"You stupid son of a bitch." I spit my words at Amascus' pathetic, quivering form. "How, in the name of every God in existence, did you manage to not figure out something was going on last night?"

"I don't know!" the recruit insists, his voice wavering in time with his trembling. "There must have been something wrong with the potion!"

My eyes widen with fury, and I begin to vibrate with rage. "If you knew there was a problem with the potion then why did you not just use another? You had three!"

"The potion was functioning! Lights marked the position of every living thing in the town, but — I don't know what happened! Please, be merciful, Errant Caecilia. Something must have gone wrong!"

"You stupid s'wit." My voice is quiet but filled with venom. "Didn't you at least see me coming down the mountain? Going up to the admin quarters? My shift wasn't due to finish for hours. Didn't you realise something unusual was going on?"

"I did!" the man admits hysterically. "But I figured you had left your shift early and were checking to make sure everything was okay. I'm new here, commander; I am not well-acquainted with procedures in this garrison!"

"You are a fool." The man's shoulders slump even further at my words, and he refuses to meet my eye-line. "The side of a building has to explode in flames before he realises something is going on. Is this what we can expect from the future generation of the Imperial Legion?"

The man says nothing. He can say nothing.

"Get out my sight, Amascus Endusa. Leave this town. Return to that bastard Angoril, and never show your face here again. Tell your master that he can expect a full report on your performance when this situation is dealt with."

For a moment, I half-expect the contemptible being before me to buckle on his knees, but, thankfully, he remains erect. He bows, a glibbering mess, and leaves the building.

I turn to face Albecius. The Imperial leans inside the doorway to the room, his eyes still on the spot where the recruit once stood. "Do you not think yourself a little too hard on the boy?"

My temper flares once more. "His negligence could have resulted in the deaths of both myself and Adraria Vandacia!"

Albecius looks to me, his eyes full of severity and threat.

I will my demeanour to soften; it would not be right to direct any of my anger toward the battlemage. "How is Adraria, by the way?"

"The bastard didn't have much of a chance to get his knife too far into her, thankfully. There was a healer on the Silt Strider when we put her on there; he seemed to think she'd be okay."

I nod and, despite myself, exhale a yawn.

"You should rest," he says. "You should have done so after returning with the search party last night. It has been a long night for you. Ganciele and I can take care of things while you do."

"You and Ganciele will be taking care of things around here today," I say, grabbing my pack from the floor of the guard quarters. "I'm heading out as soon as the Silt Strider gets back. I will endeavour to return before nightfall."

Albecius fixes me with an inquisitive stare. "What is it you're planning, Caecilia?"

Slinging the pack over my shoulder, I walk to the door, meeting his gaze with mine. "Ever since this devil set foot on our shores, we've been approaching the problems he brought with him the wrong way." My words are hard and firm with resolve. "Starting now, that's going to change. But, for that to work, we are going to need something."

Albecius dwells on my words for a time before saying more. "And what is that something?"

"Help."

The battlemage barely contains a scoff at the prospect. "The Legion has made it clear that they do not wish devote any more of their precious resources to us. From whom do you intend to solicit aid?"

On my way out of the room, I turn back to the soldier briefly to answer.

"From the one person I wish to avoid."

I climb the stairs from the barracks under the Census and Excise office and exit the building via my office door. Now, on the streets, still soft from the other day's rain, I begin to work my way north.

As I do, I glance over my shoulder and up toward the devastated ruin that is the administration quarters. After I left to join the depressingly tiny search party that Amascus was able to throw together last night, several sections of the building collapsed and fell to the town below. The intruder had hit a vital support column during his assault on the back wall of his prison, and, apparently, it's a miracle even more of the structure didn't give way. Luckily, we had evacuated everyone from the building long before it gave way.

Walking out past the tradehouse and toward the footbridge, I notice several citizens watching me out of the corners of my eyes. Standing silently inside their homes, they study me, silently, through their windows, their eyes tracking me wherever I go.

It has been this way all morning. Knowing that they are not going to get any real information on what is transpiring here in the nights, they no longer bother to try. Rather than panic; rather than flee from the homes and businesses that have been their lives for countless years, they now witness events wordlessly, waiting for something to be done. Despite their misgivings, I do sympathise. Hopefully, their wait will be soon be over.

As I pass the last face in the last window of the last home on the path out of Seyda Neen, I feel relief to be leaving for a few hours. Climbing the hill, I approach the platform where my transport will (hopefully) soon be.

"Good morning, Darvame." I wave at the Dunmer caravaner, her azure skin shining softly in the sunlight.

"Morning, Sera," the woman returns. "The Silt Strider is not due back for another fifteen minutes."

