert I returned to the guild hall, where I should have been looking all along. While everyone seemed quite amused by the problem, Uleni Heleran laughed more than anyone. Coincidentally she offers training in conjurations among her other services. Not coincidentally actually. Uleni conjured the Gateway haunt herself, as retaliation for an incident regarding hospitality papers. I offered to forget about it. No one else had identified the source of the haunting and I had no desire to turn her in. She was of a different mind and gave me some forged 'hospitality papers' for the ghost. She instructed me to give them to Angeredhel with her compliments. I will wait until morning. I don't think he will appreciate the joke, and my room is uncomfortable enough already.

Day One Hundred: Spy revealed

I joined the mage guild to cover my activities for Caius. I quickly found myself enjoying the camaraderie. I have benefited greatly from the experience and training of my fellows. I have collected dues and compelled recruits; done favors for all manner of wizard. I never thought it would come to this.

I returned to the Sadrith Mora guild hall in time for breakfast. We all had a good laugh over Angaredhel's spluttering response to the ghost's hospitality papers. Though I spent little time there I did get comfortable with the members in Sadrith Mora. When Skink-in-trees-shade said there was no spy in his hall I had to agree. I was actually doubting that there was a spy at all, but the wily Argonian squelched that thought. The hall in Sadrith Mora could legitimately be said to be in enemy territory, and he is the steward. I accepted his view that the Telvanni certainly had a spy in the guild, if not more than one. In his opinion the spy would be in the main hall in Vivec City, where the decisions are made that affect the guild throughout Vvardenfell. I had been avoiding Vivec's hall since I am not overly popular there, but after the frosty reception by the Telvanni the welcome seemed positively warm.

With Skink's suspicions backing up Ranis I decided to approach Trebonius directly upon my arrival in Vivec City. The Archmage scoffed. That pompous blowhard would not even discuss the matter, saying that his advisor on Dunmer matters, Tiram Gadar, keeps an eye out for that sort of thing. An excellent watch keeper no doubt, but I had the temerity to ask if he could be trusted completely. Trebonius spluttered with rage.

"I am the Archmage!" he shouted. "Do you think I wouldn't know if there was a spy in my own hall? Ranis has twisted your mind with her paranoid delusions." He flung a dry parchment in front of me. "Do you see that? Tiram comes recommended by Ocato the Battlemage! I suppose next you would question Ocato himself!" With that the Archmage of Vvardenfell stalked off. I didn't bother to tell him that even as the credentials lay scattered on the table I could see there was no need to question Ocato. The signature on the recommendation was misspelled. Rather than try to confront the Archmage with a reality he did not want to see I gathered the papers and returned to Balmora.

Ranis and I agreed on a number of things. The first I appreciated greatly. We were not going to kill Timar Gadar. By we I mean Ranis was not going to give the order and I was not going to march into the largest guild hall in Vvardenfell and kill Timar, even if he was a spy. Ranis, much to my surprise, did not want him dead anyway.

The next thing we agreed on was that in the right hands this credential with the misspelled signature from the the Imperial battlemage could be used to shatter Trebonius delicate credibility as the Archmage of Vvardenfell. Ranis as steward of the hall could easily get it to the highest levels of the guild hierarchy. Quite possibly Trebonius would be recalled to Cyrodiil. I was mad enough at the pompous fool that I was in favor of this course. Again to my surprise Ranis disagreed.

"Arvil," she said, "they would just send someone else with no knowledge of Morrowind. And they might send someone far more actively meddlesome than the scuttlehead we have now. Better to stick with what we have for a while and get what we want than have someone new that hasn't given us the means to get rid of him." She rustled the papers that were still gripped in her hand.

A glimmer of her plan broke through the haze in my brain. I thought it did anyway. "Knowledge of Morrowind; you have plenty of that. Are you angling to be the next Archmage Ranis?"

She smiled a rueful smile. "No Arvil, I'm not. I am ambitious, and I think I could serve the guild well, but they would not have a Dunmer take that office. We live too long and could accumulate too much power here in our own land. No, not me; and not some fresh Imperial favorite. The guild stewards in Vvardenfell need to stand up and agree on an Archmage that would serve well for us and still be acceptable to the guild."

"Edwinna?" I asked half-heartedly. I could not imagine her getting that involved in guild politics.

"No, she would not want to leave her research. And Skink in Sadrith Mora is a fine guardian for our guild in hostile Telvanni territory but an Argonian certainly wouldn't be able to manage our interests. The other Houses would hate him as much as the Telvanni, unfortunately. Edwinna and I have been talking, and we have agreed on someone both of us could support. The staff in Vivec would support anyone who supplanted Trebonius. Skink is not sure yet."

"Not sure about who?" I asked. I couldn't think of anyone else who was anywhere near the rank or skill to be the next Archmage. I also had no idea why I was being taken into this high level of counsel.

"Arvil, you need to get to know Skink better," she said. It felt like the floor was slipping out from under my chair. "And you really need to improve your spellcraft. You won't be able to hold the staff of office if you are clutching that spear all the time."

Day 101:Sadrith Mora

This morning I reported to Skink-in-trees-shade, the guild steward in Sadrith Mora. I think Ranis might be out of her mind. I cannot picture myself as the Archmage of Vvardenfell. I haven't even started getting used to being a Magician, even though she promoted me yesterday. Now I find myself in the wilderness of the grazelands trying to set up a meeting for Skink; a meeting with a wise woman of the Ashlanders. Knowing what I had to go through to speak to a wise woman I am not sure this is a good idea.

I'm not sure anything is a good idea. Caius has not set up a meeting with the dissident priests, and seems to be having some trouble with his contacts in Vivec City. I spoke to him before I left Balmora. I told him about Ranis' grand plan for me. He laughed, and drily said "Well, that will be a unique cover." I didn't think it was funny.

The Ashland tribes of the grazelands seem to have life much easier than the Urshilaku. The hardy grasses stretch away to the horizon, supporting beasts and insects, hunters and herders. They are no more friendly though, at least the Zainab are not.

Skink suggested that the most likely tribe to accept his request would be the Ahemmusa, but the Zainab were closer so I went to their camp first. The Ashkhan, Kaushad, was not interested in any meeting between his wise woman and what he would only refer to as 'this Argonian'. I have no idea what Skink wants to talk to a wise woman about, so I had no way to answer the Ashkhan's questions. They were rhetorical anyway I am sure. "Will this Argonian make the Telvanni deal with us fairly? Make the Empire give us fair price for our goods? Will this Argonian get us a place on the council? Protect us from blighted creatures and outlaws? I have no time for this Argonian."

So the meeting did not go as well as I had hoped. I did hear an interesting rumor in the camp though. The rumor has it that a mad outlander thinks he is the Nerevarine. I did not correct them. I don't think I am the Nerevarine, I just might become the Nerevarine. And I am not mad. I don't think so anyway.

I sleep beneath the stars tonight. Tomorrow I will continue north in search of the Ahemmusa.

Day 102: Outlaw

I am now a fugitive! Fortunately the Telvanni are known more for fighting amongst themselves than for taking collective action. I should be able to slip back into Sadrith Mora and grease enough palms to take care of the problem. I doubt that I will be welcomed at Tel Vos though.

Tel Vos is the home of Master Aryon, a member of the Telvanni Counsel. His tower is a strange hybrid of Imperial stonework and the huge living plant materials that are characteristic of Telvanni construction. It seemed very strange as I approached across the grazelands, and my curiosity got the best of me. I did not realize until I saw the view from one of the towers that the usual cluster of supporting merchants and services is not connected to the tower itself, but lies some distance to the east.

I was in trouble. The Telvanni have clearly identified me. While a wandering mercenary might have been welcome, a magician of the Mage's Guild was not. I wasn't in the town, such as it is. I was in the main tower, where I clearly did not belong. And I was lost.

It seemed like it would be simple to go back down the winding staircase that had brought me to the top of the tower. Not simple enough though. I went out a door that I thought I had come in and found myself on a stone bridge to another tower instead of the ground. I opened the door to turn back, but the sound of boots on stone greeted me from below. Better to cross the bridge and try the other tower it seemed.

Looking back I could have just levitated down and fled without ever going back inside. I wish I had. When I entered the second tower I came face to face with a skeletal warrior. I drew my sword and the skeleton yanked a silver longsword from a ragged scabbard. As the silver blade sprang free papers scattered down the stair from a box the bony hands had dropped. An outraged voice shouted from below; something about the clumsiness of skeletons. A Telvanni guard, easily identified by his distinctive helm, turned the corner.

