From the Journals of the Nerevarine

by LordsFire

The tale of one of the greatest heroes of Men and Mer, as told by himself before he became known as such. Journal-format Novelization of Morrowind.

3. Gnisis and the Death's Head Legion

AN: And here's the big one.

((()))

22 Heartfire, 427, 3rd Era.

Gnisis. Strange name for a simple town; it rests between a rather steep ridge and a modest cliff that bottoms out on an inlet, and its economy runs primarily off of two things: A Kwama Egg mine, and being host to the northernmost (and westernmost) Imperial Legion stronghold in Vvardenfell. It also hosts a Tribunal Temple and an old Velothi stronghold, currently occupied by an exceedingly reclusive Telvanni Arch-Mage, but his presence is only known as a matter of Imperial Record. It has a modest population of some hundreds, some living in dwellings carved into the face of the ridge bordering one side of town, the rest in stone houses built in a mixture of the blocky style favored by Hlaalu, and the curved and domed style of Redoran.

It was a lively place, and I don't recall seeing a single inhabitant who wasn't a Dunmer or wearing the emblem of the Imperial Legion, and the surfeit (word of the day, that) of Legionaries made it easy to get directions to where General Darius could be found. Which, oddly enough, was in the Madach Tradehouse. From the moment I set foot in his (rather nice, but still utilitarian) room at the tradehouse, the man was glad to see me.

"Looking to join up?" Darius called, making no attempt to hide the fact that he was sizing me up, or the way his eyes briefly lingered on the hilt of my Daedric Katana.

"I've heard you're recruiting up here," I admitted, "And it's damn hard to find a group on my par to go ruin-diving at Dwemer or Daedric sites here in Vvardenfell. Well, groups that aren't made up entirely of elitist Dunmer with skulls thicker than a Kagouti and no time for 'outlanders' like me."

"Bored to tears?" Darius said with a sharp grin, "I can relate. Sure you're willing to become a legionary though? You don't look like a man used to taking orders."

It occurs to me at this point, that a few things about Darius should be explained. First, he was a General, which meant he was also a member of one of the Imperial Knight orders, Protectors of the Realm in his case, and all Knights know their way around a sword. Darius was kitted out in a full set of Imperial Templar armor, which was better than anything I've ever had enough money to wear, and even though it was superbly maintained, I could make out the faint differences in coloration where damage had been repaired in the past. Even if his blade was just a standard Imperial Broadsword, the way it rested on his hip said a great deal about just how well he knew to use it.

In total, Darius wasn't some noble who'd bought a commission and been handed his command on a platter, he actually knew how to fight.

"I was thinking something more along the lines of an Instructor's position," I admitted, a plan forming in my mind, "I'm willing to bet I know more about swordplay than every legionary in your garrison put together."

"I'd not say my Legionaries are particularly skilled," Darius said, a challenge in his eyes, "But there are a lot of them."

"I've a lot of skill," I replied, "How about a challenge; you versus me, first person to make contact with the other's breastplate is the victor. I win, you take me on in an instructor's position, you win, I'll join as rank and file."

"I've little desire to feel a Daedric blade kiss my breastplate," Darius said archly, "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to kill me."

"Have your bodyguard lend me his blade," I said, unbuckling my sword and sheathe from my belt, "He can hold mine while we fight."

"Quite the display of trust," Darius said, but I could see in his eyes that he'd already decided to accept the offer, "That blade is worth as much gold as a small mansion in Cyrodil, not to mention rarer. What if we simply decided to take it?"

"If I join up," I said with a grin, "I'll be sleeping in your barracks. If I can't trust you not to take my blade or life while I'm awake, better to find out now than when I'm sleeping."

Darius laughed at that, a deep, rich sound, something that surprised me until I realized that he hadn't just agreed because he wanted me in his legion, but because he wanted to fight as well. He was one of those rare few, like myself, that crossed blades just for fun. This fight just became much more interesting...

"Give him your sword, Nash," Darius said, nodding to his Orcish bodyguard, "And stay well out of the way, it's been far too long since I've been able to cut loose..."

I swapped blades with the Orc, letting him know with my eyes that he would be taking good care of my blade while it was in his care, then turned my attention to the General, drawing the broadsword and slipping into a combat stance.

There are many competing schools of thought on how to master the sword in Tamriel. Altmer tend to favor high-mobility, elegant styles that most Redguards (including myself) think have lost some of their functionality to artistic concepts; their styles have specific moves, each style operating on a concept or motif, many based off of the movements of animals. The Imperials have a handful of styles they created themselves, extremely utilitarian methods developed on the field of battle with little finesse; more advanced Imperial Swordsmen tend to pick up Altmer styles, and in my experience the basic utilitarian mindset built in their core training holds them in better steed than those who start with the Altmer forms. Nord 'styles' were all about overwhelming power, though the ethnic preference for the axe probably had something to do with that, Bretons usually just cribbed off of Imperials or Redguards, depending on what they had the opportunity to learn, and the only Dunmer I'd fought so far hadn't been good enough for me to learn much of anything regarding their styles.

Redguards though, we both have no style, and the best style, because we don't teach a philosophy based around a specific concept, form, or set of moves, we learn anything and everything that works. In Hammerfell, boys start practicing with wooden swords the day they learn to walk, and as many girls do as don't. Your average Redguard 'civilian' is better with a sword than a grunt Imperial Legionary, though the more honest amongst us admit it's partially because the Imperials put a lot of emphasis on the Spear in large-scale combat. All that's really necessary to become exceedingly skilled with a sword in Hammerfell is to move around a lot, because each community practices stances, moves, and tricks from every style they've encountered on the battlefield, learning them, refining them, devising counters to them. Walk around enough, and you'll pick up most of everything, and it leads to a Redguard's greatest strength in combat:

Unpredictability.

"I'll warn you," Darius said as he squared off against me, drawing his own sword, a utilitarian match to my own, "A little blood rage won't be enough to beat me."

Of course, it also helps that Redguards have a reputation for being battlefield berserkers for a reason. Come enough anger, desperation, or a Redguard's blood being spilled in more than just a minor scratch, and our bodies go into overdrive, kicking out a burst of inhuman strength great enough to match some Daedra, and more than enough to overwhelm most mortal swordsmen. That'll make up for one hell of a mistake.

Darius took the initiative, slipping into an offensive pattern from the Dancing Hummingbird Altmer school, and the fight began.

Dancing Hummingbird is basically the extreme logical extension of the basic principle of all Altmer styles; speed and mobility. It's not a bad choice for a spar where the objective is just a touch, and very good for probing your opponent's defenses; Darius was honestly pushing me. I think it's the first time in my life I've seen someone move that fast in heavy armor, and it damn well impressed me. He wasn't quite fast enough to get past my defenses though, so I gave ground, retreating in a circular pattern around his rather spacious room, letting him wear out his initial rush before I attempted a counter-attack.

He caught on to what I was doing before he was worn all the way down, and slowed his offensive before he exhausted himself, switching to one of the Imperial Knight styles, something much more balanced for offense and defense, though the fact that we were fighting without shields unbalanced the style a little. I shifted from a purely defensive approach to something a little more balanced myself, and really began to miss my Daedric blade. It was better balanced than the Imperial Broadsword for one, but more relevantly, it's supernaturally-keen edge would have destroyed Darius' blade with a handful of the more powerful blows I laid out against him.

Darius was as sharp defensively as he was offensively, and my initial probing didn't reveal any holes in his defenses. If either of us had been out for blood, the fight would have ended by that point, but both of us were avoiding the kind of all-out strikes that require a commitment to an offensive that ends a fight one way or another. Instead, Darius backed off slightly, and I did likewise, sizing each other up again. It didn't take long for both of us to realize that Darius was tiring more quickly than I; whether that was because I was wearing less armor, he was older, or I was in better shape, neither of us knew, and it didn't really matter either way. What we did both recognize, was that if this turned into an endurance match, I'd win, so Darius went on the offensive again.

The style he used this time was one I'd only seen once before, an Argonian style named after the word for Slaughterfish in their tongue, one that did take an all-or-nothing approach, like the Slaughterfish has only its fang-filled mouth to attack with, the rest of the muscular body serving solely to support a decisive lunge. Darius lunged, hurling himself across the distance between us with a speed I'd never seen in another man before in my life. Even as he attacked, I knew there had to be more to his plan than the single lunge, he'd tested my speed, and as fast as he was, the distance between us was too great for him to preempt my ability to defend myself.

The obvious thing to do was to parry and riposte, he was leaving himself horribly over-extended, but instead I leapt to my right, avoiding his lunge entirely, and as a consequence, I was able to block the knife he'd palmed into his left hand, rather than take a blow to my armored chest. Darius did something I'd never seen in a swordsman before; using the resistance provided by my block, he pivoted his lunge into a spin, dropping low and sweeping my legs out from beneath me; I was forced to defend against both his broadsword and his dagger as I fell, and he managed to torque (new word for the day, that) in the leverage to disarm me as I went down. I rolled as I landed, already drawing my own dagger, one of the silver ones the Assassins had attempted to bring against me, and lunged to my feet, ready to defend myself as best as I was able.

A faint 'clink' sounded as my borrowed broadsword fell from where it'd been thrown into the air by Darius' disarm, the tip landing directly on his breastplate.

"Looks like I win," I said with a grin.

Darius stared at the blade in disbelief as it clattered to the floor between us.

"That can not have been planned," He said flatly, glaring at the instrument of his defeat.

"No," I said, "But I always have been damn lucky."

"A deal's a deal," Darius said gruffly, "And even if I should have won, you've shown yourself to easily be skilled enough to put my men through the kind of training that I don't have the time for with all the paperwork I need to wade through. Consider yourself posted as a trainer, Recruit."

((()))

Darius and I talked for some time after the sparring match finished, about any number of things. As often happens with men of martial tradition, once you've established yourself as peers in regards to physical prowess, there's a certain kind of kinship between the two of you, and Darius took the opportunity to get a weight off of his shoulders.

It turns out that he pissed off the member of the Imperial Legion put in charge of the Vvardenfell province, Varus Vantinius, by calling him out on losing some artifact of deep significance to the Imperial Legion as a whole, and got sent up here as scut work. Worse, Vantinius is shorting Darius on funding as far as he possibly can within the letter of the law, and Darius suspects that the letter of the law includes 'losing' a number of equipment and material requisition forms.