"No worries," I say, taking a chair on the high, wooden platform. "I'll wait."

Before long, I hear the Silt Strider's call. The otherworldly sound echoes through the pass in the mountains, and down to us.

A few moments later, the colossal, six-legged creature comes into view and begins to draw near. Finally, it stops next to the platform.

Nobody disembarks at Seyda Neen.

I don't blame them.

I climb into the hollow section of the beast's enormous shell, and come to rest on a floor of dry, stiff muscle tissue.

Gazing upon the space in which I sit, I cannot believe that I have gotten used to this. As a girl, I used to hear stories about Vvardenfell in my Cheydinhal home. My uncle used to tell me of how the Dunmer there had domesticated a variety of insect native to their lands, utilising the gigantic beings for transport by manipulating organs accessed through an artificial opening in their shell. Armed with the knowledge from those stories, I figured that I could expect little surprise when I arrived in Morrowind. Wow, was I wrong.

The ride is comfortable. The lumbering creature moves lazily, but its lack of speed is more than compensated for by the sheer immensity of its gait.

Less than a minute goes by before we have surmounted the range between Seyda Neen and Pelagiad. The salt fades from the air as we retreat from the ocean and enter the verdant, green pastures of the Ascadian Isles.

The day is hot and the breeze is cool. I lower my back onto the creature's shell, the manufactured curve there accommodating my body perfectly. Tilting my head torpidly to the right, I spy Pelagiad, the Imperial town obscured by the towering mushroom trees moving by. I resist the urge to spit in its direction.

In almost no time at all, we depart the Isles and cross into Foyada Mamaea. The view from this place up here is exquisite; always my favourite part of a Silt Strider ride. From this vantage point, I can see directly up the grey, ash-covered ravine and up to its creator: Red Mountain. That volcano is the dominating feature of the island, and, on a clear day, its large, sinister form be seen from all the way from Skyrim.

Once out of the foyada, my destination passes languidly to my right. There is no platform on which to disembark here, so I'm going to have to get off at Balmora a ways down the road and then double-back. My usual frustration about this fact does not trouble me today; my body is thankful for the few extra minutes of rest. That gratitude evaporates as soon as I find myself standing on the main road, looking at Fort Moonmoth in the distance.

Sighing, I press on.

As I approach the wall of the fort, I notice something strange: there are no men guarding the battlements. Then, I see where the must have went.

Four large teams of soldiers — consisting of perhaps the entire military population of the fort — are arming themselves in the staging area. Having collected their swords, axes, spears, and bows, each team assembles into its own formation, and heads toward the gates.

A bad feeling forms in the the pit of my stomach as they do. What's going on?

I nod to the leader of one of the teams during their approach. Urfling, a bearded, burly Nord and the only solider here whose name I remember, comes over. The trooper stops before me and salutes. "Greetings, Errant Caecilia. It has been too long."

"At ease, Urfling" I say absently, glancing nervously around at the emptying fort. "I agree. What's happening here?"

"Solea Nuccusius was kidnapped last night," he replies in his gruff, overly-loud voice. "The commander has ordered a thorough search and investigation."

"What?" I ask in stunned disbelief. I have known that woman — Solea — for many years and have sparred with her on several occasions. Based on what I have seen, I would have imagined that an army would have trouble putting her down. That woman is deadly — with a sword or without. "How?"

The Nord shakes his head. "All we know is that one hell of a battle took place in her quarters last night. Apart from that, we know little."

I turn to look at the retreating shapes of the three teams fanning away from the fort. As I do, my anxiety begins to increase. Seyda Neen is not far from here — is it possible that whoever did this to Solea is also the one who is responsible for what is happening back in town?

"Thank you, Urfling," I say, and bid him farewell.

The interior of the fort is deathly quiet, and the few who remain exhibit the same symptoms of the citizens back home in Seyda Neen. They are melancholic and troubled, and it shows in every one of their nervous movements.

Climbing the spiral staircase in the warmly lit brick building, I arrive outside the office of the man who I have come here to see. A man who, for the past month or so, I have been desperately trying to avoid.

Under normal circumstances, I would not even consider raising my hand to knock on the door in front of me, but, for the people of Seyda Neen — as ungrateful as they appear to be — I will.

My knuckles rap against the wooden structure, and I hear shuffling in the room beyond.

Soon, the door opens, and a familiar face stands there to greet me.

The corners of the man's eyes crinkle, and his lips curl into a small smile.

"Well, isn't this a surprise."

A/N: Thank GOD we're out of Seyda Neen. I was starting to get claustrophobic there. We'll be back soon, though, so don't worry. Stay tuned :-)