I had no way to know that the skeleton on the stair was merely summoned to cart a box for a guard with more magica than muscle. I really had no desire to fight the skeleton, or the guard, or the bonewalker that he rapidly conjured, but there was no way out but to fight it out. Fortunately the narrow stair kept the bizarre trio from getting behind me and I succeeded in cutting them down. As the guard fell in a heap I activated my amulet and blended into the shadows.

Other guards heard the commotion and were circling cautiously up the steps from below, so I went up. All I could do was hope there would be some way out. There was a door, thankfully. I paused, and dispelled the chameleon spell from my amulet. I reasoned that the stairwell had contained the sounds of conflict, but anyone on the other side of the door could not help but wonder at it swinging open. People who arrive cloaked in spells of concealment are seldom greeted as friendly visitors. Better to walk in nonchalantly. If it had led outside I could have reactivated the amulet and levitated away. No such luck.

"Here to see the museum outlander?" came the gruff greeting as I entered. "Yes, it is all dwarf make. You can look, but don't touch."

I was quite fascinated by the various armor pieces, weapons, and other artifacts that lie on various tables in the chamber, as well as a complete steam centurion that glowered from a corner. I also didn't want to look too hurried, as there were numerous heavily armored Telvanni retainers loitering about. But I had to get through before my pursuers burst through the door. I almost made it. A long straight stair descended ahead as the door burst open at the far end of the room. I took the steps three and four at a time.

A dunmer in a complete set of Dwemer armor came to look up the stairs. I shot past just as the cries of 'stop him' rang down from above. I swept across the chamber and crashed through a door. Thankfully I emerged into the sunlight. With quick words I activated my levitation boots and the amulet of shadows as I threw myself over a parapet and floated to safety.

I skirted the town and continued north. I should be very near the Ahemmusa camp. Tonight I am cold, but dare not light a fire. There may well be pursuit.

Day 103: Apprentice wise woman

Skink-in-trees-shade will get to meet a wise woman; almost a wise woman anyway. Hopefully Minabi will be sufficient for whatever it is he needs. Sinnammu, who is the actual wise woman of the Ahemmusa clan does not seem impressed with Minabi, but she is the best I can come up with.

When I arrived in the Ahemmusa camp I was met with more civility than I am accustommed to from Ashlanders. They are definately a more peaceful tribe. Sinnammu is a very highly regarded wise woman, even among the other clans, and she sets a tone of tranquility that is obvious throughout the camp. I think living in the pastoral grazelands instead of on the harsh ash slopes of Red Mountain probably helps as well. I don't know why Skink thought this would be a good place to set up a meeting for him though. Sinnammu is very highly regarded, and meeting with an Argonian mage, even if he is a guild steward, would fall far beneath her.

She was willing to send her apprentice Minabi though. She also doesn't seem too concerned about whether Minabi ever comes back. If she does come back I suspect she had better have gotten a different view of outlanders from her experiences. If I hadn't come along and interrupted her punishment she would still be stuck in the Favel Ancestral Tomb, with no likelihood of ever completing her assigned task.

I found Minabi crying in the tomb. I'm impressed that she actually got there. Following Sinnammu's directions from the camp and her advice I managed to skirt a small encampment that she warned was the home of some disenfranchised clan members who would certainly attack me. Three disillusioned surly Ashlanders she told me to avoid; but her directions led right through the heart of a huge complex of Daedric ruins. Maybe she thinks the ruins are still abandoned. They aren't. It is a thriving metropolis of trouble.

I crept through the ruins cloaked by my amulet, trying to avoid conflict; a failed affort. At least when my spell did not conceal me from a passing Dremora I had time to get my back against a sturdy wall of intricately carved stone. The dremora are Daedric servants. Their spirit gives very little subastance to a physical body, but conjures a full set of Daedric armor to encase the wispy form. My own Daedric blade was a match for this heavy mail, and I was able to dispatch the creature back to the Daedric plane. My own armor suffered greatly from the Dremora's weapon; a longsword. After the battle this mighty Daedric blade was all that remained of the creature. I grabbed it and fled, using a feather spell to support the great weight of it. The ruins are home to a host of Daedric and elemental monsters. I hid the sword in some bushes and made my escape, but it is far too valuable to abandon. I will have to go back for it tomorrow. I fear I may be too much like my adopted father; greed may be the death of me too.

Compared to the effort required to get there Minabi's task at the tomb seemed relatively easy, but she had not been able to get it done. The restless spirit of Kanit Ashurnisammis refused all her efforts to appease him. Perhaps as an ancestor of the tribe the ghost felt compelled to sustain her punishment. In any event, she could not leave the tomb until the spirit was settled, so I settled it. Cajoling and charms had not worked for her, but an enchanted Daedric blade is a great persuader. I hope Kanit is resting comfortably with the rest of the ancestors in the plane of the dead.

Once the ghost was dispatched Minabi was more forthcoming about how she had been given this unpleasant task. It explained some of the things Sinnammu had said about her attitude towards outlanders needing to change, though personally I like her attitude A runaway Telvanni slave had fallen into the even worse circumstance of being captured by the clan. Relations with the Telvanni are rocky at best, so returning the slave was not considered. Most of the warriors were in favor of making a rug out of him. Impressed by the slave's tales of the warm sands of his distant homeland, Minabi had helped him escape. Compassion for outlanders is apparently not an important characteristic to look for in a prospective wise woman.

I returned to the camp, giving the ruins a wide berth. Sinnammu was pleased that the spirit was sent to its rest, and also that I was willing to tell her the truth; that I had done it not Minabi. She will arrange appropriate transport to Sadrith Mora for her wayward apprentice.

Day 104: Ruin of the Daedric cult

I can see the attraction of being a follower of the bad Daedra. The leaders of the cult are apparently well rewarded with rare and hugely valuable Daedric weapons. They have security and comforts provided by elemental and Daedric servants. I don't know if it would be worth it though, having to live in the dark, damp tunnels under the ruins like they did. Not a great place to live; definitely not a good place to die.

Talking to the Ahemmusa last night and this morning it was clear that nothing good came from the nearby ruins. The cult there was a source of evil and misery, nothing more. They were willing to give me a hearty breakfast and a pat on the back, but wanted no part in any attack on the cult. Since they expected failure they didn't want to upset their bad neighbors. The assumption was that I would be dead so it didn't matter who was upset with me.

Once again I crept through the jumble of fallen stone. This time I did not avoid the atronachs; elemental energies summoned into humanoid forms. I crept close, struck quickly, and melted back into the shadows before help could arrive, usually grabbing a handful of the residual salts such creatures leave behind when they are dispatched back to the plane from whence they came. Daedric guardians met a similar fate; clannfears; green lizardlike demons who hop about and strike with their razor sharp beaks; and another dremora. I reclaimed the Daedric longsword from its hiding place, and added this dremora's shortsword to make a pile right inside the door to the inner shrine.

A long tunnel coiled down into the darkness. I dared not show a light, so I cast a nighteye spell and pressed onward. The tunnel wound down until it met the groundwater. I levitated through the ruined chambers, pausing on fallen blocks that broke the surface of the stagnant water. The water did not appear to be deep, but I did not want a splash to announce my presence.

The leaders of the cult were gathered in the main shrine, swearing their fealty to a bad Daedra represented by a great idol that towered above the knee deep water. I let my levitation spell expire, opting for a water walking spell which would last longer. Moving freely on the surface gave me an advantage over the heavily armored swordsmen, who were hampered by the water. Swordplay is more about footwork than most people realize, and the slashing style of the wakizashi was perfect for the situation. They were skilled foes, and I would not have wanted to stand toe to toe in a match of chops, thrusts, and parries. The water was deep enough to cover them once they were fallen. As I said, not a good place to die.

I gathered all the heavy Daedric weapons and valuable armor into a bundle, with great expenditure of sweat, and feather spells to lighten the loads. The corpses of the leaders I left on the altar at the great statues feet. Partly that was a warning to any others who might opt to follow the ways of the bad Daedra, but also as an honor. They were skilled opponents who deserved better than to be left in the murky water.

Far too heavily burdened to walk anywhere I cast my recall spell and returned home to Ahnassi. She is becoming accustomed to me popping into existence in the hallway. There was a blanket spread on the floor at the spot of my magical mark. It was perfect for my arrival; wet, wounded, and laden with treasures.

Day 105: Skink's respect

I got up this morning with no desire to face the day. Curled in Ahnassi's arms, her tail wrapped around my legs, I could have just chucked the whole world; Caius and his intrigues about the Nerevarine, the Mage's Guild and our incompetent Archmage, all of it. But I did get up and face another day. Somehow I'm sure Caius, Ranis, the Emperor, the Dark Brotherhood, or some other representative of fate would have found me anyway if I didn't.