The area that the Deathshead Legion had been in charge of patrolling and policing before Darius was put in charge, already spanned from Khuul, which is practically on top of the border to the Ashlands, to Khartag Point, which used to be part of Fort Buckmoth's jurisdiction before Blight activity around Red Mountain picked up. Shortly after Darius took command, Vantinius managed to convince the legion commander in Mournhold to add responsibility for naval patrols to the Vvardenfell garrisons, and promptly made Darius responsible for the entire Sheogorad region, and most of the Bitter Coast. Considering that the Bitter Coast is a hive of smugglers working to trade black-market goods through to Skyrim, and the Sheogorad region is the only part of Vvardenfell exposed to the open ocean, that's ridiculous. According to Darius, either coast sees more illicit trade or pirate activity than the Ascadian Isles or Azura's Coast do combined.

Darius has one ship, three experienced sailors, and a lot of 'lost' requests for more personnel, material, and funds. The only funding that's dependable is the payroll, and even then, Vantinius keeps transferring 'problem' cases, exclusively Orcs, up to Darius command, and transferring out every soldier with a good record that he can. He's been trying to organize the construction of a small shipyard for about two years now, since it became obvious that he was never going to get more vessels transferred to his command, and Gnisis is a damn strategic place for a shipyard anyways, but almost all of the land is all owned by one of the Redoran Councilors, and without more pull in either Ald'ruhn or Ebonheart, he can't wrestle any of it free.

On the whole, it's the most successful attempt to sink someone's career without killing them I've ever seen. Darius is hoping that if I can whip the rank and file into shape, something he's had to dedicate a lot of time to with all the problem cases he's been sent, he'll be able to dedicate more of his own towards solving his other problems. Considering the puddle of guar-shit his life seems to have gotten stuck in, I hope he's right.

((()))

Editor's Note: For those unfamiliar with the fauna of Morrowind, Guars are bipedal reptillian pack beasts, with large, bulbous heads, and small, near-impotent forearms. The Kagouti referred to by Lord Nerevar earlier in this account is a slightly larger, more muscular, and armored biped, with tusks, a bony frill over its head and neck, and no forearms. Truly, Morrowind fauna are strange and bewildering.

((()))

28 Heart Fire, 427, 3rd Era.

I swear, two weeks of training those nitwits into something approaching decent shape has been more than trying. The basic sword forms they know are solid enough, especially for fighting bandits and the (somewhat dangerous) wildlife of Vvardenfell, but what's killing them all, is lack of physical fitness. None of them are weak, the Legion's basic requirements see to that, but proper swordsmanship, especially in chain or plate, is incredibly demanding. All of them except for the Orcs are hurting for more strength, so they don't have to strain as much in full-bore combat, and with a handful of exceptions, the Orcs are even shorter on stamina than the rest of them.

I've basically spent the last week fighting each of them to exhaustion three at a time, twice a day; none of them have landed a hit on me yet, and they still all wear themselves out before I do. Some of the Troopers also object to taking orders from someone with technically lower rank; my authority over them only extends to the training field, but some of them have been serving for five or ten years, so I suppose I can understand why it grates.

All of that aside, I have my first day off today, and I'm getting the hell out of town to stretch my legs away from these idiots.

((()))

I swear, I try not to subscribe to the whole racial prejudice (new word of the day) that Orcs are all brawn and no brains (Redguards often suffer from a similar impression), but it seems like some of these muscleheads are incurable. On the other side of the ridge that marks one edge of town, I found a couple of legionaries harassing some woman at the door of her house. Why she lived outside the protection of the town's walls, I have no idea, but I was glad I'd decided to take a walk today, because it was pretty clear Bad Things would have happened to her if I hadn't happened along.

I butted my head in on things; they claimed they were under orders and tried to pull rank, which they technically had, I pulled my sword, which I definitely had, and told them we were going to talk to General Darius about the whole thing.

((()))

"I said to get the Land Deed, not to attack the bloody woman!" Darius raged as he glared at Largakh gro-Bulfim and Ughash gro-Batul.

"Sir," Largakh said sharply, "We did not-"

"Of course you didn't," Darius snarled, advancing directly into the taller Orc's personal space, "If you had, we'd be having this conversation from opposite sides of a cell door. You would have though, and it's a damn good thing that Hawker here came by when he did."

"Sir, this recruit-" Largakh began

"That Recruit," Darius growled, getting up into Largakh's face, "Is going to outrank you tomorrow if you don't shut your face, Trooper."

The Orc clammed up at that, though it didn't make me, personally, feel any safer. Pissing on a soldier's ego is usually good way to get them to come for your head.

"I know your record gro-Bulfim," Darius said, stepping back, his voice still harsh, "And 'assaulting citizens of the Empire' is written all over it. You haven't killed anyone, but you're a drunk battlemage and you know it. On top of that, Hawker here is a blademaster, and that means he knows how to read body language and intent to act. He's also been an adventurer, a good adventurer, and that means that he knows how to read intent to kill. Did they mean to kill her Hawker?"

"No General," I replied, "But he certainly wouldn't have gone out of his way not to."

"And that," Darius said, pointing towards me without looking away from Largakh, "Is why you're getting chamber pot duty, rather than clapped in irons. You need to learn the damn difference between acting as a police force and acting as a conquering army, DISMISSED!"

The last word was bellowed, and the two Orcs smartly about-faced and marched out of Darius' quarters in the Tradehouse basement.

"Get over here Hawker," Darius said tiredly once Nash had closed the door between the two Orcs, "And sit down."

Darius only had two chairs in his quarters, neither of them particularly suited to men in full armor, so we both seated ourselves carefully.

"I don't know if you heard," Darius said, pulling off one of his gauntlets and rubbing his face before looking up at me, "But one of the miners up at the Kwama Egg Mine, Mansilamat Vabdas, died recently in an accident. Since we're the law in this town, that means that the paperwork for that came across my desk, and low and behold, it turns out that Vabdas own some land right on the cliff-face, which has now passed to his widow. I ordered somebody to be sent down to buy the land from her for a slightly more than fair price. We don't have the money to pay for as much as I'd like, for reasons I've already shared with you, but she's going to need something to take care of her and any kids they had now that her husband's dead. I don't know how an open-and-shut sale like this got so thoroughly torpedoed, but we need that land."

Darius half-growled the last, and took a moment to calm himself before continuing, looking me straight in the eye as he did so.

"With more time, I've been able to put the pressure on Vantinius, and his bureaucrats are down to 'we can't release the funds for construction until suitable land has been acquired.'" Darius sighed, before continuing, "We are this close to starting to fulfill our overly-inflated objectives in a meaningful way."

Darius picked a modestly-sized sack up off of the table, and tossed it to me.

"That's eleven hundred Septims," Darius said, "After you corralled those two idiots, Widow Vabdas should be a bit more positively inclined towards you. Find out what went wrong, and get that damn land."

So much for my day off.

((()))

When I returned to widow Vabdas' hut, the door was locked, and it took nearly ten minutes of persistent knocking to get her to let me in through the 'annoy them into it' method. When the door began to open, I opened my mouth to speak, but the words caught in my throat when I saw the woman.

Even when I'd been in Count Pundi's dungeon, I'd never seen someone so wrapped in grief. The skin around her red eyes was inflamed, tear tracks ran down her cheeks, and even with the harsh expression on her face, it wasn't remotely difficult to see the pain behind it.

"What do you want?" She snarled, the effect of her anger somewhat spoiled by the watery tone to her voice.

"General Darius asked me to find out what happened here," I said after a moment's thought, "I'm one of those responsible for discipline amongst the troops, and I want to know how 'go offer to buy some land from her' turned into 'threaten to beat the Scrib jelly out of her.'"

She just glared up at me from the doorway of her house; her gaze made me more than a little uncomfortable, Sharon had always been the one to-

Dammit.

I closed my eyes and looked away. This was not a time I wanted to start up with the waterworks myself.

"Come in," She said gruffly, "And we'll talk."

Five minutes later, we were seated by the modest home's fireplace, drinking Corkbulb tea, something I had never actually tried before. I honestly didn't care for it, but I'd had worse when on the road, and I did not want to insult the widow's hospitality.

"I doubt you are aware, as you are new to the area," Vabdas said, her voice flat with enforced calm, "But over the last few weeks, activity at the mine has slowed down, and this has been hard on the miners and their families, my family amongst them."

I nodded my head slightly, and waited for her to continue.

"Four nights ago, my husband-" Vabdas paused for a moment, and visibly swallowed back further tears, staring down into her tea morosely, "Snuck into the mine to collect some eggs for us, as it'd gotten bad enough that we had nothing for the children to eat."

She looked back up at me, and the anger was back again.

"The next morning, a legionary came by and told me my husband had died in an accident," She spat out, "No I couldn't see the body, no I couldn't go into the mine to try to find him, he was just gone."

To some surprise, I found my own anger rising.

"And now," She snarled, her anger intensifying, "More legionaries come, demanding that I give up my land, my house, and go out onto the streets with my children! My husband was no weakling, he was no fool, he would not die in an accident in the mine unless the very rock it is carved from fell upon him."

By the time she had finished speaking, she was on her feet, fists clenched, harsh breaths coursing in and out of her chest as she glared fire at me.

"This is Guar-shit," I said harshly, standing myself, "I'm going to go find out what in Oblivion happened. I will be back with answers."

I stood there for a moment, hesitating, before reaching out and laying a hand on her shoulder.

"I know what it's like to lose those closest to you," I said roughly, my own eyes watering slightly, "I'm sorry. I dealt with those who killed my companions, and I'll deal with whoever did your husband in."

Vabdas looked away, tears coming to her eyes, and I squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, before turning and leaving the small home.

((()))

So, this 'accident' was inside of the mine, and yet no body was recovered. That's definitely fishy, considering that Kwama creatures, at least according to the miners, don't eat meat, and don't let predators into the mines. Neither do the miners or the Legionary at the entrance, for that matter. Fortunately, I'm investigating on official business, so said Legionary let me in.

Time to go corpse hunting; not a fun proposition at the best of times, it's only worse when they're fresh.

