And so Nerevar carved at the grave ghosts until he was out of breath and their Parliament could make no new laws.

He said, 'I am not of the slaves that perish.' - Thirty-Six Sermons of Vivec, Sermon 16

Gelebor was alone. No fair woman stood at the foot of his bed, and the beach vista outside had transformed into a roaring storm of waves and rain. Before, he had always woken at dawn, but there was no way of divining time from this maelstrom. Wind blew open his door and sent sheets and pillows flying. Waves of rain forced their way inside, soaking Gelebor.

What have I done, he asked, fighting his way to the doorway. What's changed? If the fair woman had spoken truly before, this beach existed somewhere in Tamriel. Which meant the Snow Elves living in their beach hut existed as well. Gelebor shielded his face from the onslaught. Every step through the soaking sands was a monumental effort. I'm coming, he yelled, the sound lost.

The silhouette of the hut materialized, miraculously intact. He dared to hope. Gelebor stumbled forwards, arm raised across his eyes. Showers of sand bit at his skin like clouds of tiny insects. He collapsed into the small dwelling. Hello? The hut was empty. Hello! Don't be afraid! The walls began to tip to the side, and a thunderbolt shook the world. When Gelebor looked up again, the roof was gone. Please! Help me!

He rolled out of his cot and landed on the ashy ground, gasping and sweating. In the moments before Gelebor remembered where he was, absolute terror seized him. He shivered and whimpered. Now I face despair even in my dreams. This world is leaving me precious few options.

"Kharjo agrees that these beds are uncomfortable," said a voice. "Is the floor much better, Knight-Paladin? I may consider joining you down there."

"Pardon?" Gelebor's mind seemed to race in all directions, leaving him few reserves to interact with the present world.

"Just a small joke. Not a good one, by Khajiit's reckoning. I've had few to practice with. Those who found themselves in my warehouse were usually looking for skooma or easy prey. Not so much laughing with these things."

"Easy prey?" He sat up, rubbing his head. Kharjo was lying on his cot, good eye turned towards Gelebor.

"Yes. There are few predators in this city, with the brave and courageous Redoran Guard watching over us, but those few...well, they do feel the need to spill blood from time to time. And they think, who would miss a dirty old cat? But these elves are not so smart. They look at broken Kharjo and think he will go easily into the dark. But I still have business left to attend to, and dying would prevent this work from being finished. The bag of bones they creep towards was once a fierce warrior of Elsweyr. My little knife claimed four lives before becoming a finger splint for the Nerevarine, Knight-Paladin."

"Oh, dear." Gelebor finally felt together enough to produce somewhat intelligent conversation. Nadene had awoken on her own cot, and watched them quietly. "Would you like it back? I'm sure we could find a replacement."

Kharjo shook his head, his drooping whiskers shaking slightly. "No. I can think of no better fate for a weapon forged of desperation."

"I'll find you a better weapon," Nadene interjected. "I don't travel with those unable to defend themselves."

"Then you will allow Khajiit to join you?" Kharjo sat up in bed, the most spirited Gelebor had seen him yet.

"First, questions." Glowing red eyes narrowed in the darkness. From the other cells of the Bulwark, only snoring. They were alone, for now. "My identity is privileged information. Who considered you worthy of this privilege?"

"My family has spoken your name with reverence for over two hundred years. Ever since the fall of the Dren Plantation on Vvardenfell, when you fought Orvas Dren in single combat and set free his slaves. You sent my ancestors to the Twin Lamps, who smuggled them into Elsweyr. Into freedom."

Nadene seemed to go somewhere else, eyes drifting away. "I seem to recall stabbing Dren in the back. And I don't remember your family."

"Of course not! We left our slave name behind with our shackles and chains. But we remember you, Nerevarine." Kharjo smiled wearily. "Or at least, Kharjo does."

She crossed her arms. "I'm not in the slave-freeing business anymore, even if there were any left."

"With respect, you have spent too much time on this island. There are still Khajiit and Argonians who live at the beck and call of elven masters, even now. In the distant reaches of Morrowind, where the Empire and your Great Houses dare not tread. But this one did not wait so long in Raven Rock to ask you along on a mission of mercy." He laid back, staring up at the ceiling.

"I'm not an assassin, either."

"And this Khajiit is not seeking an assassination. I want revenge. Revenge against those who took everything from me. The wicked, ravenous cultists of Namira."