I did enjoy a leisurely breakfast with Ahnassi, and Nelos and Maurrie at the Halfway before setting out. When Maurrie heard that I was heading into Telvanni territory she fairly begged me to stop in Tel Aruhn and see her friend Emusette. I agreed to do that, and I'm glad I did. A friendly face in Telvanni territory has taken on tremendous value. Emusette is a very capable mage. She treads a fine line. She is not a retainer of the Telvanni, but is not a member of the guild either. By living in Telvanni territory she does not draw the jealous attentions of the guild, and by not actually joining House Telvanni she avoids the infighting that seems a major part of their efforts. She sells potions and charms, and does training in spellcraft. I learned a little from her, but there was not much she could teach me in my specialty; the school of alteration magics. Perhaps I could find other independent trainers in the Telvanni villages who could teach me more. I may not have the skills to challenge the Archmage, but no one in the guild halls can teach me anything in my field any more either.

I had hoped that Skink-in-trees-shade could, and would, but his specialty is in the school of illusion, like my Blade friend Nine-toes. I suppose that comes more readily to Argonians, and the alteration of the elements is less important to them in their native swamps. They can breath water naturally, and have no interest in walking on it or levitating over it.

Skink definitely would train me if he could. He was extremely pleased with Minabi, who had already arrived by the time I made my way to Sadrith Mora this morning. She seemed very happy in the guild hall. I suspect this visit will have exactly the opposite effect that Sinnammu was looking for. Instead of developing a healthy distrust for Imperial ways Minabi may very well join the guild and never go back. Besides being a very skilled illusionist Skink is extremely charming. It doesn't take long with him to get past the scaly exterior and see that he is a good leader with a good heart.

He has been talking to Ranis. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say listening to Ranis. "There are those who say you could be the Archmage Arvil Bren," he said to me. "Trebonius knows nothing but destruction, which does not serve us well, but it would be wise to remember that he knows it very well indeed. We hear that you are as much warrior as mage though, and could pop the bag of wind with your spear quite handily." As seems to often be the case I had no idea what to say. He gave a low toned hiss that I had learned from Nine-toes was the Argonian equivalent of laughter. "That I must admit I would like to see, but we will keep that to ourselves for now."

"We were talking to Ranis about you to see if you are suitable for another delicate task that we have to get taken care of," he continued, changing the subject abruptly. Argonians always refer to themselves as 'we', and they do shift topics as rapidly as if there were more than one mind working in their reptilian heads. "She said that in many ways you are ideal for the task, but it is clear that we must do some more checking of facts first. One of our members has fled Telvanni territory. Reportedly she has taken up the dark arts of necromancy. If so that reflects badly on the guild and we should have her killed. But this is Telvanni territory, and there are many reasons to flee, and many who may not tell the true reasons after. Ranis says you would be very capable of taking care of this problem, but that we must be sure there is actually a necromancer to be dispatched. Let us make sure Arvil Bren. We will let you know."

So I am in Skink's good graces, and have no new duties to perform. It was the perfect opportunity to take the brief sail to Tel Aruhn and meet Emusette. Her training has given me in an evening what would have taken days of hard practice, and her hospitality is a refreshing break from the Telvanni. I cleared up my misunderstanding in Tel Vos with on officer of the guard before leaving Sadrith Mora, but there is a deep hostility towards the Mage's Guild that I will just have to live with.

Day 106: Pilgrimage progress

Emusette gave me a letter to deliver to Maurrie this morning, congratulating her on her romance with Nelos no doubt. Funny that there was a time that Maurrie thought Emusette and I could make a couple. Ahnassi was happy to see me appear once again in the hall. Very happy when she saw no signs of conflict or combat. She does worry.

With no pressing business for the guild until Skink verifies the necromancy charges in Sadrith Mora, and still no word from Caius, I again considered just spending some time at home. But my father always said that the idle pocket deserves to get picked, so I am again on the road. Finding a master of the school of alteration would serve me well, but even my father's wisdom could not drive me back into Telvanni territory. Instead I returned to the temple in Ald-ruhn.

Tuls Valen was pleased to see me, but did question my devotion. Much to my surprise it has been almost a month since I started the Pilgrimages of the Seven Graces. I completed three; humility, valor, and generosity. Despite seeing that it seems these graces are in short supply with the temple hierarchy the pilgrimages did me good personally, and I am eager to continue. Next is the pilgrimage to the shrine of courtesy, and I set out with a light step bound once again for Vivec City.

The cross country trek is becoming familiar, though I try to follow at least a slightly different path each time. Today I left Ald-ruhn on a trail headed due east, straight towards Red Mountain. This branched a couple times, then the main path appears to have fallen into disuse. I quickly saw why. It runs straight through the ghostfence. Beyond the shimmering magical barricade I could see that the path is nearly obliterated from the constant swirl of the ashstorms that cloak the crater region.

I followed the ghostfence to the south and picked up another path, then dropped into the Foyada Mamaca. By the time I found a way up the opposite side the afternoon was waning, and I was considering another night out of doors with no enthusiasm. Then I saw the towers in the distance. The mountaintop ruins of Arkngthand loomed against the westering sun. Skirting lava pools and slicing cliff racers with my wakizashi I hurried onward, the shelter afforded by the ruins too opportune to surrender. Once the sun set and the twilight thickened the cliff racers came out in force. Gliding out of the near darkness they could attack with great effect, but my armor is sturdy and I was seldom injured; never so badly that the healing energies of the lifetaker blade could not keep up.

I reached the ruins and found the entry crank in the dark. Initially I planned to take over the empty quarters of Creto, the boss of Orvas Dren's expedition of looters who I battled for the Dwemer cube. My plan changed when I saw signs of recent traffic at the entrance. I am holed up in the main entry chamber, on top of a tower where I should be safe from discovery. In the morning I will investigate before I continue on to Vivec.

Day 107: Return to Arkngthand

I am actually surprised at myself. Edwinna has sent me to numerous Dwemer ruins. I've explored some that I just stumbled across. None of them compare to the magnificence of Arkngthand, but somehow I just never made the time to return until now.

I spent the morning listening and watching. There was a large expedition here, and they were cautious. From bits and pieces I put together that for many of them this was their second time in Arkngthand. They were here with Creto's team the first time. They had fled in the wake of his death.

Speculation seemed the favorite topic of conversation. Some contended that Creto was a victim of an Imperial Legion raid, citing the artifacts which had disappeared as evidence of a very human force. Others believed that the spirits of the Dwemer had reclaimed their relics. A great locked door deep in the labyrinth led to passages as yet unexplored, and could provide a home to any number of spirits and mechanisms. Some from the first expedition scoffed at that; asking how a line of clanking centurions could have gotten past them through the lower tunnels; a valid question.

There was a Cyrodiil woman in charge. She was one of the veterans from the former expedition. She expressed no opinion on the various theories, letting the speculation go as long as it didn't interfere with the work. Her only input came when one of the workers suggested that the Thieve's Guild could have been responsible. She paused to listen. The theorist continued, noting that the guild was in a gang war with the Cammona Tong, and the sponsor of the expedition, Orvas Dren, was connected with the Tong. That's where she cut in. "It would be wise not to speak of our patron's connections. If you are wrong and he takes offense you will be out of a job. If you are right and he takes offense that would likely be worse, wouldn't it?" Chastened, the worker went quietly about his work. He couldn't know that he was half right. Creto was indeed a casualty of a gang war; my private war with the Cammona Tong. I should have let him know before he died.

When I set out on this pilgrimage I opted to carry a spear. They are handy as a walking stick between battles. The spear I chose I call my Dwemer Icepick. I enchanted it with a frost spell to do extra damage to my foes. Strange that I should happen to return here with it. I found it here in the first place. Orvas Dren will have no veterans if he mounts a third expedition. This time I left no survivors. I don't know of anyone who can tell the make of the spear from the wounds it leaves, but if anyone can today will surely enhance the legend of Arkngthand. Another expedition to Arkngthand ended in disaster, with a litter of corpses done in by a Dwemer spear.

If Dren does send another group, they will find nothing of any great value. Once all the looters were slain I opened the door to the depths and explored every passage. I didn't find all that much, but what I found I took. Nothing from Arkngthand will contribute to the cause of the Cammona Tong.

Day 108: Assignment from the Archmage

I am now so deeply entangled in the politics of the Mage's Guild that I wonder if it can ever be unraveled. I have an assignment from Archmage Trebonius himself. I should have just stayed at a cornerclub instead of the guild hall. Vivec is huge, there must be a dozen places I could have rented a bed.