((()))

I didn't really describe what an egg mine is like when I went down to deal with the poachers near Balmora, so I'll do so now. The first thing you'll notice when you actually step into an egg mine, is that it's humid. Kwama never set up shop in a cave without an internal source of water, and the Queen basically functions as a natural humidifier, the Workers bringing her copious amounts of water. The second thing you'll notice, is that it's warm. The Queen heats the water as she exhales it into the air, the Workers produce some heat, the Warriors produce a lot of heat, the Foragers add their own bits, and the egg sacks, which need the heat, produce some as well. Part of why egg mines do so well, is because with the miners boxing up the entrance, heat and humidity retention is much greater.

Amazing what you can learn from five minutes talking with someone on the job. All of that said and done, the mine can look like literally any other cave in the world, save that there's egg sacks littered all over the place, pulsing with their own semi-disturbing life. They're like a cross between a plant, an animal, and a bird, and I find that somewhat disturbing, even if the eggs are reasonably tasty once they're harvested.

The Gnisis mine was halfway shutdown when I went in, so there were only workers in the upper levels, but they were helpful enough in answering questions about what had happened to Vabdas. I was eventually directed down into the lower parts of the mine, but they warned me that the Kwama Warriors would attack me if I got too close to them or the Queen, since I had an unfamiliar scent.

I took that under advisement, and headed deeper in.

((()))

The level where the Queen resides is considerably warmer, and humid to the point where an outright fog forms. It limits vision slightly, though in the enclosed spaces, it's generally more a matter of what you can see being blurred, rather than losing sight of something altogether. I poked around a bit, until I ran into a Legionary, who happened to be asleep. I made a mental note to find out who was in charge of watch rotation in the mine, and have the Orc dressed down over it, then moved further in.

The first passage I attempted lead to the Queen's chamber, so I retreated, and headed down one leading in the opposite direction, which quickly lead towards the sound of running water.

And then the shade of a dead Dunmer. I don't know a whole lot about ghost lore, but I'm pretty damn sure most don't form from accidental deaths, things like betrayal and murder are generally the cause. They also, unfortunately, tend to be pretty damn hostile.

"Do not fear," The spirit said, its sepulchral (known that word for a while, hadn't had a chance to use it) voice sending shivers down my spine, "I am not here for vengeance, please simply listen to my tale."

Well, that works too.

"You are the spirit of Mansilamat Vabdas?" I asked cautiously, keeping my hand on my blade.

"Yes," The spirit said, bowing its transparent head to me, its voice still disconcertingly otherworldly.

"Then your tale is exactly what I have come to hear," I said, "I've just come from speaking with your wife, and she needs to know what happened to you."

((()))

Twenty minutes later, I pulled a soaked corpse from a deep pool in the underground stream. Dunmer aren't of particularly heavy build, something I was glad of, since their denser flesh had made Mansilamat's body heavier than water even after it'd had time to soak for a while, and it's not easy dragging a corpse up to the surface. Hauling out the ax that had been stuck in his ribcage had been substantially easier.

I had reached the point where a low, steady rage burned in my chest, that place beyond mere anger, beyond simple rage, where stark fury dwelled.

"I really wished you hadn't found that," An Orcish voice called, and my head snapped up to stare over the body of Mansilamat at the speaker.

"YOU!" I Half-growled, half-screamed, lunging to my feet and dropping the corpse as I did so.

Lugrub gro-Ogdum, Mansilamat's murderer, recoiled, terror spreading across his face as he recognized me.

"MURDERER!" I snarled, storming forward and drawing my blade.

Lugrub's eyes widened even further, then he glanced at the body I'd hauled out of the water, and he fled.

For the second time in my life I lost control to rage, and my blood burned with a Rage that only Redguards ever experience. Lugrub was one of the lazier legionaries, and he wouldn't have been able to outrun me while I was out of the bloodrage, much less in it, and I ran him down like a lame dog.

The blow that should have severed his head from his shoulders was interrupted by something slamming into my right arm, breaking the bones in my forearm, and knocking the blade from my hand. Decades worth of swordsman reflexes pivoted me in place, and I snatched the blade out of the air with my left hand whipping around and slamming the blade into whatever had attacked me.

'Whatever' turned out to be a Kwama Warrior, five hundred pounds of chitin-armored muscle, claws, and bad attitude. My blade cut deep into the thing's flank, but it was too big to die to one blow into a non-critical area, I didn't even know if the things had critical areas, and it thrust at me with its clawed forelimbs.

It was slow though, so very slow, and I was in the full grip of blood-fever; I floated around its claw, and severed the limb with another slash from my blade, then advanced further along that side to take advantage of its removed limb. A burning mass of magicka slammed into my back, but I forced myself to follow through on the blow anyways, slicing off the thing's squirming, unarmored head; it didn't kill it, but it did apparently blind the creature.

I danced to the side, narrowly evading a second blast of magicka, and turned to see another four Kwama Warriors facing me, two advancing on me with claws extended, the other pair hurling bolts of magicka. Part of me vaguely recognized that Lugrub had lead me into the Queen's chamber, but in the Rage, all I saw were the enemies that were laid out before me, and the threat they presented. The fact that I had taken off my armor to swim, that I didn't have my shield, and even if I did, one of my arms was broken, didn't even occur to me.

I attacked, and so did the Kwama. The first one attempted to engage me in an exchange of blows, I was a smaller target, faster, and in my Blood Rage, I was stronger than it too. I swatted aside its claws with the hilt of my sword, then lunged straight in at its chest before it could recover, putting the full force of my body behind the blow, spearing straight through its carapace. It squealed as my blade skewered it, inciting the enraged predator's instinct in me all the more.

"RAAAAAAAAAGGGHHH!" I screamed back, before sinking my teeth into it's shoulder, hooking the elbow of my broken arm under the opposite side of its carapace, and using the three points of control to lift its flailing form over my head.

With their line of fire cleared, the two standing back to 'cast' hurled fresh spells at me, but rather than harming me, I simply absorbed the power behind them, energizing me further. The last of the quartet tried to rush me, but I slammed the first down onto him, crushing both of them with the strength of my magicka-empowered rage. Another pair of spells came my way, but these I simply ducked beneath, before leaping over the pair of corpses I'd just created, and rushing the surviving Kwama. After the last three, the remaining pair were afraid, I could smell their fear, and their fear made them flinch, hesitate as they tried to attack me with their claws.

First I chopped off their arms, the first a little tricky with four of them trying to slash at me at once, but the other three were easy enough with less energy required for defense. Then I took their legs, followed by their heads, and when they kept thrashing, I screamed my rage at them, before stabbing my blade through what they had for necks, and thrashing it down in there until they laid still.

I smelled Lugrub before I heard him, I heard his terrified gibbering before I saw him, and when I turned towards him, he was a pathetic sight indeed. He'd soiled his armor, dropped his axe, and was frantically trying to claw his way through a stone wall to get away from me.

"Murderer," I snarled as I stalked around the squealing form of the Kwama queen, storming directly up towards him.

He gibbered some more, trying to say something, but I was too far gone to care. He raised his arms to defend himself, so I chopped those off, Daedric-forged Ebony tearing through light Imperial mail like it wasn't even there, before cutting off his head, and I screamed out my rage and victory.

((()))

Getting out of that mine was hard. I didn't realize it until after I came down from the blood rage, but I hadn't been as skilled in evading the Kwama Warriors attacks as I'd thought, I'd been slashed up along the left side of my torso, my right leg had been hit by a second spell, and something was bleeding atop my scalp. That was on top of the first spell that had struck my back, and the bones sticking out of my right arm.

Fortunately, along with removing my armor, my pouch of potion vials had been left at the water's edge, particularly the healing potions within. Forcing the bones in my arm back inside of the skin was Not Fun, but I had long since learned to put Need before Pain, and once aberrant healing was no longer an issue (even if the potions weren't up to healing the bones themselves), the potions sealed my wounds, preventing me from bleeding to death.

Thank you, Ajira.

((()))

Walking through a town carrying a corpse tends to draw attention, especially when you're covered in blood and have a visibly-broken arm. By the time I reached the Madach Tradehouse, there were somewhere around a hundred Dunmer trailing after me, and a couple legionaries starting to make their way through the crowd. Someone had apparently run ahead, because Darius met me just outside the Tradehouse's entrance.

"I sent you to talk with a widow," Darius growled, gesturing towards the corpse over my shoulder, "How did that turn into this?"

"Widow Vabdas told me her husband was murdered," I said tersely, before rolling the body forward off of my shoulder, so that it landed face-up between Darius and myself, the large chest wound on display.

"Mansilamat," I said flatly, before unslinging my pack and pulling out a bloody wrapped bundle, "Lugrub gro-Ogdum."

Tugging on the cloth allowed the severed head within to drop wetly to the ground beside Mansilamat's corpse.

"Lugrub's axe," I finished, pulling the damaged axe out of my pack, and laying it carefully on Mansilamat's chest, the blade directly beside the wound it had inflicted.

Darius crouched down, and deftly inserted the tip of the axe-blade into the wound, before withdrawing it and dropping it.

"Doesn't take an Archmage to figure out what happened to him," Darius growled as he stood back up, blazing eyes focusing on me with a furious intensity, "So tell me, Hawker, what happened to you."

"I talked with Mansilamat's widow," I growled, "She claimed her husband was murdered, so I went to investigate. Nobody had seen the body, nobody could tell me where the body was, so I kept hunting through the mine until I ended up down underneath the Queen's chambers. This piece of Guar Shit-"

I kicked Lugrub's head.

"-Was posted outside of the Queen's chamber, and he was asleep at his post. When I got down to the watercourse beneath, I found three things. Lugrub's axe, Mansilamat's body, and Mansilamat's ghost."

A murmur ran through the crowd of onlookers; I wasn't the most culturally aware, but even I knew that spirits of the dead were a big deal to Dunmer.

"Mansilamat," I continued grimly, "Told me about how he snuck into the mine to retrieve Kwama eggs for his family, and slipped past Lugrub while the fetcher was asleep at his post. When he tried to head back out, Lugrub was awake, and killed him in order to keep anyone from finding out he'd been sleeping while on watch."

I paused for a moment, my jaw working as I struggled with my anger; Darius waited for me to continue, keeping his gaze locked on my eyes.

"He'd woken up when I came back up with the body," I continued shortly, "He threatened me, I killed him."

"Lugrub couldn't have wounded you badly enough to break your arm," Darius said sharply, "And unless I miss my guess, some of that blood is yours, the cuts in your shirt and the way your broken arm is resting tells me that you've been at the potions. What else happened?"