"Namira?" Gelebor spoke, suddenly focused, shaking away the last wisps of his dream.

"I was not entirely truthful when I said our meeting at the forest shrine was by chance. I was searching for these cultists, but soon enough my supplies ran out and I was forced to return to Raven Rock. Though it seems destiny has brought us together once more."

"I have little faith in the tides of fate."

"Well," Nadene said, after a moment of silence. "I have some bad news. You missed some cultists. The n'wahs tried to eat pasty here and then burned down my tower."

Kharjo clicked his tongue. "Hmm. Frustrating that I was so close, and yet missed the signs."

"How many do you believe there are?" Gelebor asked. "We encountered only two. One, a conjurer, still lives. The other-"

"The other, I sent to the Scuttling Void with a glass arrow in her heart," Nadene interrupted.

Kharjo nodded towards her. "I thank you for this. Though Khajiit knows only the name of their leader, Eola, all of this coven are guilty. All must pay. I suspect the rest have gone to Vvardenfell. For what reason, this one does not know."

"Might I ask you a question, Kharjo?" Gelebor returned to his cot and sat down on the uncomfortable slats.

Kharjo sighed. The shadows of the cell bars fell across his face, hiding his blind eye and missing ear, and for a second Gelebor saw the knight of his distant memories.

"You wish to know why Kharjo hunts these cultists with such ferocity, at such cost to his own health and sanity."

Nadene watched intently, holding her head up with one hand, and Gelebor mimicked her quiet eagerness.

"I guarded a caravan that traveled throughout Skyrim, selling goods and supplies from all corners of Tamriel. At first, Khajiit felt no love for those he protected. I owed a debt to the caravan master, Ahkari. This was a matter of business, and nothing more. I fought off wolves and trolls, shot arrows at bandits, and laid shivering in my bedroll every night until pure exhaustion forced me into slumber. Life was dull and simple. All was well until Khajiit's foolish heart turned against him."

Several moments passed before Kharjo continued.

"I grew quite fond of one of the merchants. Zaynabi, she was called. When you travel with someone in such a cold and merciless land, you see them for who they truly are. There is nowhere to hide yourself on those nights of quiet desperation and frigid solitude. I saw who Zaynabi was, and wanted more. I believe she felt the same. Or else just took pity on pathetic Khajiit. Whatever the reason, we became closer than I had intended. This...this was unwise. Children are ill suited to caravan life. But when Khajiit held his first kitten under the light of the twin moons...he had thoughts only for the warm bundle in his arms. Perhaps if he had not been so distracted..."

"Kharjo," Nadene said, holding out her hand. "You can't-"

"Quiet, please." Kharjo turned his head away from them. "This is Khajiit's story, and it is not yet finished. Ahkari begged me to stay with the caravan, at least until the warmer months. I wished to return to Elsweyr. To home. We had gold enough for the journey, and I was weary of wandering a land that does not trust or love my kind. But Zaynabi convinced me, and I thought of my enslaved ancestors in Vvardenfell and their hardships.

Surely a season or two in Skyrim is nothing in comparison. So we stayed. Zaynabi and I held our little kitten between us in the night, desperate to keep him warm. The summer never came that year, but before Evening Star my wife was with child once more. After the second kitten's birth, leaving became a more troubling prospect. Even so, life was not so bad. I got to spend every day with my family. Our caravan moved to the warmer corners of Skyrim, going between Whiterun and Markarth."

Sanyon's words came back to Gelebor. Our old home, Markarth. A fine place for our coven. He swallowed and continued listening.

"Khajiit's second was a girl. She softened my heart, made me weak and vulnerable. She was only two years old. I could deny her nothing. We were a day's journey out of Markarth, surrounded by craggy cliffs. Gnarled trees hung over us at ugly angles, but a small stream through the rocks provided clear and cold water. Even so, the Reach is a cruel place. A howling wind came down the mountain, sending one of our tents flying and frightening my younglings. I couldn't bear to see my little kitten so afraid. I left the caravan under the guard of Dro'marash while I went to look for pretty flowers. Dark clouds filled the sky. The moons were hidden from us. Do you understand?"

Gelebor shook his head, not daring to speak. Kharjo took a long breath before continuing.

