A/N: Alright. I was originally going to release three chapters at once because the third seemed significantly more epic, but ultimately I decided otherwise. Eitherway, I don't think I'm scrapping the idea of releasing chapters in batches.

Also, I tried a slightly different stylistic approach with this one. Tell me if it reads any better or worse than my recent few.

And yes, there was no chapter entitled "Dreading Part One" that I forgot to release. Hopefully you'll figure out why I named this chapter what I did once you finish.

"Collected from the Notes of Bendu Olo, West King of Anvil and Baron-Admiral of the All Flags Navy, and Dealer of Swift Justice to the Foul Spot of Thras.

Life Cycle:

Juvenile: Disgusting little amorphous grubs.

Adolescent: Soft, squishy octopuslike things that cannot emerge on land.

Adult: No outside limit to age or size. Individuals seen on land in Tamriel tend to be older, corpulent adults; the trait of greed is common in these individuals, and they excel as merchants and smuggling entrepreneurs. Younger adults lack essential surface survival skills, and are rarely seen on land. Older adults collapse under their own weight unless buoyed by water." - Pocket Guide to the Empire, First Edition

Sun's Dusk 14, 4E1

(Fights-up-close): Padomiac Ocean

I'd already detached myself from the rope, flipped my backpack to my anterior, unzipped it, and opened the water-proof container eat lunch.

Feeling confident to eat at a relatively slow speed, I took another bite of the sandwich. It was the first meal eaten somewhat comfortably since leaving Argonia: I still wasn't at ease but was more comfortable than during the last three meals, which I'd wolfed down or skipped outright due to fear of the ship driving away while I was detached. But now their behavioral patterns were sufficiently clear; not only did they take awhile eating, but they'd also only leave the ship after a meal, if at all.

All this time away from the rope was precious.

It would probably feel even better to get some sleep: last night I hadn't allowed myself such a luxury, too afraid to dose off so close to the enemy, but now that worry had largely faded.

The plan was sounder than I thought. My doubts had been silly, just another manifestation of a mental problem I'd had ever since taking out the Black Hand.

I stuffed the remainder of crust in my mouth.

Fingers now free, I flexed them. They were quite cramped after holding onto the rope for so long.

After a few more flexes, I closed the water-proofer container back up, and zipped the back-pack up again and flung it back around one-hundred-eighty degrees.

I stretched my fingers some more, spreading them like rays of sunshine in a child's painting.

It seemed like I'd already mastered riding with the vessel: that was stage one of this mission.

However, the ominous mysteries of Thras waited. The books I'd read had given little tactical help, so I was largely on my own in one of the most feared regions in Tamriel. It would be a surreal mission working in a coral kingdom designed by amphibious slugs who were magically advanced beyond Tamrielic understanding. Knowing so little about what waited there, I'd largely be flailing through the assignment, trying to live moment by moment with only the most basic, common-sense knowledge to use tactically, deadly powers at every corner.

With those thoughts, mastering the first stage of this mission didn't seem so satisfying anymore.

(Densius Fidelis): Argonian Royal Palace, Black Marsh

Sitting alone and human, I was a sore thumb. The loneliness was a reminder of Cicero and Zaheen's deaths. Worse yet, this was how the next week and half would be.

I ate slowly because the palace food was one of the few highlights of my 'free' time here. After swallowing more of the marinated vegetables, I took another sip of wine. Although I'd looked forward to this time off, today had offered mostly boredom. The riches of the palace seemed to mean much less than I expected, especially given that I was surrounded by people who didn't speak Cyrodiillic and were agents of an enemy of the Empire. I felt imprisoned and low-spirited now. The Legion had taught me to rely on the comradery of alliance to keep away ennui, but this place didn't offer that.

Soch-Eena, on the other hand, must have been having quite an 'adventure' speeding through the ocean. Despite the unexpected boredom, I did pity her.

Ironically, she'd be seeing Cyrodiil before this Imperial. That country now seemed so distant; it was so odd to imagine the shining white stone of the Imperial City, and clear vistas that would let one see greenery from miles, and the mountains that towered over the horizon.