I grimaced; I don't like admitting I'd gotten myself into a stupid situation, especially in front of someone like Darius, whose martial ability I actually respected. Still, there was no point in trying to hide the truth, the next group to head down into the mind would figure it out pretty easily when they found the bodies.

"Lugrub wasn't a complete idiot," I ground out, "He ran into the Queen's chamber, and I was too far into the blood rage to realize until a group of Kwama Warriors attacked me. I had to fight through the lot of them in order to get at Lugrub, and they were much more difficult opponents than he was on their own, combined, they were a real bitch."

Darius looked me up and down again, slowly walking around me as he did so, and when he finished, he looked me in the eyes again.

"Is there anything else of urgence?" He asked.

I thought for a moment, then shook my head.

"Then head down to my quarters and get off your feet," Darius said, laying a hand on my shoulder, "You've been through enough for the day, Trooper, I'll deal with the rest of this."

I nodded gratefully, then headed into the Tradehouse, giving Lugrub's head one more kick on my way past.

((()))

29 Heart Fire, 427, 3rd Era.

I don't know what Darius said to the crowd that had gathered, but I do know that the next day, there was a mass funeral for Mansilamat Vabdas, and a traitor's 'burial' for Lugrub; his corpse was fed to slaughterfish.

Darius also had a lot of words for me personally, after he had a healer (who he'd personally paid for) take care of my broken arm. He had me go over in detail, step by step, my conversation with the widow, my expedition into the mine, who I talked with, what they told me, when I passed Lugrub while he was sleeping, Mansilamat's ghost, recovering the body and the axe, my fight immediately thereafter, everything. Once he had walked me through all of that, he asked me what I did wrong, a question I both hadn't expected, and wasn't accustomed to hearing.

Things got kind of awkward after that; he was my superior officer, he had treated me well since I'd joined the Deathshead Legion, but my pride still grated at being put on the spot like that. After a couple of minutes of attempting (and failing) to answer to his satisfaction, he told me what he was looking for himself.

I'd gone into the mine alone. I'm a member of the Imperial Legion; he says I need to start thinking of myself as part of a team, or I'll get myself killed.

I thought about it for a few minutes, then asked him to start teaching me his combat style. I may be hard-headed, but after losing the fight to him when I enlisted (I don't count technical wins), and nearly being killed by the Kwama, I found myself desiring to learn more than just better ways to beat people with a sword.

There was a strange look in his eyes when he agreed, and he seemed happy about it. Too happy.

((()))

It's a bit out of order, but I should include some kind of description of the funeral here, if for no other reason than that the behavior of Mansilamat's widow is something that will stay with me for the rest of my life. 'Behavior' isn't quite right; grief would be more accurate. I actually went and spoke with some of the clerics at the Tribunal Temple in town to find more words to describe this accurately; they're a lot friendlier since I caught a murderer for the town.

Vabdas wept. She cried, she wailed, she bawled, she moaned, she sobbed, she screamed, she thrashed, she groaned; I have literally never in my life seen someone display so much raw emotion, or work themselves into such an exhausted state outside of battle. And through it all, she desperately clung to the corpse of her husband, a man that I'd never met while living, who'd had the sheer force of will and self-discipline to not only linger on in spirit after his death, but to avoid becoming a violent wraith like the vast majority of the rare few who accomplish such, instead speaking with me in reasoned, if haunting, tones.

Redguard culture doesn't hold a whole lot of respect for a man who isn't a warrior, even if not professionally, but for the first time in my life, I found myself developing a deep respect for someone who'd essentially never wielded a weapon in his life.

The irony that it was a dead man who'd affected me so, was not lost on me.

((()))

"Part of leadership," Darius said gravely as we approached the barracks, him with a box under his arm, "Is that leading means being in front. Not always literally, but very much so metaphysically. Today, I'm going to show you one way that it's done."

So saying, he led me into the barracks, where apparently, he'd already called a meeting amongst the Legionaries; a couple hundred of them were crammed into the central open space/corridor of the barracks, with a score or two more clustered around the various doors into it.

"This," Darius said, dropping the metal box he'd been carrying, "Is a donation box, something that some of you might have heard of, if you're well read."

Left unspoken was the fact that 'well-read' described maybe one in ten members of the Deathshead Legion. Including the Officers.

"The purpose of this slot," Darius continued, indicating a narrow slot cut into the middle of the box's top, "Is to have money stuck through it. Lugrub was a member of our legion, and it was our responsibility to prevent this kind of unconscionable act from being carried out."

Darius paused, and pulled a small pouch from his belt, then began emptying coins into the slot, coins clinking and rattling as they struck the bottom of the box, and then each other.

"As the commander of this Legion," Darius said grimly, "I bear responsibility, first and foremost, for the conduct of all legionaries. For my part in this catastrophe, I am placing five hundred Septims in the box."

I took a deep breath; that was five times a Legionary's weekly pay, and probably Darius' entire pay for the week, though I didn't know what his personal wealth was like, or whether it was a particularly meaningful loss to him.

"Every week, the contents of this box will go to widow Vabdas. Don't let her and her children go hungry."

I ended up putting my own Legion pay in the box; I hardly needed it with the money I'd gotten for selling off the Dark Brotherhood armor.

((()))

With her husband avenged, Vabdas was willing to sell us most of the land; specifically, enough to build the new military dock (according to Darius, the correct term is Shipyard, since it'll be used to construct ships). This should actually work out pretty well for her, since it means her house will be just off of a military base, and from the look of things, the legionaries are taking the care of the Vabdas family very seriously.

((()))

1 Frost Fall, 427, 3rd Era.

Finally ready to start teaching some of the Legionaries more intense swordplay. About a quarter of them have managed to get to the level of physical fitness I required to teach them to fight like a Redguard; it'll be interesting to see how many can handle it.

Also, I've been promoted to Trooper, partially in recognition of what I did with the Vabdas case, partially because I'm going to need more 'legitimate' authority to throw around for the more intense training...

((()))

Editor's Note: Lord Nerevar's 'fight like a Redguard' statement is rather misleading. It would be more accurate to say that he taught the men and mer of the Deathshead Legion to 'fight as though they were an army unto themselves.' His standards were, and are, very intense to those who wish to remain under his tutelage, and of fifty-some known students of his (in swordplay), forty-three spent the remainder of their lives serving in the Royal Guard, five became ranking members of the Royal Army, and one became a General within the Imperial Legion.

((()))

8 Frost Fall, 427, 3rd Era.

Down to two dozen recruits; Orc warriors might like to talk tough, but they're a bunch of wusses once you strap the weights to their ankles and wrists and start beating on them with a wooden sword. They act like we're already on the stage where they don't get to rely on their armor for defense.

Also, I'm starting to get a little worn out. Training the Legionaries is more than enough daily workout and training in and of itself; working with Darius during the evenings on top of that is exhausting. If I didn't have Ajira's recipes for potions that restore stamina, I'd have dropped by now.

((()))

12 Frost Fall, 427, 3rd Era.

They finally finished sorting out the issues at the Kwama Mine; turns out the Queen had been infected with a Blight. Fortunately, Hetman Abelmawia, Councilor Hlaren Ramoran's appointed representative in Gnisis, is skilled in dealing with Blight diseases, so the whole affair was fairly easily dealt with. After our daily sparring match, Darius mentioned that the fact that the Queen's guards had been wiped out recently made treating it much easier.

((()))

15 Frost Fall, 427, 3rd Era.

Down to nineteen recruits; in fairness, any who've gotten this far will probably be among the best swordsman in the Deathshead legion for the rest of their lives. Tomorrow, the armor comes off and we start the harshest part of the training I have planned.

((()))

20 Frost Fall, 427, 3rd Era.

One of the Dark Brotherhood Assassins found me. It's probably about time I reported to Caius again anyways, even if I haven't received any further orders from him. I'm going to request leave and visit Balmora.

Down to twelve recruits who are willing to try to keep up at this point, and less than ten who are keeping up; they'd better not slack while I'm gone.

((()))

22 Frost Fall, 427, 3rd Era.

Ajira was... excited to see me. I took the Silt Strider down to Ald'ruhn, then the Mage's Guild Teleportation Service to Balmora, and I hadn't realized that the arrival platform being in the same area as Ajira's workshop was going to be particularly relevant. Apparently, I was wrong. A hundred and some pounds of Khajiit landing on my back kind of wrong; it was a good thing that I saw it was her, or I might have run her through.

"Biiiilll!" She half-purred as she nuzzled the back of my neck, "Ajira missed you!"

"...So I see," I said, more than a little shocked by her behavior as I pulled myself back to my feet, a process not made any easier by the fact that Ajira was still hanging off of my back, "I'd say it's good to see you, but I can't see you."

Ajira rumbled out a purring laugh, which vibrated through my armor into my own chest, and I couldn't help but smile myself for it. She squeezed me one more time, before dismounting, and scurrying around to my side, seizing my hand, and dragging me off towards her work-space.

"Ajira will show Bill what she has been working on lately!" Ajira squeaked out happily, "Very good potions, Ajira will even show Bill how to make them!"

Well, I suppose meeting with Caius can wait a few more hours.

((()))

I honestly don't know what to make of Ajira. I have never in my entire life had someone so happy to see me, to show me what they were working on, or anything like that. I've had a few lasses look my way with 'that' in their eyes, but that wasn't the kind of look Ajira was giving me.

It made something inside of me squirm uncomfortably, and provoked an unsettling train of thought I don't fully understand, that involved memories of Widow Vabdas at her husband's funeral.

((()))

23 Frost Fall, 427, 3rd Era.

Caius told me to head back up to Gnisis; he wants me to keep looking into the happenings in the area. He has some of the Blades in Cyrodil trying to find out why the Dark Brotherhood has a contract on me, but there's little he can do here in Morrowind, as they have no known operatives or base of operations here. He says he's started looking into the Morag Tong, who fulfill a similar, but legal function in Vvardenfell, but hasn't found anything yet.

He actually offered to send another operative up to watch my back, but I could tell it was an operative he couldn't really afford to pull from other duties, and besides, the Dark Brotherhood hasn't actually sent anyone I can't handle.

Yet.

((()))

29 Frost Fall, 427, 3rd Era.

The recruits haven't slacked while I was gone, and now it's down to nine still training with me; Darius has assigned me to setting some of my trainees over the others to maintain a higher overall level of skill and discipline though.