"When I returned to the campsite, I found monsters cloaked in shadow carrying away the massacred remnants of the dead. They cast spells of preservation on the corpses. My spirit burned. I knew nothing but torment, forever and ever. Before I could put this agony into action, the monsters began to eat amidst the ruins of the caravan. Khajiit crept closer, a coldness gripping his heart. When he saw...when he saw Zaynabi's lifeless eyes staring back at him, and heard the cracking of bone and tearing of flesh, all else fell away. Kharjo witnessed all of this, and went somewhere else. For a long time. I am still waiting for him to return."

Gelebor and Nadene exchanged glances of shock and worry.

"Are you okay?" Gelebor asked, regretting the words almost as soon as they left his mouth.

"Are any of us, Knight-Paladin?" Kharjo smiled. "I fancy none in this cell sleep comfortably. But Khajiit pushes down the pain and memories, as he suspects the Nerevarine does. I have done enough crying and cursing. When I rid this world of that coven, the time will come for Kharjo to rejoin his family. Until then, best to get some sleep."

None of them spoke much after that. Gelebor had never had children, but the Chantry had. He strained his memory, recalling their pale little faces, how tiny their skulls had been in the afterwards. Kharjo is seized by a despair I will never know. My problems seem so little, now. He peered through the bars of the cell, his mind racing with concerns and regrets, and realized there was a Redoran guard next to the farthest door. He'd previously mistaken the motionless lump for a piece of furniture. The armored elf was slumped in a chair, his bonemold visor hiding any hint of consciousness. Judging by the angle of his head, however, Gelebor was sure the guard was asleep.

An orange lantern was on the table next to him, slowly dying as the minutes marched on. The shadows grew longer. Gelebor stared into the light, thinking of Othreloth's words and Kharjo's story. Was I put here to help this Khajiit find his revenge? Is that what Auriel wants, what I've been heading towards my entire life? The possibility seemed unlikely. Whatever else he felt about the sovereign of the Snow Elves, Gelebor was fairly certain vengeance was not something Auriel much cared for. Or else he'd have had me depopulating Skyrim these past years, one Nord at a time.

And then there was the matter of his dreams. Gelebor knew they had to be coming from somewhere else; whatever his current traumas, they weren't capable of pushing his mind to conjure such vivid and powerful visions alone. The Aedra and the Daedra both used dreams as a way to communicate visions and prophecies to their followers. Perhaps Auriel is speaking at last, just in time to hear my final rejection. Or Mara has taken pity on me. The woman he saw in the dreams certainly resembled that benevolent Divine. But his last dream had been anything but benevolent. He shuddered, recalling his final moments on the beach before the rain and wind had claimed the ruined hut. Whoever is sending me these images, they certainly have little regard for my failing sanity.

Rain began to fall outside. Though there were no windows, the downpour was fierce enough to be audible even to the prisoners in their cells. Gelebor was unpleasantly reminded of his dream. The guard near the door awoke with a start, nearly knocking his goblet off the table. He steadied the cup just as the door to the Bulwark opened and a dripping Dunmer in noble clothes entered. The noble didn't pause before heading towards their cell.

"Nadene?" Gelebor shook her shoulder lightly. Her skin seemed warm even through her clothes. "I think someone's come to see you."

"Huh?" Nadene opened her eyes a sliver and glanced towards the approaching elf, and then sat up blinking. "Oh. Alright. You two, keep your mouths shut. I'll handle this."

Gelebor retreated to the shadowed corner to sit on his cot. The noble stopped in front of the bars, hands clasped behind his back. Water dripped and made small wet circles in the ash.

Nadene stood up, her spine as straight as an arrow, and bowed slightly.

"Extraordinary." He raised an eyebrow. "When Captain Veleth told me we had the Nerevarine in the Bulwark, I thought it an unseasonable attempt at humor."

"It seems you have me at a disadvantage," Nadene replied, smiling politely. "You must be Councilor...?"

"Second Councilor Adril Arano." He didn't return the smile. "For many decades now. By Azura, Councilor Morvayn had the right of it. You truly have been living out in our wilds for two hundred years, haven't you?"

Though Nadene bristled when Arano said 'our woods', Gelebor doubted anyone else noticed. She seemed to be going through considerable effort to be gracious to the nobleman.

"But I have to make absolutely certain before we speak further. The security of Raven Rock is my top priority, especially with the Councilor away to Blacklight on business." Arano held out his open hand. Moon and Star sat on a piece of velvet cloth, a careful distance from his fingers.

"I'm glad to see my ring wasn't damaged in the fighting." Nadene took a step closer to the bars. "I dearly hope no one else tried to wear it in the interim."

