Fenara awoke with a start, still on her narrow bed with the letter from her father lying beside her. Feeling frustratingly disoriented, she shut the letter in the single book that was sitting on a shelf over her bed and stood up, stumbling over to the cabinets. She yanked one open and found a stale loaf of bread, which she didn't even bother with. The rest of the cabinets were dusty and bare, so Fenara resigned to having to go out to get food. She found a tattered robe in the closet, which she donned in favor of the ragged dress she had been sporting, and slipped on a pair of thick guar hide shoes that hid in a dark corner of the closet. She found an old wooden comb in a drawer and untangled most of the snarls from her hair, then tied it back in a braid out of her face and went outside, feeling significantly refreshed.
Fenara was surprised to see that it was evening. She had assumed it was morning, and wondered vaguely if she had slept all through her second day in Balmora. Making sure she had her money and the list of Blades Trainers from Cosades, she started off down the stairs. Her determination broke, however, when she saw the decrepit street again, this time with a group of rats fighting over something by the water barrel. The hopelessness of her situation struck her again, and she walked across the river with her eyes on the ground before her.
Fenara had dinner at an inn called the Eight Plates, which was much cleaner and more cheerful than the South Wall Cornerclub. When she had finished, she took the list out of the pocket of her robe and smoothed it out on the table. There were three trainers in Balmora – Nine-Toes, Rithleen, and Tyermallin. She crossed the river again and followed the directions to the small house on the riverfront belonging to Nine-Toes.
An Argonian opened the door and welcomed her inside warmly, as if he knew she was coming. His home was shabby and small, but well-kept, Fenara noted. He brought two cups of tea to the small round table and sat across from her, immediately beginning to speak.
"It is good to meet you, Novice Fenara." It struck her then that her grandmother had advised her against going by her real name.
"It's Fen, actually," she said quickly, unable to think of anything else off the top of her head. "Just Fen."
"I apologize then, Novice Fen," Nine-Toes said, dipping his head in acknowledgment. "Caius must have written your name wrong."
"Um…yes, he must have." Fenara took a sip of her tea. It was bitter tasting, quite different from the peppermint flavor she was usually served.
"Caius did write ahead to me just a few hours ago and told me you would be visiting. He asked that I share a bit of advice with you. I am a hunter by trade, and I am always pleased to give any kind of assistance needed to a fellow Blade.
"We Blades Trainers can offer you core training, but not much else. More advanced training is expensive. The more experienced you are, the harder it is to train you, you see." Nine-Toes stood up suddenly and went to a small chest on a shelf. He unlocked it and pulled out four small cloth bags. At once, Fenara tasted the sickly sweet smell that had stagnated around the South Wall Cornerclub emanating from the bags. Nine-Toes saw her look of disgust and chuckled. "Moon sugar," he said, holding up the bags as he sat down again. "It's an illegal narcotic in Vvardenfell, used to make skooma. You've encountered it already?"
"Yes," Fenara said, eyeing the bags warily. "At the South Wall Cornerclub."
"Ah, yes," Nine-Toes said knowingly, shaking his head slightly. "Truthfully, that establishment is more of a skooma den than a club. Avoid it if you can. But moon sugar, most alchemists won't buy. Khajiit will, though. It's grown from sugar cane in Elsweyr, and native Khajiit grow up practically suckling it from their mother's teats. It will sell for a lot with Khajiiti merchants. You can sell these to earn yourself a little extra gold." Nine-Toes pushed the little sacks across the table and Fenara reluctantly pocketed them.
"Thank you."
"Anything, anything. Now then. I am a hunter. I range across the Ashlands and wastes, hunting for meat and hides. I know the native creatures of Vvardenfell, and know to avoid the diseased creatures and the blighted creatures, for they are foul and worthless – but deadly to the careless hunter. I know the Ashlands and the Grazelands, Azura's Coast and Molag Amur and can tell you of these places." Fenara had heard of a few of these regions in her tutoring, but had never left the walls of Mournhold, a fact that she decided to keep to herself. "Have you met Gudling the Rascal in your travels? Lately he's taken up residence at St. Veloth's Hostel in Molag Mar. If you're interested in the hunter's craft, he's worth talking to."
"I'm afraid I haven't been in Vvardenfell for more than a fortnight," Fenara said.