Yet what would I do once back in Cyrodiil? I'd found myself so bored in the present, practically crawling up the walls, even with all the wealth in the palace. How could the ten-thousand septim reward cure me? My friends had been my life's muses, after all.

Maybe I'd be lucky enough to have some role in Black Marsh once it was opened, to be in the excitement of progress first hand, adding one more prosperous land to Tamriel and changing what people saw as absolutes. That wouldn't be boring at all.

But before it was opened, the cure would have to be analyzed and replicated and, alas, that would surely take a long time.

With only a few forkfuls left, I wondered what I would do once finished:

I could go back to the library, that was where I was spending most of my time. Yet even though I might find a book to fall in love with there, another ten hours of the day relying on text hardly sounded appealing. Besides, doing anything felt like a heavy task right now.

Probably the only thing that kept this time bearable was the ability to fantasize about the mission coming to an end and Black Marsh being opened after its hundreds of years of isolation. The image of the tribals soon taking part in the glories of technology and becoming another economic factor in the civilized world was beautiful one. Yet even those fantasies were becoming more impotent as the immediate needs of keeping myself amused moved to the forefront. Yet I predicted that would have to reverse eventually: once it was almost time for the invasion.

Swallowing the final forkful, I got up and turned around, now accustomed to the servants cleaning up after everyone.

Ahead there was a man in robes leaning on the far wall who seemed to be eyeing me firmly.

How long had he been doing that? It wasn't pleasant being stared at by one's enemy.

Half out of unease, and half showing him how uncommunicative that stare was, I stared back.

He continued.

After the awkward eye-lock, he beckoned. What awaited? Although it surely would end the boredom, would I regret what was wished for?

I began walking towards him, but shifted my eyes to the crowded rightward briefly. Then I looked back at him. He was still staring, seemingly disregarding my comfort.

Was I in some sort of trouble? I shifted my gaze to the floor and started to tense up a little. Did they somehow know about the map? My stomach started to ache. My stomach started to ache. Had they seen this suspicious 'adventurer' give it to Soch-Eena?

I was very close to him, and was suddenly getting the feeling I didn't have to worry.

He spoke "Densius Fidelis," a voice deep and lethargic but less obviously accented than most of the Cyrodiillic speakers here. "You need to come to the medical room for questions and tests regarding the effects of the Hist sap on your body."

I loosened, a new found happiness seeping into the situation. So this was how Sudeeda was making her captive earn his keep! It even sounded mildly entertaining.

He broke the silence again, "Follow me."

The robed Argonian passed through the opened double doors and I followed, the chatter and clashing silverware fading to the quite of the hall.

He'd said he would ask questions...

Would it be a good idea to lie to throw them off course? Otherwise, I'd be assisting their research.

But what if they gave me medical treatment based on the answers; then lieing could easily lead to gruesome consequences. My spirits were starting to sink into an ominous murk.

Now I wished boredom was my biggest problem.

As we were about the round the corner, I loathed that this dramatic and potentially fateful decision was condensed into such a small space.

I forced myself to think about it at hyper-speed: the devastation of losing their trust seemed greater than that of giving them some low-level knowledge, so it would be better to tell the truth.

But that felt like a shamefully feeble conclusion. This decision was too broad for a Lance Corporal!

We turned a corner on the right.

Was I really that important now? Soch-Eena was the one with proof. It seemed likely my own safety was an appropriate sacrifice to keep them away from knowledge.

Yet if I was caught on a blatant lie they wouldn't believe any of the answers and then they couldn't be set off course. Yes, maybe I should fall into the grace of compliance.

But I could bar them from knowledge by simply not telling the truth. That sinking feeling returned.

My mind buzzed to counter the dreadful thought. My heart was beginning to pound, seeing a war-esque situation in the middle of a seemingly innocuous procedure.

Would barring them from knowledge and possibly setting them off-course with their research into Hist-Sap body modification be worth risking my life for? A military operation to keep the enemy from commonplace knowledge on Hist sap did sound disturbingly plausible. I might indeed meet death before victory, solemn as that was, and never really see the fruits of this expedition. That dramatic thought deeply enveloped my mind.

We turned another corner.

Yet they knew I was not a simple traveler, so there must have been some reason they thought I would give them the truth.