"Our most junior guardsman nearly did so, but fortunately Captain Veleth recognized the signs in time and smacked the fool to a safer range." Judging by how Arano avoided looking at the ring in his palm, he didn't consider himself to be at that distance.

"I'm glad to hear it. Too many have died already." Nadene reached through the bars and picked up the ring with her finger, letting it slide on like a well-tailored glove.

Arano released a breath he seemed to have been holding for a while. "Then it is you. The Nerevarine. Boethiah take me, we've thrown Indoril Nerevar incarnate into a filthy Bulwark cell."

"Yes." Nadene held her ring up to the dim lanternlight, looking closely. "And if you'll just release us, my friends and I will be on our way."

Arano seemed to notice Gelebor and Kharjo. He appeared to dismiss the Khajiit almost immediately, but lingered an unpleasant amount of time on Gelebor.

"Second Councilor?" Nadene let her hand fall to her side, apparently satisfied. "Can we go now?"

"Not quite. As I said, Raven Rock's protection is paramount. It comes before all else. Even before the freedom of one of Morrowind's greatest heroes. And two elves are lying dead in our Temple, where none have died violently for five seasons. No one will miss them, or that wretched orc, but I demand an explanation. Why didn't you tell anyone you were coming here?"

"Come, now. If I'd announced my arrival, one of your guards would surely have spread the knowledge. To his drinking companions, to his wife, it makes no difference. I would have been swarmed by the devout as soon as I stepped foot into the city. Not to mention, there are still those in Morrowind who want my head on a platter. As far as the bodies go, I did my best to avoid the fatal outcome. Mogrul refused to heed my warnings about the ring's power, and his companions became quite agitated shortly afterwards." Gelebor didn't fail to notice she omitted mention of her previous clandestine visits to Raven Rock.

"Hmm. I can...somewhat sympathize, with your point of view." Arano crossed his arms. "It will be difficult enough to hide your presence, now that the guard know your face. Though it seems they've failed to collect a name. House Redoran's records are a bit conflicted on the subject." He looked at her searchingly.

"Surely you'll allow me to hold on to that last vestige of my privacy, Second Councilor?" Nadene smiled prettily. "It's not that I don't trust you. But if my name becomes common knowledge, my current place of residence will surely follow, and so higher the chance of another...incident."

"Is that a threat?" Arano asked, though there was little heat behind the question.

"A warning. I do hope you're satisfied with my answers, now. I'd heard such wonderful things about Raven Rock, but I was hoping to see more than the inside of the Bulwark."

"Now I know you're toying with me, madam." Arano smiled tightly. "Our records may be incomplete, but my memory is not so fallible. When Lleril Morvayn and I first came to Raven Rock, after his mother passed, the city was a ruined shadow. But it was a city, at that, and one you helped build."

"Was it? I must have forgotten." Nadene fanned herself. "It's so dreadfully warm down here, Arano. Do you think we could skip the rest of this conversation and reach the part where we're released?"

"Very well." Arano sighed, and raised a finger. The door guard stumbled forward with a set of jangling keys. He opened the cell door. Nadene slipped through, and Gelebor followed, helping a shaky Kharjo along.

"We'll do our best to avoid further trouble," Nadene promised. She massaged her wrists after the guard removed the magicka-draining irons, and quietly healed her broken finger. "You have my word."

"Yes. Well." Arano rubbed his brow. "I apologize for this unfortunate happening. Could I ask one thing from you, before you go?"

"Yes?"

"In the near future, House Redoran will be holding a formal dinner in collaboration with the East Empire Company, to celebrate the founding of Raven Rock. Councilor Morvayn will have returned by then, and the festivities will take place at his manor. Many elves of note from Blacklight will be attending. It would mean everything to the Councilor and I if you would make an appearance."

"Morvayn doesn't even know I'm here yet." Nadene made a face. "And I don't like to get involved in politics."

"Not politics. Duty, honor, and piety. You were the warrior who fought against the Sixth House and saved Morrowind from utter ruin. And you once held a high place in the ranks of Redoran."

"Bah, fine. I'll think about it."

"That is all I can ask." Arano nodded gravely to them and made his departure.

"That seemed unusually amicable," Gelebor commented. Nadene was collecting her personal items from the large chest near the door.

"Yes. I'll tell you why, later." She strapped on the final part of her glass armor, and looked at her letter from Habisunilu for a moment before putting it into a side pocket. His own pieces of armor, those beautiful remnants of the Snow Prince, were still being refitted at the local blacksmith.