"Then you should speak with Elone. She is another of the Blades Trainers. She is a scout, and is very talented. She is set up in Seyda Neen, not far from here. You can take the silt strider or walk."
"The silt strider?"
"They are giant beetles that are used for transportation. Their backs are hollowed out to ride in. I am surprised you have not seen it yet." He chuckled. "They are hard to miss." Nine-Toes then withdrew a map of Vvardenfell and a large sheet of blank parchment. He began to copy Vvardenfell onto the blank parchment, putting most detail into the southwest corner of the map, which he seemed to know well. When he was finished, there were still large portions of empty space across the rest of the map. "You should speak to the other Blades Trainers," Nine-Toes said as he folded up the new map for Fenara. "They may know more of the geography in the rest of Vvardenfell than I. But you should also log parts of the map yourself. Copying down details in your own hand is the best way to familiarize yourself with a new place."
"Thank you," Fenara said gratefully, taking the map and putting it away. "I should be leaving soon, anyway."
"It was very pleasant to meet you," Nine-Toes said, picking up the tea cups and not seeming to notice that Fenara's cold tea had hardly been drunk. "I understand the hour is growing late, but come see me another time if you would like training."
"Thank you," Fenara said again, and he showed her to the door. Glancing at her instructions again, Fenara saw the next place she ought to go was Tyermallin's house, which was just down the road.
Tyermallin was an Altmer, tall and tired-looking, and did not seem nearly as interested in Fenara's affairs as Nine-Toes had been. He was a healer, and didn't seem terribly concerned with what was going on in the Blades. Tyermallin didn't talk much, but dug around in a crate and found a battered alembic that he offered for her to take. Fenara left his home struggling with the cumbersome alembic under her arm, and left it on Rithleen's doorstep to pick up on her way out when she left.
Rithleen, an athletic-looking Redguard woman, was far more hospitable than Tyermallin had been, and offered Fenara a brandy when she entered. Fenara had never been allowed to drink anything more than very mild wine, and declined the brandy, feeling nervous at just looking at the bottle.
"I'm a warrior," Rithleen said, leaning back and letting her boots rest heavily on the table. Fenara clenched her hands in her lap, feeling uncomfortable. "Basically, I kill things. If you're looking to be a mercenary or the like, I'd sign on with the Fighter's Guild. They aren't picky, and they won't send up near Ghostfence."
"Ghostfence?" Fenara repeated, forgetting her princess' demeanor and leaning forward. Something about the word struck her, gave her an odd feeling.
"Haven't heard of it?" Fenara shook her head. "Well there're all sorts of stories behind it, but all you really need to know is that it's a huge barrier blocking Red Mountain from the rest of the island. Which, trust me, is a very, very good thing."
"Why?" Fenara asked, unable to contain her curiosity.
"You really are new, here, aren't you?" Rithleen said, sounding amused. "Red Mountain generates all sorts of ash storms that carry the Blight, and the Blight can give you corprus. It's a disease that'll turn men into lumps of living flesh that go mad inside their own heads and limp around trying to kill anything that moves."
"Oh," Fenara said, and something caught in her throat. She cleared it self-consciously as Rithleen went on. "If you do end up having to go up by Ghostfence, just make sure to take some Cure Disease potions with you. If you're careful, the Blight can be stopped before it really takes effect. Oh, and before you leave…" Rithleen stood up, the front legs of her chair falling heavily on the flagstone floor, and went to a large chest on the ground. She pulled out a dented steel helmet and matching cuirass. "These won't do you much good, but you can always sell them for a little extra coin. I was planning on taking them over to the smithy to have them melted down anyway."
"Thank you," Fenara said gratefully, taking the heavy armor into her arms and wondering vaguely how she was going to get everything back to her tiny apartment.
When she got outside, however, the alembic was gone, clearly carried off by someone who had passed in the time Fenara had been in Rithleen's.
"Serves me right, I suppose," Fenara muttered to herself, disgruntled, as she heaved the armor into her arms and started to struggle back to the apartment. It had grown dark, and thunder boomed through the clouds. Fenara decided that she could wait to travel to the other trainers until morning, and just made it inside as the rain started to fall. She dumped the dented armor in a heap on the floor and peeled off her shoes and robe, falling back on the bed. It was still as narrow and uncomfortable as ever, and Fenara pulled out her braid and curled up on the lumpy pillow, trying to make herself as small as possible as rain hammered on the roof overhead.