Maybe they believed I was too afraid of the consequences. If that was the case then, unfortunately for both of us, they'd under-estimated my resolve.

Maybe it would be the solemn duty of this soldier to lie to them. With luck, though, they wouldn't realize it.

But their doom would be coming in...about two weeks. Would they really have time to apply the answers I gave them? Maybe my safety was worth it.

Yet how could one weigh the survival of a single person against the knowledge of a whole harmful institution?

Tightening in anticipation, I sought to find an objective answer by taking myself out of the equation and running an otherwise identical scenario by my intuition: Would I kill an innocent person to prevent the kind of knowledge I was about to give them from getting into their hands?

...

No.

The worry floated away and I felt like laughing! I was granted another day. Perhaps I would indeed see the glory of the Empire spreading. In my head I danced and sang with joy.

We entered the medical room.

Right in front of us were some couches, probably for waiting, but they were empty. The room was full of corners and contained at least three doors in a sort of mini-hall. The "room", as it was called, was more like section. I followed him ahead and slightly to the right, still not sure where he was heading.

Glancing to the left I saw a fourth door, and turning further to the left revealed a table with a white sheet and something akin to a shaving razor (only narrower) on it: a crass combination. There was also a pot of ink and a quill there.

I returned my gaze to the Argonian.

The mage seemed to be focused on some cabinets. I began pondering what the tests might be: prodding my scales with a cue-tip to check their sensitivity? Making me squeeze something to test the strength of my scaly hand?

He stopped in front of the cabinets and began fishing through a pocket of his. The Argonian took out a key. He opened a cabinet, revealing many labeled bottles and sacks. The man unfastened one of the sacks, picked out a seed from it, and extended that seed to be on his palm.

Was it a drug? Black Marsh was known for its drugs.

I took it.

"Eat that seed and you won't feel pain during the tests. You'll know it's working when you feel dizzy."

They were kind enough to provide painkillers; that was nice. That made me feel a little less confrontational and a little less excited about the impending invasion, unfortunately.

I popped it in my mouth and started chewing. It tasted a mildly unpleasant sweet, almost nutty. Would it provide an emotional pleasure too? I'd seen pain-killers in the Legion and all sorts of confiscated drugs from criminals, but didn't recognize this seed. Might this one have strictly grown in the inner swamps? If that was the case, this was a first-hand experience with a new substance the Empire would soon have to decide how to deal with.

I swallowed. The robed healer, expressionless, started walking opposite the way I was facing. I turned and followed, what was stuck in my gums and teeth getting removed with my tongue.

He squirmed between two couches, as did I. There was another row of cabinets on the wall to the left, but he didn't seem to be going for those.

It seemed he was heading for the table. Given the razor, white sheet, and drug, I could gather these tests were fairly serious.

He took the chair to left, leaving his test subject the chair to the right.

As I pulled out that chair to sit down, I noticed he was holding a piece of paper. He put it down on the table

What would it feel like when the drugs started to kick in?

He began with a long exhale and spoke dryly. "I understand you've been growing scales on your left hand," he said monotonely "Please tell me when this process started."

When had it started? I counted back to that day...yesterday I'd been free. The day before that, Soch-Eena and I had seen the cure. For three days before that, I was hunting for the Argonian Royal Court.

So brought me five days back? Yes.

Before then I was on the mission to deliver the Dwemer equipment for three days. That brought me back eight days.

We'd been sent to get spores the day before that. Then the day earlier was when we'd been captured by the Argonian Royal Court. Ten days.

The day prior to that had been spent with the tribe who saw us as somehow "blessed", and the day before that was journeying there. Twelve days.

And it was the evening before we began that journey that I went through Hist-sap ritual.

Thirteen days.

Or that was approximately it. An exact number probably didn't matter.

"Thirteen days ago." I said, albeit conscious of the long delay. He moved to pick up the quill.

He began scribbling.

Maybe the research they conducted with this information could be of use to the Empire when our troops came.

He began his sentence with a sigh "Let me see your hand."

I extended it palm-up.