I made the trek down from Pelagiad this morning. I definitely did enough walking to meet the intent of the pilgrimage. The recall spell from Arkngthand to Pelagiad didn't really shorten the journey very much, and I only did it because I was loaded down with Dwemer relics. I guess most pilgrims don't get to sleep in their own beds at night, but once again I have to tell myself that other pilgrims might have taken the pilgrimages from the temple in Vivec City, which would reduce them to a mere walk outside; three of them anyway. The shrine of courtesy is the last of the seven grace shrines that is in Vivec City. I think for the last three I will be happy to be starting from Ald-ruhn.

When I arrived this afternoon I went to the temple to prepare myself for the visit to the shrine. Getting here was just the first part of the journey. Actually reaching this shrine will be more challenging than the previous three. The shrine is located in the center of what is called the 'puzzle canal'; a maze of canals beneath the palace. Just finding the center may take some extensive wandering, and rumor has it that the canals are home to Daedric monsters who guard the approaches to the shrine. I'm not too sure about that part though. The guiding text; 'The Pilgrim's Path' mentions that there is a Dremora at the shrine itself, and I am hoping that Dremora is the source of the rumors.

The Dremora is eternally bound to the shrine, and is named Krazzt. I am looking forward to meeting him. Without joining a Daedra cult opportunities to speak face to face with such a Daedric servant are rare indeed. Krazzt is there to reenact Vivec's encounter with the bad Daedra Mehunes Dagon. The shrine of courtesy commemorates that encounter, in which Vivec gave the Daedra a silver longsword rather than fight an unarmed foe. Even among enemies there is honor, and Krazzt represents the Daedra in honoring the shrine. What he does with the longswords I can't guess.

Following my studies I continued my preparations; addressing an obvious need. Krazzt will do his part, but clearly I will need to provide a silver longsword. Had I known I would have recovered one from the skeletal guardians of the Urshilaku burial caverns, or from some other tomb that I have visited. Tombs full of skeletal guardians are not in short supply in Vvardenfell. Of course neither are armorers and I could probably just buy a sword that would serve the purpose, but the familiar abandoned tombs beneath the foreign quarter appealed to me. Not only did I claim the silver longsword that I need, I charged three soul gems with the powerful life forces of bonelords. I was very pleased with the source I chose for the sword; if only I had done as well choosing a bed for the night.

I arrived at the guild hall too late for dinner, and even though the locals are not as chilly in their reception as they have been in the past there was still no interest in helping me scrounge a meal..Then Trebonius started in on me.

"On another mission for Ranis?" he asked. "I'm sure she was pleased to have her spy, especially since you found him here."

"Ranis is very watchful of the Telvanni," I countered. "Being a Dunmer herself she knows their ways and doesn't trust them. I've been over in Telvanni territory myself lately, and there is no doubt they hate the guild. They made that clear at every turn."

"Telvanni territory; running errands for Skink no doubt. Seems you do a lot of favors for everyone Arvil; everyone but me. For me, you investigate my advisors." The tension in the room was getting thicker with every word, and Skink's comment about Trebonius' command of destruction magic came unbidden to my mind. I was fixing a sandwich. Had my spear been ready in my hands I'd have felt more at ease.

"Is there anything you need done Trebonius? I could look for a Dunmer mage to replace Tiram Gadar for you." I said it with all the courtesy I could muster, thanking the living gods of the tribunal for my afternoon's studies. Veins popped out in Trebonius' neck, and one pulsed across his forehead. I noticed that the rest of the headquarters staff were listening, some holding their breath.

His voice dropped to an icy tone. "Thank you," he replied, the courtesy just as forced as my own had been. "That would be beneath a magician who has shot up through the ranks as rapidly as you. I have a task more appropriate for your rank. We need to know what happened to the Dwarves. Find out."

Just like that one of the greatest mysteries in the entire history of the Empire became my problem to solve.

Day 109: Vivec's glorious water

I am sleeping again in the guild hall. Not that I feel terribly welcome, but I didn't want to give the staff the impression that Trebonius had succeeded in sending me packing. When I walked in he challenged me immediately. "Found the Dwarves yet?"

"No," I replied evenly.

"Then what are you doing back here? They aren't here." he challenged.

"This seems as good a place to look for answers as any Trebonius. Plenty of very knowledgeable mage's about that may be able to give me a clue. You for instance. Where would you start?" I know Trebonius is no researcher. He is a battlemage, not a scholar.

"Ah...er...good thinking Arvil," he stammered. "You are right. The staff here is top notch. I am Archmage of Vvardenfell though and if I had time to sort out your little question I'd have done so, not given it to you." He turned on his heel and stalked into his chambers. Courtesy. The timing of this pilgrimage could not have been better. I am giving Trebonius nothing to charge me with, but gaining the respect of the headquarters mages in leaps and bounds. All without even beginning to think about the disappearance of the Dwemer.

All I thought about today was finding my way through the puzzle canal. The maze of passages is certainly confusing. They all look pretty much the same; arched stone tunnels with canals flowing down the center. Fortunately the rumor of Daedric servants guarding the place did turn out to be exaggeration, unless rats are serving the Daedra. There were plenty of rats.

The real puzzle came when I did find the center of the maze. At the heart of the puzzle canal is a great pool. I don't know if it is the source for the canals or if they feed into it somehow, but there is a lot of water; the water of Vivec's glory according to the inscription on a monument in the center. The monument stands on a platform rising above the waters of the great chamber. Stairs lead up to the platform on three sides. The fourth side faces a great opening in the outer wall, which is blocked by a field of pulsing energies that reminded me of the ghostfence. I levitated across, but could find no way through. The only clue was inscribed on the obelisk on the platform: "Breathe the waters of his glory and the way is made clear".

I sat on the top step and looked at the water. Waters of his glory? I had to assume this pool was the water, but when I fell into the pool upon entering the chamber I had cast my water breathing spell to walk to the stairs. I had already 'breathed the water' and no path had become clear. My previous pilgrimages played through my mind. Humility, daring, generosity; could they help me here? I walked into the water unprotected by spells and took a deep breath. I was sure that I was drowning, but I wasn't. I suppose since I've obviously never drowned I have no way of knowing if it would really be like that or not. In any event I did not drown.

When I emerged from the water the barrier was cleared from the opening in the wall, and a bridge extended across from the platform. I marveled at the show of power. The bridge was not some wispy construct, but seemed to be solid stone. To create that much stone out of thin air in an instant; I shuddered at the thought. Looking back, I have no way to be sure, but it seems more feasible to think the bridge was there all along, veiled by illusion.

I entered the protected chamber and climbed another massive staircase. At the top of the stairs I met Krazzt. The Dremora was courteous, as could only be expected I suppose. "Is that sword for me?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied, as I handed it over. "Without it would you be unarmed?"

"Such is my fate," he said. "Some come here who are not honorable, and they dispatch me to the realm of Daedra; but I return. Some feel the need to battle me after giving me a sword, as Vivic battled Mehunes Dagon. Some of those win. Some of those lose. No matter; I end up back here. All that you need to do to complete the pilgrimage and receive the blessing is read the inscription there." He pointed to a shrine that stood near the back wall of his chamber.

I read. Once again the powerful magic of the Tribunal Temple impressed me. A water breathing spell, combined with a spell to give free movement in water fell upon me. I turned to Krazzt. "If this lasts as long as the other blessings I could swim to the mainland."

"Perhaps you should. The power beneath Red Mountain stirs. The dremora have respect for the tribunal, particularly Vivec, and I am here in representation of that, but the Daedra have not forgotten the ashy taste of defeat. War is coming outlander. Swim home while you can.

I shook hands with the Daedric wisp contained in the mighty armor. He did not remove his gauntlet, obviously.

I didn't swim to the mainland. I did swim around the bay surrounding Vivec City for the rest of the day. The freedom of movement was amazing, my armor felt buoyant, and I could swim as easily as walk. The trail of slaughterfish left in my wake was a testament to the difference powerful magic can make. As the surface of the water overhead darkened I crawled ashore near the docks and crossed the bridge into the foreign quarter canton.

Day 110: Getting nowhere fast

I like sleeping at home. It doesn't seem to get these pilgrimages done though. Once again I have spent the day afoot, only to arrive home long after midnight; boneweary and further from my destination than I have been since I woke up this morning.

Last night I took the opportunity to check with all the mage's in the guild hall regarding the disappearance of the Dwemer. No one really knows anything, but there were some good theories. That was not the only benefit of the conversations. As Ranis predicted, the staff here would welcome anyone who could supplant Trebonius. Not that I openly forwarded the idea that I could; but their contempt for the pompous Archmage could not have been hidden if they had tried. For the most part they did not bother trying. Most of them openly said that since I don't have to report back to Vivec City any time soon I should just ignore the assignment. Over breakfast I again left Trebonius twisting in the political wind.

"I see you have opted for a free meal rather than getting an early start on your mission," he grumbled as he entered the dining hall.