The nine who've stuck it out to the end: Asha-Ammu Kutebani, Dul Gro-dush, Molvirian Palenix, Ughash gro-Batul, Optio Bologra, Oritius Maro, Bagamul gro-Dumul, Sharkub gro-Khashnar, and Ertius Fulbenus.

All of them are competent swordsmen at this point; any two have fifty-fifty odds of beating me in a spar.

((()))

12 Sun's Dusk, 427, 3rd Era.

Once I finally had the legionaries who progressed to a somewhat reasonable level of skill organized into maintaining practice and discipline, I had more time on my hands again. Once Darius joined me and the other nine in our sparring, rather than practicing with me at the end of the day, things became considerably more intense. By this point, I've picked up the conceptual basis behind Darius' personal style, and I have to say, the man takes the Redguard philosophy, and goes a step beyond.

Redguard combat philosophy reduced more or less to 'use any weapon in any way'; Darius' philosophy reduces to 'you are a weapon, and all of your capabilities may aid you in battle.' Not the best summary, but it's largely accurate. Darius uses knives, swords, fists, feet, knees, elbows, body-checks, staves, anything that will help him in battle. He's also at least marginally competent with axes, spears, warhammers, bows, and sundry other weapons, but he's told me directly that he focuses on weapons that he can readily carry with his standard armor and equipment (he includes his Legion-issued sword as 'part of his equipment').

At this point, I'm fairly sure he's also trying to tell-me-without-telling me, that how he prepares and organizes his legion, how he motivates his troopers, how he relates to the local population, all of it ties in to his battle readiness as well, but I haven't worked that part out yet.

Odd note; Darius informed us that the Deathshead legion now goes through more wooden training swords in a month than the entire rest of the Legion in all of Morrowind. I'm rather proud of that accomplishment, personally.

((()))

18 Sun's Dusk, 427, 3rd Era.

I've actually been pushed to the point where I needed to take a day off from all of the training. I spent the day checking up on the other training groups, and correcting some of their sloppy movements, but mostly I just rested. The nine are coming alone well, and as I write this I suddenly realize someone might take that as a reference to the 'Nine Divines.'

Certainly not intentional, but if these nine fight together as a squad on a battlefield, I can bet you that their opponents will be thinking they're facing the nine divines.

((()))

Editor's Note: When asked about the prior entry, Lord Nerevar mentioned that in his own mind, the specific mention of a battlefield was quite important. On a battlefield, the men he trained would be expected to face common soldiers, with unexceptional equipment, and at the best, high levels of skill. Against more elite foes, such as a group of Knights or a King's Guard, things would be, as Lord Nerevar put it, 'different.'

((()))

25 Sun's Dusk, 427, 3rd Era.

Darius asked me to go find out what happened to Ragash gra-Shuzgub, who was sent to collect taxes from the Telvanni Archmage that lives in the old Velothi stronghold on the edge of town. This could be very easy, or very hard; we'll soon see.

((()))

Baladas Demnevanni had some... interesting things to say about paying taxes:

"I was here before Gnisis, before this Empire of Men. The people of Gnisis live only because I tolerate them, and I will still be here long after Gnisis and this short-lived Empire are gone. Why should I pay tribute to them?"

The scary thing, is I believed him. When he spoke, I could literally feel myself being energized by the power rolling off of him; it was nothing like absorbing a real spell, but there was still a tangible amount of power rolling off of him. It was my first time meeting a Telvanni Archmage, and I have to say, I am impressed.

Fortunately, he just threw Ragash in prison, and was willing to release her after I promised she wouldn't come back to annoy him again.

((()))

Turns out Darius was using the whole thing as a test, to see whether or not I'd do something stupid to try to deal with Demnevanni. 'Stupid' being getting into a fight with an Archmage thousands of years old, in the middle of his personal sanctum. Getting outside alive means I passed, getting Ragash out (who sounds like a simpleton, though I'm not sure if that's linguistic issues or what), means I passed with flying colors. I've been promoted to Bannerman, which means I officially outrank all but three other members of Deathshead Legion, and Darius himself. He is hard up for good officer material.

((()))

Editor's Note: The structure of rank within the Imperial Legions has changed from one ruler or Imperial Commander's tenure to the other, but at the time of Lord Nerevar's (brief) service in the Legion's lower ranks, the ranks were structured as follows:

Inferior Ranks:

Recruit.

Spearman.

Trooper. (Highest rank a legionary may expect to advance to without displaying exceptional qualities.

Superior Ranks: Any of these ranks may require a salute from those of Inferior Rank, and all but Champion are considered Officers.

Champion or Bannerman. Both ranks are technically held as equal, but a Champion will not be given a command; Champion is a rank granted for heroic deeds coupled with high skill, Bannerman is granted for leadership skills and quality. It is possible to possess both ranks simultaneously.

Knight Errant. All officers of rank above Knight Errant must earn entrance into one of the Imperial knightly orders, or be granted leave from the Emperor to found their own.

Knight Bachelor.

Knight Protector. This is the customary rank of a General commanding a Legion. Notably, 'General' was a term exclusively applied to those in command of a Legion at the time.

Knight of the Garland. All Imperial Officers of this rank will command either a Legion directly, or a number of Legions through subordinates.

Knight of the Imperial Dragon. This rank may only be granted by the Emperor directly. It is the only rank with such a distinction, and while it is not unheard of for certain bearers of this rank to have gained it via political appointment, all men or mer who have historically received it by such a means were still at least of some competence in affairs both of command and personal martial skill.

Notably, elevation to a Superior Rank, after holding Inferior Ranks for just months, is quite remarkable.

((()))

26 Sun's Dusk, 427, 3rd Era.

Well, my first assignment as a brand-spanking new officer is to go on an extended patrol up through the West Gash region. Darius is overseeing the final stages of dock construction, as well as bringing in lumber and shipwrights to build a better-quality patrol vessel with which to handle naval patrols, and he said it's time for me to bust my chops on my first assignment away from direct oversight. Provisions for a long patrol, as well as a Guar to haul them, should be arriving at the dock tomorrow.

I'll be taking half of the nine and seven others with me; Darius says that a twelve-man patrol is the best size he's found for dealing with trouble up here, and I'm inclined to believe him.

((()))

27 Sun's Dusk, 427, 3rd Era.

What. In. Oblivion.

Ajira is here. She arrived on the Silt Strider about an hour after the supplies for our extended patrol came in at the docks, and of course immediately spotted me. Somehow, I don't think that being tackled by an overly-friendly Khajiit is doing anything for my image of authority amongst the men during the upcoming patrol.

By Azura, now she's saying she wants to come with.

((()))

I told Ajira that if she wanted to come with me, she'd have to clear it with my commanding officer, and sent her off to talk with Darius. I thought that would be the end of this silly notion of coming along with.

I was wrong.

Apparently, Darius thinks that having a mildly skilled mage along with, who has an extensive personal stock of potions, as well as a Khajiit's nose for tracking, would be a great idea.

From an adventurer's standpoint, I can agree; I just dearly hope that Ajira doesn't get herself killed in the process. On with the long patrol...

((()))

Editor's Note: The following records of Lord Nerevar's first patrol are a compilation from his personal journal, and the official log he kept during the course of the journey. When there is an entry from both on a given day, the official log will be displayed first, followed by the appropriate section of his personal journals.

((()))

28 Sun's Dusk, 427, 3rd Era.

Headed North out of Gnisis, ran into a couple of aggressive Kagouti; will be lots of meat for dinner tonight.

((()))

New discovery; apparently Ajira can cook. And cook well. Morale amongst the men has gone up considerably now that they know they'll have better eats on the road than they have at the barracks. They still won't stop teasing me about my 'clingy girlfriend' though.

((()))

29 Sun's Dusk, 427, 3rd Era.

Nothing of particular interest this day, aside from Ajira getting pissy with a rat. Several of the legionaries laughed, and ended up eating travel-rations rather than the stew Ajira made out of the rat at day's end.

((()))

30, Sun's Dusk, 427, 3rd Era.

Ajira tracked the scent of an odd mixed group of races to a well-concealed cave entrance today, and we discovered a group of smugglers-cum-slavers. They were wiped out with little trouble; only one of the Orcs had any real skill or decent equipment, and Oritius Maro took care of him while the rest of the men and myself worked through the lesser threats. Their Skooma stocks were destroyed, and Ajira was permitted to use the Moon Sugar they had been smuggling to make some speed-enhancing potions.

Standard dispensation of loot amongst the men has been implemented, though I had to adjudicate a few squabbles over the relative value of a particular item.

((()))

Damn slavers; they had a full half-dozen Argonians and Khajiit in their pen; the Orc guarding them had the key to their bracers though, so letting them loose wasn't difficult. I had to get a little 'creative' with interpretation of legion policy on loot in order to make them all understand that the slaves were not loot, and thus would be going free, back down to Gnisis, rather than becoming property of one of the legionaries.

I have no idea why, but the smugglers had several barrels full of nothing but pants; between those and shirts or robes looted from the corpses, there was enough clothing for the freed beastfolk to be decent, if somewhat scruffy, when they reached Gnisis. Ajira and I gave over both our share of the gold-loot, and some of our own reserves, to pay for Silt Strider passage down to Ald'ruhn, where they'll meet up with one of Ajira's friends to either start building a new life, or find passage back to their homes.

((()))

31, Sun's Dusk, 427, 3rd Era.

Encountered a group of outlaws today, they fled rather than face a dozen legionaries and a mage. Ajira back-tracked their scents to the cave they'd been using as a hideout; we looted it, and I will leave a mark and description of its location on the map so that future patrols can watch for their return.

((()))

Ajira has been displaying a habit of taking cuttings from what seems to be every third plant (aside from the grass) that we pass ever since the patrol began. I finally asked her about it today, and she told me that it is the best way to be an Alchemist; any plant or animal part you recognize as having a use, is something that you should have as much as possible of, at least when it costs you only a moment's labor to get it.

She then proceeded to show me that she'd kept a few small strips of rat meat, which is apparently useful for creating cures to poisons.

((()))

1 Evening Star, 427, 3rd Era.

Nothing of particular note this day, we made good time, and a Nix Hound provided the evening's meal courtesy of Ajira's cooking skill.

((()))

2 Evening Star, 427, 3rd Era.

Another fairly idle day. I had the men spar for an hour while Ajira cooked today, Oritius took particular interest in fighting me one on one. His skills continue to sharpen, but he has yet to lay a blow on me when dueling.