He grabbed it and examined it coldly. The scales had already claimed quite a lot of hand, extending up to the joint over the knuckle lines. It was still a bizarre sight, scales and skin mixing. He flipped it over. The scales were hugging the edges of other side too and even covering my knuckles and the base of my thumb. His face was stern. Then he let go and scribbled some more down.

How precious was this info to them? Was this just a filler activity, a piece of a Sudeeda-Atuiz power-trip, or was what had happened to me really that important to their research?

Then he read from the paper again, "Have you noticed any other Argonian traits besides the two we are already aware you posses?"

I thought, scanning the time since the scales had emerged. Nothing stood out, although no one could prove a negative. Either way, it didn't seem right to scrutinize over answers for the enemy.

"No."

I started to wonder what tests they planned to do when the drug kicked in. That razor probably had something to do with it. Were they going to shave off some scales and see if they'd grow back? That sounded pretty serious, not like something that would happen on the first day of experiments.

"Do you have scales anywhere else on your body?"

Did I have scales anywhere else?

"No."

It seemed slightly odd they were trusting a highly-probable spy on these answers. It didn't seem above them, or 'above' any government, to just strip me naked and check for themselves. Despite that, now more than ever, they had reason to believe I was a mole, they were trusting. I felt a little uneasy thinking about it.

"Have you had any strange sensations since the incident that do not visibly manifest on your body?"

I thought again, zooming through those thirteen days. But no other anamolies had accompanied the scales besides the immunities.

"No."

'No,' seemed to be the pattern here. Some faint intuition told me that was a good thing, that it meant I was helping them less, but whether that intuition was supported by logic didn't matter; I'd already pledged to comply.

"Is there pain around the immediate area of your scales?"

There was a minor ache at that moment, but that was probably the power of suggestion. I couldn't remember feeling that before.

"No," I replied, true to the pattern. That question seemed a little ominous, though. Would there be?

"Was there any evidence of those involved with dipping your hand in Hist sap extruding any further magical influence into the area?"

I replayed the moment mentally. There were no bright lights.

"Nope."

My head was starting to swim; the seed was kicking in. I felt slightly thrilled and giggly at taking a drug.

"Alright," he sighed, "was the cup holding the Hist sap made of wood?"

I thought back to the incident. The cup was indeed.

"Yes."

"Oh!" His brow perked up as he wrote down the answers which seemed to give him a bit of energy. What significance was that? What had I just done for our future war-effort here? Would what I said help them kill our soldiers when they came?

I became more uncomfortable and extra conscious of the power of my words. It was the first time he'd seemed to have enthusiasm; that couldn't be a good sign.

Then he said with a voice fresher and lighter, "Has any part of your body gone numb since the incident?"

The answer was no, I knew immediately, but I was reconsidering being truthful.

"Uhhh," Honesty was a decision that needed to be made quickly. But I hadn't realized anything that would change the reason I was telling the truth in the first place. "No," I replied, feeling the word slither through the air with a bit of apprehension.

He sighed; his demeanor seemed to be dulling again. Good. The previous question had been a freak.

There was the oddest urge to turn tilt my head side to side, no doubt an effect of the drug.

He finished writing. "Okay," he whispered to himself.

Then he rotated his wrist to check the time. "The drug should kick in fully in two minutes, then we can begin," he said in a normal voice.

He kicked back in his chair, pressed the tips of his finger-tips toghether, and looked at the ceiling above me. I looked down.

I got back to thinking about what that answer which caused him to perk up had provided. Why would the cup being wood matter? Pressing myself to think provided no enlightenment, though.

Yet I already made the decision to tell the truth before seeing how he'd react to any of the questions. There was no reason to go back on that choice.

I tried to think about something else:

Where would Soch-Eena be right now? It was about a third of the way through her journey so, imagining a map of Tamriel, it seemed she'd be just out of Black Marsh by now. She was stuck with the weirdest assignment I'd ever heard, attaching herself to a ship to ride across the ocean. She was exiting Black Marsh for her mission, which was also a surreal prospect.

But despite my imprisonment in the center of this province, I had it much easier than her. I just had to take drugs, sit, and answer questions, while she was forced to go to one of the deadliest and most mysterious places in Tamriel

Dreadfully, with a mission so dangerous, it was a serious possibility she would fail. It would take weeks to know such a thing had happened, too, which made it worse.