"Ah, but I have been working on it Trebonius," I replied silkily. "Although most would think looking for the lost dwarves to be a fool's errand I am certainly willing to pursue it for you. I've spoken to everyone here already, and unless you have thought of something to add I'll be headed for Ald-ruhn next. Edwinna is quite a scholar on the subject as I'm sure you are aware. Oddly enough I recently acquired a book that may serve as a translation key for the Dwemer language. I may actually be closer to uncovering the secret than it appears; since I must admit it looks like I'm doing nothing but enjoying my breakfast." Obviously, the expression 'fool's errand' would normally refer to the fool on the errand in question, but from the smirks around the table it was clear another meaning had crossed at least most of the agile minds present. From the purple blotches on Trebonius' neck it was clear he got it as well; but roasting a magician at the breakfast table for something he might have meant would be a pretty far leap. Before he could gather himself to continue the baiting I rose from my seat. "I must away to Ald-ruhn. Pleasure all." I walked quickly down the hall to the guild guide platform.

For all my posturing I really have no idea how I'm going to resolve the question of the Dwemer. I have two large tomes written in Dwemer, and the book 'Hanging Garden' which is apparently translated to old Eldmeris. This is an improvement, but slight. No one at all can read Dwemer. No one I know can read Eldmeris.

Anyway, I wasn't actually planning to solve the riddle today. I was planning on continuing the pilgrimages of the seven graces. I checked in with Tuls Valen at the temple in Ald-ruhn and headed for Gnissis to view the ash mask of Vivec at the shrine of justice. I had not gone far to the west of the city when the rising wind shifted to my back, blowing from Red Mountain. It is an ill wind that blows down those ashy slopes.

By mid afternoon I was swallowed in blowing ash and gave up all hope of making a direct run to Gnissis. Mostly I just wanted to reach the West Gash, where the grasses would limit the dust somewhat, or at least keep it from thickening. When the grasslands came underfoot the storm did indeed ease somewhat, allowing me to recognize some landmarks of my previous travels. I knew the West Gash has plenty of caves, caverns and mines. I hoped to find one unoccupied that I could shelter in. My fate does not run to ease however, it runs more to fortune in a literal sense.

The thugs and brigands who occupied the cave I took shelter in were not very well organized. Perhaps they thought their numbers and reputation would keep any travelers away. Unfortunately I knew neither. Had they been reasonable I would have paid them some sum of gold for the shelter of their cave, but of course their door guards attacked me on sight. They had no system for backing up those worthies, and I cast a spell of silence over the area to avoid any alarms while I dispatched them.

The cave amounted to a long tunnel, swelling every so often into a chamber. The occupants of each chamber seemed almost independent of the others in the band, and without a concerted rush none were a match for the Daedric Lifetaker that I am becoming fairly adept at wielding. In each cavern there were bedrolls and chests and crates of loot, but little of great value. Some of the thugs, particularly the door guards, were thoroughly armored with quality steel and even more valuable bonemold, but I was not willing to gather more than I could comfortably carry. I wasn't willing until I reached the deepest cavern and met what I assume was the leader of the ragtag band. Over the long life of a Dunmer warrior many things can happen, and the leader of a poorly organized mob of cut-throats today may have been something far different during his earlier days. I'm sure that was true of this man. His armor is too finely crafted.

The plates are inlaid with the volcanic stone called ebony. Raw ebony sells for twenty gold pieces to the pound on the black market. In its raw form it is considered property of the Empire, which controls all mining, so the black market is the only source, other than Imperial armorers. Whether this Dunmer had received the armor from the Empire for some previous service I have no way of knowing. Whoever the armorer was they possessed great skill. Without even considering the workmanship the armor is valuable, the craftsmanship involved makes it nearly priceless.

Priceless, and far too heavy to carry all the way to Gnissis. The cave would serve as shelter, but at the dictates of my greed for the armor I had to teleport home. Ahnassi's eyes again flew wide at the sight of yet another treasure for my collection. This ebony armor is undoubtedly worth more than the house and all of its contents. My collection of Daedric weapons excluded of course.

Day 111: The long road to Gnissis

This morning I awoke refreshed and wanted to get right back on the path of my pilgrimage. I kissed Ahnassi good-bye and set out once again. The guards and townspeople of Pelagiad have become accustomed to seeing me in the mornings, shrouded in the early mists. I crossed to the north side of the street, stopped, and disappeared in the swirling lavender haze of a teleportation spell, only to reappear in the courtyard of the temple in Balmora.

I grabbed a quick bite to eat at the guild hall before having the guild guide transport me back to Ald-ruhn. I had traversed almost half the length of Vvardenfell and was ready to walk the remaining distance to Gnissis. Then I heard the wind. The guild hall in Ald-ruhn is built of great scaly plates taken from the shells of huge insects like the silt striders. The plates were creaking and groaning as the powerful wind tried to pry its way inside. I didn't need to look to know the ashstorm still raged outside. I consulted my maps.

I am on a pilgrimage to the shrine of justice. Clearly it would not be appropriate to short change the experience. Caldera is at least as far from Gnissis as Ald-ruhn, so it seemed fair enough to walk from there. I returned to the guild guide and transported to the newest guild hall, located in Caldera. Being in the thick of establishing themselves in the local scene the guild members there do not play a big part in the politics of the guild as a whole, but I made sure to greet everyone warmly as I passed through. It never hurts to have friends.

Although Caldera is far enough into the west gash to be free of the ashstorms there was still a haze of dust that cast a grey shadow over the town. I don't think anyone can say for sure if the ghostfence is weakening or if Dagoth Ur is gathering his strength, but there is no question that the blight is spreading. I headed west hoping to break free of the ominous murkiness. It gave way eventually. I didn't get an easy walk of it; the shrine will have justice. The haze of dust blended seamlessly into the usual overcast of the Bitter Coast. I slogged most of the day through the pouring rain. I even continued my trek into the darkness, using my nighteye spell when the ground did not offer smooth easy purchase. I was almost here, and making camp in the downpour did not seem worth the effort.

Despite the late hour of my arrival I have been made welcome in the temple by the priestess, Mehra Drora. Tomorrow I shall study and meditate for a while, then complete my pilgrimage at the shrine.

Day 112: Hospitality of a Telvanni

Mehra Drora was a great help to me in my study of Vivec's Ash Mask and completing the shrine of justice pilgrimage, but her information about Gnissis' other residents may prove even more helpful. The story of the mask is another astonishing tale of Vivec's heroism in the war with Dagoth Ur. The mask itself is a dull bluish grey; as one would expect. It looks very solid for being made of ash, but I was not allowed to touch it. The mask is guarded around the clock by an Ordinator.

The mask was formed when the magic of Dagoth Ur swept over Vivec and a band of his followers who were camped for the night. A layer of smothering ash covered them, hardening into shells on the corpses. Vivec himself was not killed, but awoke imprisoned in this ash casing. As he wept for his lost followers the power of his tears weakened the ash and he was able to free himself, tearing the mask from his face intact to become the prize relic of the Gnissis temple. According to the legend he then restored his followers to life and continued the war on Dagoth Ur. Not to question temple doctrine, but I find it odd that no mention is made of any names or subsequent deeds of any of these followers.

When I completed my studies and left a cure disease potion at the shrine I set out to meet a distinguished citizen of Gnissis. He would not likely appreciate the 'citizen of Gnissis' part, but he is certainly distinguished, and knows it well. The politics of Gnissis are complicated. Due to the sacred sites the temple maintains jurisdiction, but it is technically in Redoran territory. The Imperial Legion has built a fortress here as a result. Whether their intent is to keep the peace or take advantage of the discord in their own land grabbing way is a matter of some conjecture. Adding to the swirl of questions is Baladas Demnevanni, a rogue Telvanni wizard who has taken over the ancient Velothi tower of Arvs-Drelen, located on the edge of town.

Baladas adds to the swirl of questions, and provides no answers. He lives as a recluse, having necessities delivered by local merchants who leave the goods in an antechamber just inside the door. He appears to have no retainers or kin. Some of the merchants report that the tower is cleaned and maintained by a crew of skeletal servants. All report that the aged wizard wants only to be left alone. A Telvanni so far outside of Telvanni territory was too good an opportunity to pass up though, and I am glad I seized it when I had the chance.

I entered the tower warily, but openly; announcing my presence as one would expect from a guest, invited or not. I ignored the passage to the depths below the tower. Whatever isolation Baladas was living in, I was sure it would not be in the dungeons. The lower level of the tower offered a guest room; obviously seldom if ever used, but well maintained. Across the hall is a room that appears to be some sort of treasury. I took a brief look, then slammed and locked the door before the skeletal guards could reach me. No doubt Baladas could summon more, but dispatching them would not likely invite hospitality.