((()))

3 Evening Star, 427, 3rd Era.

We reached Ald Velothi today; a small fishing village on the North coast of Vvardenfell. Darius keeps a small group of legionaries posted at a watchtower in the village; the Bannerman in charge of the watch, Agrak gro-Shul, said that there has been some activity in the Daedric ruins a day's journey east of town, and that a Dunmer pilgrim by the name of Madura Seran has gone missing. I've agreed to take my patrol out to look for them tomorrow.

((()))

4 Evening Star, 427, 3rd Era.

General Darius' point about working as a cohesive unit in combat has been amply made. The Daedric ruins were infested with cultists, and they attacked on sight. Worse, they had a number of summons; a Clannfear, some Scamps, and three Dremora. Dremora are tough S'wits; I've never been sure if the armor is something they wear, or part of their bodies, but either way, there's not much that your standard Imperial Broadsword can do to one, unless you can take them through the face with it.

Fortunately, both the cultists and the summons failed utterly to fight as a unit; we never had to face more than three cultists and two Daedra at a time; I had the spearmen keep the Dremora in place (one of them will need a new spear), while Oritius, Optio, Bagamul, and two of the legionaries who aren't direct students of mine any longer took on the cultists, and I moved against the Dremora with my Daedric Katana.

Optio was injured when one of the cultists went on a suicidal blitz, and would have died if Ajira hadn't been ready at hand with her potions, but that was the worst of the injuries we suffered. I've fought Dremora before, and with the spearmen supporting me, this one was no serious challenge, especially as I now possess a weapon capable of penetrating their armor.

We've cleared the surface and the first chambers of the shrine structure, though another door leads into a basement of sorts. I've posted a watch there, and we'll investigate the deeper parts tomorrow.

((()))

5 Evening Star, 427, 3rd Era.

The last of the Daedric cultists, was not an idiot. And he had a full suit of Ebony armor, save the helmet. He waited until most of us were sleeping to attack; fortunately Bagamul was one of the two keeping watch on the entrance to the lower reaches of the shrine, and was able to hold the Dunmer cultist off until reinforcements could arrive, though the spearman standing guard with him, Marcus Fidelus, was killed.

I have never in my life seen a being, man or mer, more determined not to die. Once I joined the fight, the other legionaries not far behind, he retreated back underground, leading down into a cavernous chamber filled with the shattered ruins of some formerly-great structure. Within it a twisted maze of narrow stone pathways lead up and down the cavern's many levels, and the cultist used these narrow quarters to great effect. A number of the legionaries were, of course, carrying bows, but their simple weapons had no real effect on the Dunmer's armor, and they were not accurate enough to score a blow against his unarmored head.

He injured two more of my Legionaries during his fighting retreat, his Daedric Waraxe brutalizing their weapons swiftly, but I kept replacements at the ready, and he was not able to land killing blows. Eventually, after he had fatigued himself substantially, he was backed into a corner, and I faced him personally. As I had expected, he was at his most dangerous when he realized that he was not going to be able to escape, and made a suicidally aggressive attack. He'd failed to notice that my blade was not mere steel, however, and I was able to parry his suicidal lunge, an attempt I'm certain would have cost any other member of the patrol their blade, and possibly the limb that held it, then I decapitated him with my riposte.

Ajira saw to the wounded, though she was clearly disturbed by the presence of the dead legionary's corpse. We'd disposed of the dead cultists' bodies the night prior, but were weren't just going to throw a fellow legionary's corpse to the wild beasts. Distributing the loot will also be something of a problem; the Dremora from yesterday were carrying several Dwemer weapons (though I have no clue as to why), and the Ebony Armor and Daedric Waraxe are both worth tens of thousands of Septims. I've decided that they shall remain unclaimed until we return to Gnisis, and Darius will be asked to adjucate their disposition.

((()))

Ajira does not like dealing with death; she has 'snuck' into my bedroll tonight (still dressed, thank the Nine), and has fallen asleep clinging to me. It made finishing my log somewhat awkward, but in a way, it is heartening to see someone still innocent enough that a single death would affect her so. I do not begrudge her seeking solace in physical contact, though I've little doubt the men will heckle me about it tomorrow during our return to Ald Velothi.

((()))

6 Evening Star, 427, 3rd Era.

The watch commander was happy to hear that the Daedric Cultists had been dealt with, though saddened by the death of Marcus Fidelus, and disappointed that we had not found Madura Seran. He has agreed to make arrangements for Fidelus' funeral tomorrow morning, which the patrol will attend before continuing onward.

((()))

Ajira has moved her own bedroll to beside mine. It is better than her moving herself beneath my own blankets I suppose, but she's clearly still disturbed by Marcus' death. I don't think she's ever seen someone she's broken bread with slain before. Hopefully this does not become a permanent issue.

((()))

7 Evening Star, 427, 3rd Era.

We found Madura Seran today; a group of three outcast Ashlanders had taken her hostage, and attempted to demand six hundred Septims in ransom. They were dealt with in a manner befitting such criminals, and the booty from their camp was divided amongst the men while Ajira saw to Madura's health. I personally escorted her back to Ald Velothi through the night, granting her use of a couple of Ajira's stamina potions to ensure she could keep up with the stiff pace that I set, then used a potion myself to return to the camp and catch a couple hours of sleep before the patrol moved on.

We've already lost too much time as it is.

((()))

8 Evening Star, 427, 3rd Era.

Nothing of particular interest today, save I had us march an extra half-hour to begin making up the time lost clearing the Daedric Ruins and assorted criminals we have encountered.

((()))

9 Evening Star, 427, 3rd Era.

Another uneventful day on patrol.

((()))

Interestingly, essentially the entire coast West of Ald Velothi is warded by cliffs. If this geographical pattern continues, it'll lead to some interesting conclusions about both Ald Velothi, and Gnisis.

((()))

10 Evening Star, 427, 3rd Era.

Another uneventful day on patrol. The Guar is beginning to fatigue due to the longer marches, and additional load of loot it is carrying; I shall have to cut things back to a more normal pace.

((()))

11 Evening Star, 427, 3rd Era.

While there are some truly spectacular stone formations along the cliffs that face the sea, this is not sufficient to keep the men's morale from declining due to simple monotony. I almost hate to say it, but it would be best if something 'interesting' happen soon.

((()))

12 Evening Star, 427, 3rd Era.

It is ultimately unsurprising, I suppose, that with the cliffs barring access to the ocean, no smugglers have taken up residence along this strip of land. Morale continues to gradually wane; I will simply try to be pleased with the lack of death in this length of the patrol.

((()))

13 Evening Star, 427, 3rd Era.

In the distance, a Dwemer ruin has become visible; we should reach it by day's end. Hopefully, the change of pace will help morale amongst the men.

((()))

Editor's Note: Unlike other paired entries in this section, both the preceding and succeeding entries are from the official log of Lord Nerevar's first patrol.

((()))

Now this is truly grand. There are many Dwemer ruins in Hammerfell, so I am hardly a stranger to such structures, but this one is far more intact than most. First, there are the pair of bridges that grant access to it, large constructs of stone and Dwemer yellow steel, which span hundreds of feet across two chasms. Second, there is the enormous statue which stands watch over the end of the second bridge, the fine detail of its features worn down by wind and rain, but the overall structure still strong. Third, is the siege weaponry that remains largely intact; this was clearly intended to serve as a fortress, and judging by its ability to survive this long without maintenance, it served well.

Finally, there is the location of the ruin itself, at the northwesternmost point of Vvardenfell. Technically, there is a small shelf at the base of the western cliff-face (a small campfire and two Dunmer, who seem to be fishermen, rest on said shelf), but the fortress itself clearly dominates the area. Further, the imposingly tall tower at the center of the ruin doubtless allows for an impressive range of vision, to keep watch for ships impinging upon the shores of Vvardenfell.

I fully intend to suggest taking possession of this facility to use as an observation post and waystation for patrols to Darius.

((()))

14 Evening Star, 427, 3rd Era.

We made a brief exploration of the ruin's interior; but stopped after the first time we encountered a Dwemer Steam Centurion. There is a reason that the majority of Dwemer Ruins are unexplored, and that reason is the automatons that inhabit them. I have fought them before, but it is never an easy thing to defeat a foe whose entire body is constructed of metal; the Spider Centurions are not too difficult to destroy, but Centurion Spheres and the full up Centurions are incredibly durable, and their blows are driven with considerable force.

I had the men drag the Centurion's head out of the ruins, which should make it more difficult for the other automata to repair it, then we pressed on with our patrol.

((()))

15 Evening Star, 427, 3rd Era.

Nothing of particular interest today; I've attempted to keep the men from falling into boredom by discussing the strategic relevance and tactical defense possibilities of the ruined fortress; it was at least somewhat effective.

((()))

16 Evening Star, 427, 3rd Era.

We encountered a strange Dunmer today, by the name of Jiub. He was somewhat addled, and appeared to be obsessed with hunting and killing Cliff Racers. Given the creatures' aggressive nature, I can but wish him luck in his endeavor.

((()))

I honestly never expected to meet Jiub again, and certainly not in the unsettled corners of Vvardenfell. Not to mention the manner of our meeting...

A Cliff Racer attacked one of my legionaries; a foolish move at best, as with armor, shield, and blade, injuring any one of us was extremely unlikely at best, and with the rest of us on hand to render aid as soon as we crossed the short distance, it was essentially a suicidal attack. Cliff Racers are nothing more than beasts, however, so it is not wholly surprising. In this case, however, aiding the Trooper on point was not necessary, as a chitin-armored Dunmer intervened.

"YAAAAA!" Jiub screamed as he leapt from a concealed position in a tree alongside the road, "FOR THE LORD OF MILK!"

He was wielding an axe crafted of bone, but it was more than adequate for the purpose of sheering through the Cliff Racer's neck as it strafed the Trooper. Three thumps sounded, as Jiub, the head, and then the body of the Cliff Racer all struck the ground.

"That was different," Oritius said, some bewilderment in his voice as he watched Jiub begin mutilating the corpse, "Do you suppose a Cliff Racer killed his family?"

"I'd say it's more likely he's a little addled," I said calmly, before moving towards Jiub, "I'll talk with him."

"Bill!" Ajira called from where she was lurking by the Guar, "See if Bill can get the Racer Plumes for Ajira, they are useful for Levitation Potions!"