The proof getting to the Empire was all in her hands now. For all I knew, she might be floating face-down in the middle of the ocean with our precious map, our key to success and my key to escape, lost in the endless water. It was chilling to think of that being taken away, after all the luck I had in getting it to begin with and all the worry I went through about keeping it concealed. When our troops didn't show up far past a reasonable deadline it would be clear I'd be stuck to die here, spirits crushed, knowing our mission had failed. The thought of all the time, risks, and grueling anticipation invested in seeing this assignment work, all for it come crashing down at no fault of my own, was a sticky one.

But if she died, the mission wasn't necessarily over; it would just become nearly impossible. I could still try to get new proof and break into the area with the cure then go back to Cyrodiil myself. But even if the first two were accomplished, which seemed absurd, the third would be brutally difficult with all the human-hostile tribes in the central swamps.

Yet I tried to shake those thoughts; it would be weeks before those tasks could possibly matter.

The room felt a little like it had tilted sideways.

What kind of tests might they be doing? I did remember mentioning to Sudeeda I'd scraped my hands before they were dipped in Hist sap. Did this have something to do with that?

Oh well, it didn't matter what they would do. I'd pledged to comply, so it was pointless worrying about the details.

What did matter was what I'd do after the tests were over. Hopefully the drug would last a few hours; it would mean that much less time to figure out how to be happy.

Maybe tests like this would come daily. That would remove a significant chunk of the coming days from ennui's stare. It might even help a little with the loneliness.

Then again, to abate the loneliness I'd have to get somewhat attached to the people here. I wouldn't want those feelings when the invasion came. I already felt a tiny stab of guilt thinking of betraying them like that, seeing them all get killed or go to prison likely for life.

I tried to dissolve that thought too, however. Instead I tried to focus on what would happen when the palace got into Cyrodiillic hands:

The Empire would take control of the Hist sap research project. What had the Argonians discovered so far and what were they planning? Super-soldiers, no doubt, but how could they use nature to their advantage like that? I thought back to the leaping and thick-taloned tribals seen attacking me or my hosts near the beginning of my time here. Did they have anything in mind beyond those modifications? What other creatures could be exploited? Could they give humans animal-quality senses? In the right hands, the hands of the Empire, it was an exciting prospect. Would we make some trans-human fighters that could provide the advantages needed to win in Elsweyr and Morrowind? Would there be ethical turmoil regarding that? Would there be a biological revolution when the methods went public?

I knew one could neither feel nor envision the prospects appropriately with this drug in the blood-stream, though; It seemed to create a sort of serenity: a monotone, though not unpleasant, mindscape.

Whatever. That was what the drug told me. For now I was just trapped in this small piece of Black Marsh, waiting on my former arrest to finish the hard-work.

When the invasion force did come within visual range of the palace occupants, would the Argonian Royal Court start attacking me? Perhaps, and that could be a tough fight, given I would be alone in the headquarters of this faction. It was tracely unpleasant to think about even with the drug.

The world seemed to be tilting sideways with all its mite. The feeling took me back to childhood, when spinning around was somewhat like our version of a party-drug. I remembered a question some kid I'd known had proposed: "When you spin around in one direction for a long time, and then spin around in the other direction, do you get undizzy?" His voice was indistinct and disembodied. Who'd said that? My cousin? Some local kid? Piner Sialius? Maybe I'd try that when the seed wore off; it would stave off boredom a little longer.

The robed man looked down at his watch again. Maybe now the surgery was coming.

"The drug should have kicked in," he said dully. "Put your hand palm-down in front of me."

I complied, putting it on the table. It rested perfectly still. I'd originally pictured only soft things happening here, but now it looked like the tests would be more repercussive and serious. Oh well, it would help pass the time.

He picked up the razor and put it right under scales on my pinky knuckle. He started moving it down but caused no sensation. He went down almost to my arm, peeling off the first layer of skin to reveal a pinker under-layer.

I was content, even while getting skinned alive and the world seemed to be spinning on a spit.

Then he retracted the razor, looked at it sternly, clicked something, and started moving it back to my hand again. He was probably now going for a deeper skinning. He moved it to the area below my middle finger. The Argonian again casually dragged it down. This time I felt a little pressure. The skinning revealed a darker under layer that soon began to draw blood. He stopped above the base of my thumb.