I climbed the ramp to the next level of the tower to find my way blocked by a securely locked door that challenged my spell of opening. I met the challenge of the door and cautiously passed through. Standing on a summoning platform in the center of the room was a horrible creature. I learned later that using my opening spell on the door had freed the monster from its bonds, alerting it to the task it had been summoned for; turning away any visitors. The daedroth is a towering humanoid form topped with a monstrous reptilian head, with a long snout lined with sharp gnashing teeth. While physically intimidating the creature's most powerful weapons are magical, as I found out immediately.

With a wave of its scaly hand the creature cast a powerful spell, and despite my frantic dodge I was inundated in green venom. The daedroth taps such a reserve of magica that it does not bother with targeted spells. As I fled the room I could see that it had painted a vast area with glowing poison. I gulped restoratives and poison cures as I crashed down the curving ramp. Behind me I could hear the snapping of the mighty jaws.

I reached the bottom of the ramp and the poisonous spell finally dissipated. I spun to face the horror charging down upon me. To my surprise the beast skidded to a halt and unleashed another powerful explosion of magica, bathing the corridor in snapping electrical discharges. My trusted spear became a lightning rod in my hands and I was forced to abandon it as shocks ran over my skin like a swarm of angry bees. The restoratives still coursing through me reduced the damage, and I hoped the effects of the powerful brew would outlast the spell. I cast my most powerful shielding spell and called upon the innate abilities of my Breton heritage to protect me as the monster leapt in with sharp grasping talons and snapping maw.

The Dwemer metal bracer on my left forearm was proof against the sharp teeth and crushing power of the creature's jaws, but it rolled with such sudden violence that my arm was pulled from its socket. Without the magical protections I had in effect it would probably have been torn completely off. I howled with agony, but managed to slash the creature's belly with the wakizashi. The sharpness of the daedric blade separated the scaly hide and glowing gore gushed forth. The jaws relaxed momentarily and I pulled free. The enchantment of my sword struck and the daedroth's own life force flowed into me, binding my separated shoulder.

The monster was handicapped; holding its entrails in with one great clawed hand. Then in a coursing flash of restorative magic the huge gash was healed. I struck again with the lifetaker, leaving a minor wound. The creature resisted the spell of the blade and raked me with its claws as I spun away. Then we crashed together a final time.

Once the snapping electrical charges had dissipated I had unlimbered my steel shield, and in the final exchange I managed to smash it sideways into the widespread jaws. The steel flexed under the pressure, but held for the brief moment needed for the wakizashi to slash across the throat. I released the grips and let the shield fall with the daedroth into a splashing shower of its glowing blood. The lifetaker drained the last of the beast's ebbing life forces into my own flagging reserves.

From above, on the ramp, came a sardonic voice. "Impressive, outlander," was all he said, then Baladas turned and headed back to his study in the uppermost reaches of the tower. From the top of the ramp he shouted back down. "Clearly you won't be dissuaded. There is a guest room. Rest, and clean off that gore. I will see you tomorrow."

Day 113: The coming war

I spent the day like a Telvanni wizard; isolated in a high tower. Baladas seems eccentric to me and to the local folk in Gnissis, but among the Telvanni his reclusive lifestyle is the norm. Getting past his summoned daedroth earned me a brief audience. A promise to share unique knowledge is the only thing that gained me an ally.

Like all Telvanni, Baladas is opposed to the dissemination of magical knowledge and products to the common public. In Morrowind the long lives of the Dunmer give almost everyone the opportunity to pick up a few spells, but the Telvanni wizards have devoted themselves to centuries of study and they guard their secrets jealously. The assimilation of Morrowind into the empire brought the Mage's Guild, with its more commercial view of magica. There is a basic difference of view between the Telvanni and the guild that may be impossible to reconcile.

I had hoped that I could find among the Telvanni a master of alteration magic who would teach me. Baladas conceded that there might be such masters, but the animosity of the Telvanni towards the guild would be an insurmountable obstacle. Even in their remote towers the Telvanni counselors are aware of my rise within the ranks of the guild. Soon I can expect to be banned from Telvanni territory.

Baladas himself would not have anything to do with such a ban, obviously, since he has abandoned Telvanni territory himself. The Telvanni, perhaps better than anyone, see the coming war with Dagoth Ur. The Telvanni council is looking at it as an opportunity to increase their own autonomy as the temple will be sorely pressed and the empire will face a revolt from a force completely outside their understanding. Baladas thinks the council is underestimating Dagoth Ur. He also suspects that with the external pressure holding them together reduced the Telvanni will fall into active battles among themselves. The bonds of honor that hold House Redoran together, in his opinion, offer the best defense against the forces of Red Mountain.

We did not forge such a bond of honor; more a bond of necessity. Rather than strike in defense against Dagoth Ur, the Telvanni's first blow in the war will be the destruction of the Mage's Guild. Baladas deems that unwise, but with Trebonius offending the Telvanni at every turn while weakening the guild's defensive position it is almost unavoidable. It is unavoidable without replacing Trebonius. Baladas gave me access to his library, and in a day of study I have gained enough insight to merit promotion to warlock rank. Baladas may not approve of the guild, but he deems it necessary for the coming war and would have it led by his ally; or perhaps led by his puppet. He has helped me, but he bears careful watching.

Another aspect of our newfound alliance is that Baladas, in his long life, has garnered some knowledge of Aldmeris. I will be returning to Gnissis with the translation of Hanging Gardens and the books in ancient Dwemer that I have collected. Perhaps with his help I can solve the riddle of the dwarves.

Day 114: Warlock

I am writing early, for tonight the guild hall will be celebrating my promotion. Edwinna has declared me a warlock. Many of my friends from the hall in Balmora have already arrived. With Ajira providing the beverages I am sure I will not be able to write later.

I may be the next Archmage of Vvardenfell. That remains to be seen. For now though I am just a wandering mage. Today I wandered a long way, and my feet hurt. Like any day on the roads of Morrowind danger was ready at hand. As I approached Ald-ruhn with the sun settling behind me in the west I found an opportunity to stand for safety and security. Perhaps the Ashlander couple that I met will speak well of me when they return to their clan.

I met Falanu Indaren first. She was standing atop a small hill peering into the desolate ashlands around her. I turned slightly from my path and approached. She was scraped a bit, and her clothes dirty and torn. I thought briefly of putting an arrow through her; fearing that she could be maddened with the corprus disease. She shouted, and I did not act on the thought.

"Outlander! I need your help! My husband is lost!" she cried.

I trudged up the gritty ash slope to get whatever details I could. I don't know what it is about the Dunmer. They generally use 'outlander' as the next best thing to a curse, but it doesn't even register on them that calling me outlander and then asking for help is a contradiction. As my father would say; 'strange ways aren't strange to strange folk. Never be surprised.' Whatever she wanted to call me there was no way I would refuse aid to a distressed traveler.

Falanu and her husband Drerel had been headed into town to trade for basic necessities when they were attacked by a pack of nix hounds. It occurred to me that someone who didn't have the weapons skills or spells to deal with nix hounds ought not be standing on a hill top in the Ashlands. I turned a wary eye to the skies and scanned for cliff racers. Falanu had fallen down, and the only thing she could think to do was be still, hoping the hound pack would think her dead. Her husband had run, leading the hounds away from her. She thought he had headed west.

I led her down the hill and settled her in a thicket of trama vine, then set off to the west looking for tracks. The recent ash storm had left a clean slate, and the scene of the attack was fairly easy to find. To the west was a sandy ridge crowned with a spine of rock pinnacles. As I climbed the slope I thought that among those pinnacles would be where I would seek shelter if I were being swarmed by nix hounds. Sure enough, between two close set rock faces I found the battered Dunmer. He had driven off the hounds once he got his back to the stone, but was too battered to risk being caught in the open.

Drerel was thrilled to hear that his wife was alive, and for the most part unharmed. He was also very happy when I cast a healing spell that eased his own wounds. I led him to the thicket and was warmed by the reunion of the happy couple. Most of their trade goods had been scattered and lost in the frantic activity so I did not expect any reward, but they did give me a book to add to my collection.

That collection of books is filling my room here in the guild hall, but the real prizes I will take with me when I leave. I spoke briefly with Tuls Valen at the temple, and my next pilgrimage will take me to Koal Cave, which is near Gnissis. I will deliver my Dwemer books to Baladas and we will see what he can decipher from them.