"Where next?" Kharjo stood between them, nearly swaying on his feet. It was the first he'd spoken since revealing his mission. "Khajiit will follow you anywhere, Miss Othryn."

She held up a finger. "First: stop calling me that in public, unless you want us all to end up back in that cell over there. The guards already know what I am. If they learn who I am, as well, we're going to be in real trouble. Second, I've no idea. You want to get to Vvardenfell, to kill some cannibals. Wonderful. I don't see why you need me for that. Surely there are boats at the docks that can take you there."

"Nerevarine," Gelebor interrupted. The title felt strange on his tongue. "Look at him. You can't seriously be thinking of sending him to that island alone, knowing what he faces."

"Ugh. I don't know." She rubbed her eyes. "Let's just get out of this wretched place. I'll be able to work through this mess more clearly when I'm not worrying about curious listeners."

The door guard didn't look up at them as they left the Bulwark. Gelebor had little doubt the elf had been listening to their conversation; it was probably the most interesting thing he'd hear today. Nadene was right. They needed to regroup in a more private location before deciding on anything.

The downpour was unrelenting. They stood watching the rain, still protected by the slight overhang of the Bulwark entryway.

"I hope your house is not very far," Kharjo said, looking up glumly.

"Just the other side of the city," Nadene replied. "But don't worry. I've come prepared." She closed her eyes, and moved her fingers in a complex incantation. A shimmering field materialized above them, and it vanished from sight just as quickly. She stepped out into the rain, and the drops seemed to simply vanish around her.

"Come," Nadene beckoned. "You'll have to stay close."

Gelebor and Kharjo didn't hesitate to join hands with her. Her skin was cool and callused compared to his, but Gelebor found that he didn't mind. They walked through the wet streets. Small streams of ash ran down side trenches, racing towards the docks. Only guards were outside in this kind of weather: miserable statues of bonemold armor, standing under awnings where they could and enduring the rain silently where they could not. That was a fair summation of the Dunmer, to Gelebor. A Redoran Guard watching grimly over the outlanders in his city, refusing to budge from his post, while water dripped down his bone helmet like spouts off a decorative fountain.

"I had heard of your powers," Kharjo said, marveling. "But to see them in action is an excitement all its own. Khajiit is in awe."

"It's nothing, really." Nadene said. "Just a variation on your standard water-walking spell." Despite her casual demeanor, Gelebor could tell projecting the magic over all three of them was taking a small toll on her. The lines at the corner of her eyes were tightened in concentration. She's not so different from the stalwart guard, really. Not so different at all.

"You said you'd tell me why you treated the Second Councilor with such special regard," Gelebor reminded her. He had to speak loudly to be heard over the rain.

"Aye." Nadene glanced around, before apparently realizing that no one could eavesdrop on them in such conditions. "Few know who I am. But it's important that I don't piss off those few, in case I should ever need something from them. The Nerevarine must not be forgotten, Gelebor. If they forget me, then they might start forgetting more important things." She looked back over her shoulder, to the horizon. Gelebor looked back himself. Even among the clouds of storm, Red Mountain dominated all.

"You aren't worried about annoying me?" Gelebor asked.

"At first, I didn't think you were important enough to bother." Her concentration wavered for a moment, and a few stray drops passed through the shield. She smiled at him, but there was a nervousness there he'd never noticed before. "Now I know you'll put up with me."

"Quite right."

They didn't speak again before reaching Nadene's house. The dwelling was built in an Imperial style, much like the rest of the buildings in the Old Rock district, but it was one of the few still maintained to a habitable standard. Compared to the Redoran constructions of chitin and clay, the house was not overly large. To Gelebor it seemed a palace. Nadene let the shield collapse and they quickly ran inside. Even so, they were nearly soaked.

"What an honor," Kharjo said, dripping. He looked around at the simple furnishings and the wooden décor, starstruck.

Nadene was leaning forward, hands on her thighs, breathing somewhat heavily. Gelebor moved to help her, but she waved him away.

"I can never repay you for letting me stay here, kind Nerevarine. My Zaynabi would be in shock to see where I stand."

"Please, just Nadene while we're in here," she finally managed to speak. "I like to forget sometimes that I'm the reborn aspect of an ancient Chimer general who was murdered by all his friends."