I nodded, taking care as I approached Jiub; I'd never have expected this kind of violence of him, based on my past experience with him. He wasn't so intent on butchering the corpse that he didn't notice my approach, and I noted with some relief that he wasn't simply mutilating it, but was in fact stripping the meat from the corpse.

"Greetings-" I began, but Jiub immediately looked up, cutting me off.

"Bill!" He cried, a lopsided smile twisting onto his scarred face, "So they let you out too! It's good to see you again."

Jiub, why did you have to remember my name this time?

((()))

Jiub didn't stay with us for long, just long enough to strip a meal's worth of meat from the cliffracer for himself, which he proceeded to eat raw. I gave him some of our travel rations in 'exchange' for the rest of his kill, out of worry for his health.

Unfortunately, he also said enough to make it clear to the men of the patrol that I had arrived in Morrowind some months prior with him, aboard a high-security prison ship. Dealing with this was rather difficult, and I've included the best record of what I did (and did not) say below in order to help me keep such things straight for future concerns. I dealt with the issue, to a greater or lesser extent, during dinner that night, and I think it was my first truly successful attempt at being clever with words.

((()))

"Yes," I replied, making no particular effort to hide my reluctance as I answered Oritius' question, "I arrived in Vvardenfell aboard a prison ship during the middle of Last Seed, Jiub and I being the only prisoners aboard."

"Must have been a pretty small ship," Orguk gro-Shub said with a snort.

"No," I said shaking my head, "It was a full-sized schooner, with a full crew. It only had two prisoners because one of them was me. You've all trained with me at this point, four of you still do. You know how good I am with a sword, and some of you have seen me and the General going at each other."

That brought down a silence amongst the legionaries, but not from Ajira, and I realized that as she'd followed my instructions to stay out of the combat areas during the patrol, she'd never actually seen me fight before.

"Ajira does not understand," The young Khajiit admitted, "Ajira knows that Bill is a skilled swordsman, but she does not understand why all the other Legionaries are acting this way."

"It's something all of us in the Deathshead Legion have understood for a long time," Oritius said, "Because of General Darius. He mostly keeps order in the legion through his personal reputation. You see," Oritius drew his sword, laid it flat across both of his hands, and offered it to Ajira, "A sword, by itself, isn't the best weapon on a battlefield. It's very versatile, you can use it to thrust, slash, parry, block, but it's not particularly good at any of them."

Ajira took the swords hesitantly, and began to cautiously swing it around, getting a feel for the heft of it.

"It's why the Legion uses spears and tower shields," Oritius continued, "They're excellent weapons for formation fighting, and when used in the correct formations, allow emphasis on the strength of spear-weapons, thrusting attacks from a distance. The tradeoff is that spears are pretty crappy at slashing, parrying, and blocking."

"Spears made from quality hardwood can be used for blocking," I interjected, "It's pretty expensive, and heavier, but some warriors learn how to use spears with a mixed style, like a staff, and are much more effective with blocking and parrying as a result."

"Didn't know that," Oritius said with a shrug, "But it's part of the same thing about swords. While they're only good as a backup weapon on the battlefield when in the hands of a common soldier, when you've got someone who is willing to put the time and sweat in to really master the sword..."

"If the whole Legion rose up against Darius and his handful of officers," Bagamul said gruffly, "Considering that he only lets bows be issued to groups on patrol, he could probably kill half the Legion by himself before we took him down. With all the drunks and disobedient Legionaries he's been sent to deal with, I don't blame him for keeping the bows under lock and key."

"Our Bannerman here," Oritius said, indicating me with a jerk of his head, "Is on a level with the General, from what I heard, you beat him in a duel to start as a trainer, rather than with grunt footman duties. What all of this explains, is why a prison ship would have an entire complement of guards, just to deal with him. What it doesn't explain," He turned to stare at me, "Is why you were on that ship in the first place."

"I've mentioned it before," I said, thinking furiously about what things to say, and what things not to say, "I used to be an adventurer in Hammerfell, and like any adventurer who lives past his first few tomb-raids and ruin-dives, I was part of a group; they'd been working together for a few years before they recruited me to round out their melee element."

I had to pause for a moment, and take a few deep breaths before continuing, anger rising in me once more.

"We took a job for a noble last year," I continued harshly, "Fairly straightforward, break up a group of bandits, rescue a girl they'd kidnapped, the Count's cousin, according to what we were told, and bring her back to him safe and sound," I paused for a moment, my clenched fists trembling with anger, "The shite lied to us."

"When we showed up at the Count's castle, he had his entire house guard waiting for us, as well as a number of mercenary mages. They attacked from the wall-top as soon as we reached the gate, no warning, no nothing, and we were all tired from fighting the bandits and the subsequent journey. They killed everyone but me and the girl, and they thought," I snarled that word out, "That I was dead too."

My chest was heaving with barely-controlled rage at that point, and it was all I could do to keep myself from shouting it all out.

"They took the girl," I ground out, "And threw our bodies into a mass grave. Unfortunately for them, they threw my mostly-broken body on top of the body of our healer, and I was able to get at his potion stash. If any of you have never felt it, it's a bitch having your bones healed by a potion, not to mention organs, muscles, and lips. It took almost an hour for the potions to finish working on me, and then I had to dig myself out of the grave."

I lurched to my feet, no longer able to contain all of my anger, and started stalking around the fire.

"The S'wit were having a damn victory feast," I snarled, my right hand spastically clasping and unclasping over the hilt of my sword, "And by the time I got into their banquet hall, most of them were shit-faced drunk. My armor was still covered with the blood and guts of my friends, and they were beyond shocked to see me, I'm pretty sure some of them thought I was a ghost."

I snarled, and turned to glare at Oritius.

"I diabused them of THAT damn notion," I shouted, "I didn't have a Daedric weapon back then, but the enchanted Silver longsword I was using was more than up to the task of carving through those Fetcher's necks. There were three tables, two running the length of the hall, and one at the far end, where the Count's family was feasting, though he was absent. I started working my way up the table on the right, and carved my way through a dozen of them before anyone managed to put up a fight.

"The guards were pathetic;" I sneered, beginning to stalk around the fire again, "There was a reason that they'd hired us to do the job, and I butchered them like the N'wah they were. It only took a few minutes for the hall to empty out, and I started hunting for the Count, killing any armed man or woman I came across. When I found the Count, he was locked in his private quarters, raping the girl we rescued. He hadn't even realized his castle was under attack until I kicked in the door, and the shit was in no condition to fight, especially after I chopped his thing off; I gave the girl my knife, and let her finish him."

I stopped pacing, and took a deep breath before finishing.

"If she hadn't been so pissed," I continued flatly, "She probably would have killed him slow, I could see that feral instinct in her eye. She killed him slow enough as it was; I would have just chopped his head off, but she just started stabbing him in the chest, again and again, and didn't stop until I dragged her off of the corpse."

Carefully controlling my breathing, every muscle in my body tense as I trembled with anger, I laid out the remaining part of my story which I could afford to tell the men.

"Some of the runners went to get the Guard from Elinhir, and fed them a pack of lies. When the Guard showed up, with mage support, they captured me, and I was charged with murdering the lot of treacherous bastards. I don't know how much the Count's family bribed the Guard, but they absolutely refused to look for the grave of my comrades, and I suspect that by the time the Legion took control of things, they'd been more carefully disposed of."

I sat down again, forcing myself to gradually calm down; I dearly would have liked to bury all the emotion in a bottle of Greef, but it was hardly something I could do from my position as patrol leader, even if it would give me an easy out from answering any further questions from Oritius or the other men.

A painful, pregnant silence passed for some time around the campfire; unsurprisingly, Oritius was the first to work up the courage to speak.

"That'd certainly explain why you were imprisoned," Oritius said with a nod, "Why did you end up in the Deathshead Legion though?"

"You even need to ask?" I said with a snort, "Conflicting reports between the Count's family and the Duke's daughter meant they couldn't just execute me, open and shut, so I was sent off to Imperial prison while they sorted it all out. I never saw a trial, but apparently they decided to make use of me, and do you think it's a coincidence that I ended up in Darius' legion, between it taking in all the trouble cases, and Darius being better than me in a fight?"

Nobody said anything else about it the rest of the night, and that was the end of it.

((()))

17 Evening Star, 427, 3rd Era.

A largely uneventful day. Aside from some conversation amongst the men that came in consequence of our encounter with Jiub yesterday, little of interest happened.

((()))

Ajira spoke with me today in private; a part of me was afraid that she would wish to separate herself from the patrol, due to fear of my bloody deeds, but instead she appeared to feel the need for extensive cuddling. I am not terribly familiar with Khajiit social customs, and this behavior has confused me quite a bit. It was nice though, if a bit awkward.

((()))

19 Evening Star, 427, 3rd Era.

A few diseased rats were the only notable encounter of the day; Ajira administered a few cure potions as a preventative measure.

((()))

20 Evening Star, 427, 3rd Era.

We encountered another Smuggler's Den today; it was rather substantially infested. A dozen and a half smugglers, mostly Dunmer, but a few Redguards and Imperials as well, were smuggling Skooma, Moon Sugar, Soul Gems, and again, a strangely large quantity of simple pants. There were no slaves this time, something I am both thankful and frustrated by; I would not wish captivity on any, but for those who have been so forced, I would rather find them where I may legally free them.

We turn East tomorrow, for the final leg of the patrol and our return to Gnisis.

((()))

Ajira stuck more closely with me during the clearing of the smuggler's cave; she insisted it was not because she felt unsafe without me around, yet she would not tell me why then she stuck so close to me. I am again confused; perhaps Caius will be able to explain something of Khajiit social customs to me next time I am in Balmora?

((()))

21 Evening Star, 427, 3rd Era.

Nothing of particular note this day.

((()))

22 Evening Star, 427, 3rd Era.

Another uneventful day.

((()))

23 Evening Star, 427, 3rd Era.

Apart from some gorgeous scenery, nothing exceptional today.

((()))

24 Evening Star, 427, 3rd Era.

We reached Gnisis today, and I shall be turning this log of our patrol in to Darius forthwith.

((()))

Editor's Note: Entries from this point are again exclusively from Lord Nerevar's personal journal.