Day 115: Return to Gnissis

I should have taken some sort of transport yesterday. I knew that the next pilgrimage would be taking me right back to Gnissis. After yesterday's long walk my desire to do the pilgrimage correctly and walk to the Koal Cave was nonexistent. Last night's blowout party at the Mage's Guild didn't help either. It was well past noon before I cleared the bitter burn of sujamma from the back of my throat. I should know better than to get on the receiving end of Ajira's brewing skills. She is a sweetheart though. I may just have a soft heart for Khajiiti women, but she was my first mentor in the guild and has always stood by me and helped me out. Right now being no exception. She has heard recently about a powerful artifact; the Staff of Magnus, and has passed the rumor on to me. Sometime soon I will need to journey to Mount Kand and recover this valuable relic.

For today though I trudged back to Gnissis. Baladas welcomed me back. I was half afraid that he would have disappeared back up into his tower and left another guardian to insure his privacy. I don't think I was up to battling another daedroth today. Fortunately I didn't have to. Getting his hands on the book, Hanging Gardens, was far too much of an attraction to him. He is convinced that with that for a key he will be able to translate the other Dwemer books, which he says are called The Egg of Time and Divine Metaphysics. It seems we may soon have an answer to one of history's greatest riddles. What became of the Dwemer? I suspect Trebonius will not be pleased when the assignment he handed me as a dead end makes me famous throughout the guild.

While I was excited to be bringing the books I did not forget the purpose of my travels today, that being the pilgrimage. I did what Tuls Valen calls 'walking meditation', dwelling on the goal and lessons of the pilgrimage to Koal Cave. Koal Cave is the site of another of Vivec's legendary encounters, this time with 'Ruddy Man', the father of the Dreugh. No one knows how Ruddy Man came to be. He may have been a human or elf that underwent some transformation; through curse or his own miscalculation, or perhaps even by intent. In any event the fearsome aquatic dreugh trace their origins back to him.

When the ancient Dunmer followed Veloth to Vvardenfell, the dreugh were established in the surrounding waters, though nowhere near as plentiful as they are now. How the Ruddy Man would still be alive in Vivec's time is a question that I will not be asking in the temple, but apparently Vivec defeated the Ruddy Man in his stronghold at Koal Cave. Then he spared his vanquished foe. Vivec claimed for the Velothi, who by then were known as the Dunmer, the right to use the tough hides of the dreugh to make armors. How the dreugh may feel about their progenitor bartering away their hides is another question best left unasked.

Tomorrow I will complete the trek to the Koal Cave, and reenact the climactic battle. I suspect the dreugh who choose to inhabit this historic location will be no ordinary dreugh.

Day 116: Koal Cave

I could have completed the pilgrimage to Koal Cave satisfactorily by just leaving an offering at the shrine. The shrine is right inside the entrance; the shrine of valor. Perhaps that is why I couldn't just walk away from the cave. I had to enter the watery depths of the dreugh.

The entry cavern, where the shrine stands, was not intimidating. In only a few spots too deep to wade and with the stone overhead only occasionally dipping to the water there was no call for magic. A few slaughterfish were easily dispatched. The close confines of the cave helped contain their darting attacks, making them easier targets than their open water cousins. Beyond the entry cavern things went downhill; quite literally. The cavern plunged into the depths, becoming completely submerged.

The opportunity to practice my alteration magic seemed ideal. I cast my water breathing spell and plodded onward. My heavy ebony boots gave me good purchase, allowing me to continue as if the grotto were just another Vvardenfell cave. The one thing I did not consider was that the confined space that had given me the advantage over the slaughterfish was taking on a new dimension. Standing firmly on the bottom in my heavy boots I was limited to two dimensions. The slaughterfish had three. So did the dreugh.

I wandered blithely along, picking pearls out of huge kallops that dotted the bottom stones. At a crossing of passages I cast my spell of buoyancy and floated up to take the turning to the right, again settling to the bottom as the spell wore off. The passage led into an open cavern, with tall strands of bright green sea plants swaying gently. Darting through the fronds a school of slaughterfish converged on me.

I was hampered by the water. The Akiviri style of the wakizashi calls for quick slashing movements, which were impossible to perform. Short jabbing movements, more appropriate for a shortsword or other piercing blade encountered less resistance, but the grip of the wakizashi made them awkward and inaccurate. Fortunately the slaughterfish does not have much resistance to magica, and even a glancing blow from the lifetaker blade would drain their life force and heal my injuries. I felt lucky to be in good shape as numerous dead slaughterfish rose slowly towards the stone roof. I gathered pearls and valuable equipment lost by previous adventurers. Some had probably been abandoned in desperate attempts to reach air. Bones attested to the frequent failures. A shortsword gleamed with enchantment from among the litter, and I claimed it gratefully.

Armed with the shortsword, whose enchantment froze the slaughterfish that it struck into grotesque ice sculptures, I continued my explorations. I began to wonder if there were actually dreugh in the cave, and if I could find them before my dwindling reserve of magica called for me to return to the surface. Maintaining the water breathing spell and the need for buoyancy to climb the vertical turnings of the cave were a slow but continuous drain.

I was close to turning back for fear of running out of magica when a huge dreugh erupted out of a thick tangle of weed. In a swirl of powerful tentacles it struck, crashing me into the stone wall of the cave. I jabbed frantically with the icy blade of the shortsword. The dreugh warlord was far more resistant than a slaughterfish, but with repeated strikes the enchantment took effect. The dreugh landed a crushing blow with its great claw and spun away with one tentacle frozen into immobility.

To say the dreugh was staggered would misrepresent it. The base of three tentacles gives the creature of the deep a fluid grace. With one of the three frozen that grace was gone, and the three dimensional environment gave room for lurching movements that could not be covered by what staggering brings to mind. I quickly pushed the cap from a healing potion, covering the neck with my thumb until I could bring the flask to my lips and suck the restorative contents into my mouth. By the time the waters had thawed the dreugh's injury my own were healing rapidly and the battle was rejoined.

With newfound respect for my icy blade the dreugh was far more cautious. It struck in wild rushes, accelerating to great speed and raking with its claws as it passed. My shield caught water like a sail in a strong wind, but by continuous slow efforts I kept it ready between us, and fended off the violent charges. I struck my own blows on the passing form as best I could. Eventually the powerful warlord settled to the bottom, overwhelmed by numerous wounds. Like Vivec in the legend I let the creature live. Leaving the cave I took great satisfaction in having added the extra flourish to my pilgrimage to the shrine of valor.

Day 117: The seventh grace

I rode back to Ald-ruhn on the silt strider this morning. This pilgrimage thing is a whole lot of walking and I was tired. I took the opportunity to read about the seventh and final pilgrimage of the seven graces, so when I saw Tuls Valen at the temple I felt like I was ready to go, and he agreed. A good thing as it turns out. I may not have time for Pilgrimages for a while.

When I left the temple I stopped in at the Mage's Guild hall. Since my arrival on the silt strider would be easily observed I wanted to give anyone who might be watching for me an obvious place to look. I expected the Dark Brotherhood to be looking for me. As it turns out someone else was. There was a message for me at the hall from Gildan.

Gildan is a Cyrodiil who lives in Ald-ruhn. If she lived in Balmora she would certainly have a problem with Ranis since she is not a guild member, but Edwinna is a little lax about recruiting members. As long as she isn't casting spells for hire or offering training Edwinna won't make any demands of Gildan. I think Gildan might be connected with the local thieve's guild in Ald-ruhn for cover, but her primary loyalty is to the Blades. I knew that a message to see her would most likely be a summons from Caius. It was.

Gildan and I discussed the situation at length. My cover in the Mage's Guild is a sword that cuts both ways. My high rank is starting to draw attention to my movements, especially when the guild guides are involved. Getting a message from Gildan and suddenly transporting to Balmora would bring undue attention to her, as well as raising questions about me. We agreed that departing as expected on the pilgrimage to Ghostgate then continuing on to Balmora on foot would be the best way to proceed. I will see Caius tomorrow.

Tonight I am again a guest in the Redoran hostel in the tower of dusk at Ghostgate. I have meditated in the temple and prepared myself for the offering at the shrine of pride, which lies right inside the great gates. The shrine of pride commemorates those who have served the temple in containing Dagoth Ur and his minions. In the morning I will complete the pilgrimage.

Day 118: Open war with the Sixth House

Tonight I am a guest of the Imperial Legion. Buckmoth Fortress is just south of Ald-ruhn. I've passed it many times, but never had occasion to stop here. Until now.

I woke this morning and slipped quickly into the crater region of Red Mountain to complete the pilgrimage. The shrine blessed me with a powerful defensive shell of magica which lasted most of the day. If I ever have to return to the crater I will definitely stop at the shrine for this blessing as the crater is fraught with perils. Today the magical shielding enhancing my armor was wasted on the innumerable cliff racers of the Foyada Mamaca.