"Khajiit apologizes." Kharjo took in their collective dishevelment, and the water dripping on the floor, and seemed to make some sort of decision. "He will make himself useful, so as not to be a swamp leech on Miss Othryn's courtesy."

"There's really no need-"

But Kharjo had already grabbed a sponge from a nearby shelf and was down on his knees, mopping up the dirty water. Nadene watched, eyes wide. Gelebor felt a stab of pity for them both.

"Come, Nadene." He gently guided her away, in the direction of her bedroom. "I'll make sure our new friend is well taken care of." For whatever reason, concerning himself with others seemed to distract him from his own problems. Perhaps that's why Nadene took me in, herself.

"I'm lost on what our next step should be," she murmured as they walked. "I...I can't go back. I just can't. If the cultists strike at you again, of course I'll help, and I'd even hunt them down on Solstheim if Kharjo asked. But Vvardenfell..."

"We'll worry about that in a little while." Gelebor sat her down on her bed. "For now, we all need a bit of rest. I'm sure we'll think of something later on." Though all they'd had to do in that cell was lie down, he suspected that none of them had truly slept well.

"Maybe." He helped Nadene take off the glass armor and store it in the armoire. When they'd finished, Nadene reached into her pocket and withdrew her letter. She seemed pleased to find it dry, and put it down on the table next to her bed. Gelebor lingered, feeling a bit awkward, and was about to leave when Nadene spoke again.

"After you help Kharjo get cleaned and settled, let the guars inside and return here."

"Pardon?"

"The guest room has only one bed." Nadene didn't look up at him. "Kharjo, even in his dilapidated state, is a large Khajiit. So you'll be sharing this bed. With me. It's just practical."

"Surely I can sleep-"

"On the couch? Don't make me laugh. If you hadn't told me you were a Snow Elf, I'd have thought you the unfortunate offspring of a giant and a frost troll. Your legs will hang off. Besides, it's my bed. In my house. And you're my guest."

"Oh." Gelebor rubbed the back of his neck. "Fine, then. If that's what you wish."

"It most certainly is." Nadene threw off her cloak, and it landed neatly on a wall hook near the armoire. "Now hop to it, endling."

As a young priest, Gelebor had often been assigned to tend to the weak, the old, and the young of the Chantry, so he was no stranger to cleaning others. Kharjo, for the most part, seemed not to care what happened to him. Whether it was lack of pride, lack of shame, or simple apathy, Gelebor could not fathom. Kharjo wordlessly allowed Gelebor to clean his filthy fur and toss away the torn rags he'd been using as clothing. Soon enough, the Khajiit was standing clean and clothed in Nadene's guest room, looking less a faded remnant and more a living being.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" Gelebor stood in the doorway with a smile. I don't need Auriel to know what kind of elf I am. This kindness is all my own. For a moment, he felt almost whole again.

"You have done quite enough, Knight-Paladin." Kharjo couldn't stop touching the clean cloth wrapped around his body, a curious warmth in his eyes. "More than this Khajiit deserved, certainly. I had forgotten such generosity still existed in the world. Thank you. And please, tell Miss Othryn the same."

"I will."

Ur and Alma were grateful to be let in from their pen, where they had been huddled under the small awning, shivering and wet. Watching them track mud across the dining room, chirping happily, Gelebor did not look forward to the cleaning that would certainly have to take place. But he was glad to see the guars.

Finally, the moment of truth. Gelebor hesitated at the door to Nadene's bedroom, strange new feelings sending shivers through his stomach. Come, now. I didn't guard the Chantry for centuries from threats small and large just to cower before a door. He went inside and found Nadene already asleep, one hand fallen on the sealed letter on her chest. He carefully put the envelope back on the table and climbed into bed himself. Gelebor put a careful distance between them, which was easier then he'd thought it'd be. She has an awfully large bed, for one who lives alone.

Nadene shifted around, clearly still awake. After a few minutes, he heard her lighting the bedside lantern. There was a rustling of paper.

"Reading your Vvardenfell letter?" He asked.

"Aye." She tossed the envelope aside. "I think I like Kharjo, but his story was fucking depressing."

"That it was."

Gelebor turned his head. Nadene held her letter up to the pale light. She gasped. Drops of dark crimson dotted the parchment, blossoms of nightshade in snow. Hastily scribbled words trailed off into meaningless marks of desperation and pain, and below the passages: a grinning skull of green. The letter slipped from Nadene's hand, drifting to the floor like the last fallen leaf of Frostfall before the winter winds.