((()))

24 Evening Star, 427, 3rd Era.

As we came within sight of Gnisis today, Oritius spoke with me briefly, requesting that I meet him in one of the storage rooms of the legion barracks tomorrow morning, before reveille. As I had no particular reason not to, I agreed, though mentioned I would only have so much time before it became necessary for me to see Ajira off when the Silt Strider departed for Ald'ruhn.

((()))

25 Evening Star, 427, 3rd Era.

Today has been an absolutely unmitigated disaster. I had thought nothing exceptional of Oritius request to meet with him, but I could not have been more wrong; I will detail the course of our meeting below.

((()))

"Thank you for coming sir," Oritius said, greeting me with a respectful nod as I stepped into the storeroom.

"No need for 'sir' when we're not on duty," I said, waving my hand dismissively, "Besides, with your skills, you'll be an officer before long too yourself."

Oritius laughed at that, a bright, open thing of good humor.

"I wish I shared your optimism, Bill," He said, shaking his head, "But I'm quite certain that if Darius meant to promote me past Trooper, he would have done so already."

"Things change," I said with a shrug, "You've learned more than just swordplay in your training with me, or at least demonstrated it, and willingness to persevere is essential to excelling in any task. Darius needs officers badly."

"I hope you're right," Oritius said with a shrug, "But it's not what I asked you here to speak of today. Are you familiar with the Talos Cult?"

"Aside from the fact that they're particularly dedicated to worshiping Talos," I replied with a shrug of my own, "Not really."

"Well," Oritius said, his tone and expression becoming more serious, "There is a small secretive chapter of the Cult here in Gnisis, of which I am the leader. I would like to invite you to join."

His offer caught me completely off guard; I'd had absolutely no expectation of such a thing, and judging by his response, my confusion showed on my face.

"I'm not inviting you because you seem to me like a man particularly prone to piety," He continued, "But because our chapter has a particular cause driving it; a dissatisfaction with the leadership of corrupt nobles, and a desire to change that; a desire I'm quite certain you share."

"The only noble I met who wasn't malignant," I admitted, "Was a crazy Breton who wanted me to track down the bandit who'd just robbed her, because she'd fallen in love with him. I had to go hunting for her after she went out looking for him in the wilds. I don't know if Darius is actually a noble or not, but if he is, he's the only one I've met who wasn't useless."

"Corrupt nobility is the single greatest threat plaguing the Empire today," Oritius said, nodding gravely, "I desire to see this problem solved, because it maddens me, seeing them tear apart the Empire Talos created, and I know you wish to see this problem solved due to your own experiences with nobility. In this, I believe us to be kindred spirits."

"That much is true," I said, matching his nod, "So why do you wish me to join you?"

"Come with me," He said, putting his shoulder to a wooden crate and forcing it aside, revealing a trapdoor, "And I will show you."

((()))

He led me to a small, somewhat cramped basement shrine; it looked like it had been built in an old secret storage or escape hole, and it was fairly simple, all told. It put me in mind of the many less-spacious caves and tombs I'd adventured through, particularly as Vvardenfell seemed oddly predisposed towards broad tunnels and spacious caverns; perhaps an artifact of lava flows from Red Mountain?

Regardless, once in the small 'chapel,' Oritius introduced me to a half-dozen other cult members; I knew all their faces, as I'd trained them all at some point or another, but only one, Lucius Atellus, had made it even to the final round of eliminations before I was left with just nine students, and I didn't remember any of the rest of their names.

They spoke to me of their desires, why they'd joined the Talos Cult, why they held a common cause with Oritius in attempting to tear the corrupt nobility out of the Empire's power structure, we spoke for a good half hour, and it was very informative.

Unfortunately, their ultimate goal was utterly anathema to me: They were plotting to assassinate the Emperor. The sheer audacity of it caught me off guard; they were a collection of inferior-ranked common Legionaries, posted into the absolute backwater of the Empire's least-favored and least-hospitable province, I'd had no idea why they'd decided to pursue such a thing. As they began to explain things, however, it gradually became clear to me that it was not simply a pipe dream from a bunch of dissatisfied grunts with too much time on their hands.

At least, not anymore.

The Emperor himself would be visiting Morrowind in two months times, to meet with the new King of the province, Helseth Hlaalu. While he was in the province, he was scheduled to visit Ebonheart, as it was the seat of power on Vvardenfell, and all Legion Commanders were to present themselves to report on the state of the sub-province to the Emperor personally. Oritius had served in Ebonheart for a time, and had a contact there who knew of a secret passage into Ebonheart, which would allow them to bypass the lion's share of the Emperor's Guard.

Six months ago, attempting such still would have been folly, but now, with the added skill the men, especially Oritius himself, possessed, they presented a very real threat, one which could not just be ignored.

Dammit.

"This plan could actually work," I told Oritius, once he was finished trying to convince me to join in, "There's only one problem."

I exhaled sharply, slipped my fingers between my breastplate and my chest, and fished out a slip of paper I'd kept on my person ever since the day I'd first read it; the note written for me by, and marked with the personal seal of, Uriel Septim the seventh. Once I'd handed it over to him, I slowly backed my way into a corner of the small shrine, and waited for him to realize just what he held in his hands.

"What is this?" Oritius eventually said, completely bewildered as he looked up at me, "And why does it have the Emperor's personal seal on it?"

"You listened to my story the night after we met Jiub," I said, "And what I told you of my life in Hammerfell is true. What you did not think to ask, was who arranged my release in Vvardenfell."

Anger began to build in Oritius eyes as he realized what I was saying, and he threw the slip of paper to the ground, and drew his sword.

"The Emperor personally ordered my release," I said sadly as I drew my own Daedric blade, "I like you, Oritius, and I think your point about the nobility by and large is right. But the Emperor himself, he has earned my trust at least enough to not allow this plot to be carried out. Turn aside from this path, and we can accomplish many other good works; I'm the only member of the Blades who knows about the plot, and if you cast it aside for a more worthy plan, no one ever need know."

While I spoke, the rest of the cult members drew their swords, and to my great regret, they answered my request with steel, rather than words.

((()))

31 Evening Star, 427, 3rd Era.

I woke up almost a week later in a room I did not recognize, and Ajira was sleeping on a chair beside my bed. Oritius was good with his sword, he knew he was fighting for his life, the life of the other cultists, and any chance his plan had to succeed. He and the other five had fought with excellent coordination, like the Legionaries they were; I had fought like the cornered Adventurer I was, taking advantage of the cramped quarters to keep them from ganging up on me, and ruthless advantage of how much better my blade was than theirs.

They'd died; I'd thought I was going to die, though apparently someone found me in that storeroom before I bled out. I don't intend to honor a group of traitors, especially one given a more-than-reasonable chance at casting aside their attempt at treason, the dignity of fully describing what skill they did or did not display in their final fight.

I tried not to wake Ajira when I sat up, but her keen ears perked up almost the instant I moved, and she was awake a moment later, staring at me with watery eyes.

"William Hawker is a stupid human who makes Ajira worry about him, and she will not be letting him out of her sight again!" She declared ferociously, before launching herself at me, latching onto my shoulders (which let me know that I was not fully healed yet), and began bawling into my hairy chest.

I mostly just lay there, cataloging the aches and pains that Ajira slamming into me had woken up; it felt like my Liver wasn't fully healed yet, and my ribs ached (though that may have just been the result of Khajiit-compression), but while the places I'd been wounded on my limbs tingled, none of them actually hurt any more. I had been told that muscles were easier to heal than organs.

After a few minutes, the door opened, and Caius walked in, Darius moving in right behind him.

"Good to see you finally awake Bill," Caius said, the first time I could remember him actually addressing me by my first name, "I'd been afraid this little test would be the end of you."

"Test?" I half-asked, half said, more than a little bewildered, both by Caius' presence, and his words.

"Yes," Caius said, nodding gravely, "While the mission I gave you was real, and the need to uncover what was happening up here legitimate, you also had another Blade assigned to trail you, and see just what you would do," He raised a hand when I opened my mouth, "Don't bother asking who, their identity will remain a secret from you for the forseeable future. More importantly, is how you handled the test."

Ajira had stopped crying into my chest by that point, and turned her head to glare up at Caius murderously.

"Ajira is thinking stupid Skooma-man can take his testd and smoke them in his Skooma pipe," She growled.

"Mayhaps I will," Caius said, grinning like I'd never seen from him, before turning to me and putting on a more serious countenance again, "I'll be blunt Bill, your intelligence-gathering and general subterfuge skills are a joke. You literally stumbled across the plot, and it didn't even occur to you that you could have been more proactive about looking."

He paused for a moment, leveling that nigh-overwhelming gaze of his at me again.

"More importantly though," He continued, letting up on the pressure, "Is that you carried out your orders, and when the moment of critical decision came, you displayed integrity. You showed that you are worthy of Trust. Because of that, and the fact that we need you out of here before the forthcoming retinue of the Emperor's personal guard arrives in Gnisis to investigate the plot in particular and the Deathshead Legion in general, I'm recalling you to Balmora, where you can finish recovering from your wounds in Ajira's capable care-"

Ajira purred in pleasure, sending a vibrating rumble through my chest.

"-And get some training in the more subtle skills that you're so helpless with right now. I've got big plans for you, Bill."

"I knew there was more to you than just looking for a job," Darius said once Caius had finished, "It'd occurred to me that you might be one of the Blades, but I wasn't certain. We'll miss you up here, Hawker, but I was glad to have you while we could. I'll be 'losing' the Ebony armor you recovered from the Daedric cultists when you leave town, which is a shame, but considering how much trouble you get into, I don't think anybody here could use it better."

"Thank you sir," I managed to get out, in spite of Ajira weighing down my (wounded) diaphragm, "I can honestly say that you've redeemed the honor of the Legion in my eyes, not to mention my perspective on its competence."

"Glad to hear it, Bannerman," Darius said with a nod, "I hope to see you again once the heat dies down around here. If you ever need support from the Legions in whatever shadowplay you get involved in with the Emperor's more subtle arm, call on me."

"Enough of the bleeding heart stuff," Caius grouched, "We need to get moving if we want to catch today's Strider run. Get him prepped for transport, Ajira."

'Transport, it turns out, involved being levitated under the control of someone else, one of the least dignified experiences I'd ever suffered at the hands of an ally, rather than adversary.

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End of Arc one.

AN: For those more familiar with the game, they'll have noticed that I made some modifications here and there to various details in the game. Trust me, it makes for a better story this way...