I reached Balmora in the early afternoon, slipping into town over the eastern ridge cloaked in the powerful chameleon spell of my amulet. Caius' house is set directly against the hillside, allowing me to leap onto his roof. At the signal pounded from above Caius affects the darting glances of the skooma addict and opens his door to survey the street, as if in the depths of a paranoid delusion. I glided undetected through the open door as he paced furiously, peering around the corners of his home. With a last backward glance Caius came back inside and closed it to complete the act. Seeing the powerful leader of the Blades emerge from the pretense of the aged sugar-tooth is always a welcome shock. His cover is perfect.

My own cover, Caius declared, is laughable. "Arvil," he said, "when you arrived here I told you to establish a trade of some sort. I meant some way to explain your presence in Vvardenfell as you went about your business that would keep people from wondering. When people wonder what you are up to they pay attention to you and a spy doesn't want attention. You, on the other hand, have become the center of attention everywhere you have gone. No one thinks you are a spy, but moving about with any subtlety seems completely beyond you."

I sat on the edge of the bed, since Caius' sparsly furnished room offered no other seat. I really could not think of anything to say.

The spymaster continued. "The Mage's Guild has no idea that you are a spy. Sharn keeps an eye on things for me there. She says there is a pretty widespread desire to see you become the Archmage, and those who don't want that predominantly want you killed. The current Archmage, for example."

I shrugged. He was right. My cover in the Mage's Guild has turned into a beacon. "By the way," he said, "the Telvanni want you deported." My mouth opened and closed, but I still had nothing to say. "Meanwhile, your private war with the Cammona Tong has slowly filtered into almost common knowledge in Balmora. The Hlaalu don't want you deported, but only because Orvas Dren doesn't want you to get away."

"Caius," I said, "I really didn't mean for all this to happen. Things just seem to...get out of hand."

He shook his head, partly in disgust, partly in amusement. "I know," he said. "I used to have this plan about a fake Nerevarine. The Temple, by the way, is awash in two rumors. The Ashlanders are abuzz that there is a mad outlander claiming to be the Nerevarine so the Ordinators are looking into that. Then Tuls Valen in Ald-ruhn has been talking about you, the outlander pilgrim who follows Vivec's path without any resorting to silt strider or easing of the burdens in any way. There's talk of promoting you in the temple ranks, but some say you are rising too fast for an outlander. If, make that inevitably when, they determine that both of these rumors revolve around the same person the temple is liable to explode."

"You said I should join the temple Caius. It wasn't my idea."

"Join it, not take it over! Can you do anything halfway? Nevermind. You can't. I know that even though you probably don't." He rolled his eyes and leaned against the edge of his desk. "Forget it Arvil, you just are what you are. At least amongst all your exploits no one would guess you have time to be in the Blades. I have a mission for you."

He drew out a scroll of paper. "This is a dispatch report from Raesa Pullia at Buckmoth Fort. My contacts in the Imperial Legion acquired a copy." He unrolled the parchment and referred to it intermittently. "The legion has started looking into the activities of the Sixth House Cult, and they sent a scouting party to investigate a base, rumored to be on the coast somewhere. The scouting party was wiped out to the last man, and that last man staggered into Buckmoth distorted beyond recognition with corprus disease. She thinks the garrison at Buckmoth needs additional support before they take any further action. That support is not coming any time soon; not the way she expects anyway. Despite your high profile you can still present yourself as a mercenary. Find out all you can from her, then find out all you can about this base...then destroy it."

I told him about the bases I had discovered in the northern ashlands, and at Mamaca.

"Well, the Sixth House already considers you an enemy then, so nothing new there. Try not to get recruited into the legion while you're about this. With your misguided ideas of being inconspicuous you'd probably end up a general."

I cast a teleportation spell and appeared in the courtyard of the Balmora temple. Teleportation is a terrific thing for an agent, since it leaves no tracks. I could just as easily have been coming from anywhere as from Caius' nearby house. Before anyone could recognize me I hurried to the guild house and teleported to Ald-ruhn, then quickly used another spell, arriving at the entry to the Imperial Shrine here at Buckmoth Fort.

I don't know if I qualify as a mercenary. Raesa Pullia was happy enough to accept the services of a high ranking mage, but had little to offer as payment. I do have Imperial authority to march into any known or suspected Sixth House stronghold and investigate, with no repercussions should violence ensue and rights of salvage for any treasures or goods found to be held by enemies of the empire.

They also provided a bed, which I am about to gladly use. Tomorrow may be a long day.

Day 119: A long day indeed

When I went to bed last night I expected a long day of searching for the Sixth House base. I have had a long day. Mostly I spent it with Caius' voice echoing in my head, saying "don't end up recruited into the Legions." I did spend the day among soldiers, who did accept me as one of their own, at least temporarily.

The recent loss of the scouting party, and the harrowing death of their one comrade who made it back to the fort, has cast a pall over the garrison here. They have assigned patrols in the surrounding ashlands, and occasionally make a showing in Ald-ruhn. Today they didn't do any of those things.

I awoke once again to the sound of howling winds. The soldiers stirred uneasily. Everyone knows the ashstorms blow down from Red Mountain, and Red Mountain is the source of the blight. Their recent direct experience with the corprus disease has left a raw wound. Their fellow soldier, Barlad Falown, died a horrible death, raving and shrieking and clawing at his own flesh, which grew back as fast as he could tear chunks loose with his gnarled hands. I heard the story at least ten times today. As much as they want to forget it, a soldier's way is to just keep telling the tale until they grow numb.

I learned some tricks about smithing, and repaired my weapons. The smiths of the fort are very talented, but most of the soldiers at some point broke out stone and leather and sharpened their blades themselves. Warriors. If they aren't using their weapons they are tending to them. Or playing games to pass the time while sheltering in their fort with an ashstorm howling outside. I lost a small fortune. I did not know there were so many ways to gamble; pitching gold coins to see who could land closest to a wall, drawing racer plume quills from a tube, looking for the long quill that takes the pot, rolling the knucklebones of a kagouti and betting on which side will face up when they come to rest.

Even with all the entertainments the day dragged. Near evening the wind began to slacken, and tomorrow everyone expects to return to their duties. For me that will be a long walk to Gnaar Mok, and the search for the Sixth House base called Ilinubi.

Day 120: Incurable

I have caught the corprus disease. I have caught the corprus disease. I reached the Sixth House base. I found Dagoth Gares. I killed him. With his dying breath he cursed me with the corprus disease. I have caught the corprus disease, and there is no cure.

I am sitting on a stone altar deep in Ilinubi cavern. There doesn't seem to be much point in going anywhere. I have the corprus disease. Before we battled Dagoth Gares called me Nerevar. He said if I go to Red Mountain and submit to Dagoth Ur that I will be welcomed as a friend by the Sixth House. He said that the Sixth House, House Dagoth, was not destroyed, only sleeping. He delivered a message from Dagoth Ur. Then he cursed me with corprus disease. I have corprus disease.

My mind will deteriorate until I am raving, my body will grow wild lumps of flesh whenever I am injured, and in my madness I will cause my own injuries; tearing my own flesh to eat. My own flesh; Dagoth Gares says the sleepers call it the divine food when they eat their own flesh. Dagoth Gares; he gave me the corprus disease. I am cursed.

The Temple considers the 'divine disease' a sign of evil. They will destroy me given the chance. People will shun me. I cannot go home. I have the corprus disease. I will die a raving mad hulking beast.

It is a disease of the mind. I will lose my skills. The mage's guild will not allow me in their halls. I will never be the Archmage of Vvardenfell. I will not even be a mage. I will be a grotesque beast built on the frame of a man. The frame of a man who is dying. Actually, the frame of a man already dead; dead of the incurable corprus disease. I could just lie here on the cool stones of the altar to die. The Sixth House has broken and fled this place. Ilinubi could be my tomb.

Wait. Dagoth Gares called me Nerevar. The Nerevarine prophecies spoke of corprus. What did they say? I must remember. "The curse of flesh before him flees" It is the second trial of the seven visions. "Curse of flesh" must be the corprus. Nibani thought it was, and it must be. She didn't know what it meant, but it must mean that I get cured of the disease. If I am the Nerevarine I must get cured. Maybe if I find the Nerevarine he cures me to show that he is the Nerevarine. Nibani said that I had a part to play, but I wasn't necessarily the Nerevarine.

I could go to Red Mountain and present myself to Dagoth Ur. Dagoth Gares said that Dagoth Ur wants me as an ally. More likely a slave. But he cursed me with the corprus. And he called me Nerevar; not someone for Nerevar to heal; Nerevar.

I must make note of all that Dagoth Gares said before he died. My mind may grow weak before I am cured. I am Nerevar. I must be cured. To think otherwise is too horrible to contemplate. I must be cured.