He dropped the instrument: watching myself get skinned alive was amusing while it lasted, though the blood was somewhat worrisome.

He casually placed his finger right below the cuticle of my pinky like he intended to use some magic.

There was a subtle orange glow on his finger as he moved it armward. I felt the heat, though it didn't cross the threshold of discomfort. It seemed like nothing was happening until my flesh behind his finger was turning leathery and pink. He stopped at the scales. My hand now showcased a gruesome little museum; Neat.

Then he moved his appendage down to roughly the same area on my index finger. This time a visible, candle-sized flame was on the tip of his digit as he droningly moved it. I could feel intense heat, but only mild discomfort. The skin was peeling away and charring slightly to reveal a darker red. That was the sort of injury I'd be significantly ashamed to be seen with in the halls.

The flame went out a little before hitting the scales, though it turned the flesh adjacent to them pink.

He moved his finger to my thumb. What would his next addition to the gore-salad be?

Again he started right below the cuticle. But this time his digit glowed a bright-white with a slight blue tint. As he dragged it down, I watched for an effect, but it only pinkened my flesh like a mild burn.

Once he got close to the scales, he kept going. He stopped only a little way in. Looking at his face, the venture into scale-territory it didn't seemed to be an accident, though.

He withdrew his hand. It looked like that was it. No doubt that hand would be a hard-hitting, morbid attention getter outside without proper concealment.

The wizard pushed himself up from the table. I kept my hand still, given its state, but turned my head to follow him.

He seemed to be strolling towards the closer cabinets.

Once in front of them, he opened one. Then he stretched and reached up high for something. His sleeve fell as he did, revealing a bracelet.

My bracelet.

They'd manipulated me for those answers.

He removed a potion with an Argonian label. His sleeve sunk back over the reality-ripping bracelet and he started walking towards the table once more. He looked unaware of what he'd shown me.

My soul was sinking and dreadful thoughts started flooding in. Would my conclusion about being honest have been the same if not for the spell effect? Once I got out of range it would be a duty to think that question over again and possibly conclude it was right risk myself so close to victory. I hated his incompetence of letting his sleeve fall! My thoughts rushed over the issue as fast as they could in the drug-addled state.

Was there anything I could to do reverse the help?

He plopped down, oblivious to the storm he'd created in my mind. His clumsiness had ripped away the feelings of moral-security in participating in this activity. My world had shifted.

He uncorked the bottle.

My hand was still statue-stiff as he moved the bottle towards my fingers, but my mind wasn't. Should I pull my hand away to interrupt this experiment?

He poured the thin stream of liquid across the lighter burn. Healing potion; he was going to pour it on each wound so they'd heal very-many-fold sooner. No, I wouldn't pull it away yet.

But as he poured I thought how I hated myself for turning my head to watch him. Now it was necessary to confront the dilemma of honesty again in case of future tests, and that meant possibly confronting a soul-crushing answer. Damn illusion magic! I was already getting a slight sick feeling, fearing confronting the idea that I should endanger myself to hinder their research after it seemed inevitable the risks for me were over!

Then he tilted the bottle back upwards, finished.

"Your wounds should be healed completely in an hour. Come back here so we can examine the results." He said dryly. Those words were the subject of the incoming dilemma. It would be a long and anguishing hour in bedroom forty.

He pushed himself up. I pulled myself a bit out of the murky thoughts to do the same, but as I did I was only half in reality. To the extent the drug allowed me, I dreaded reconfronting the dilemma, the answer to which would apply in only an hour.

I realized why I'd felt somewhat guilty at the thought of invasion: the bracelet had made me sympathetic. With that epiphany such feelings disappeared. Now I felt feisty and confrontationalist.

Given how they'd biased me with the charm, the dilemma of cooperation hadn't been truly conquered. Now, as anger was starting to grow in me, I felt a bit less apprehensive about non-compliance. I'd have to face the dilemma again and perhaps the truth would be the bitter necessitation of life-risking, but my anger could provide a tea-spoon of sugar to that bitter medicine.