The first thing Lusius noticed was how dry the air was.

He tried to rationalize that away at first. After all, he had just spent weeks at sea. It wouldn't be so strange to notice a change like that just about anywhere on land, the tower included. And yet as he took another breath in the air scraped down the back of his nose like glass paper. It was an unpleasant greeting. He had only been in Ald Redaynia for a few minutes.

The corridors were long and seemed to wind longer than the size of the building should allow. Small candles had been placed in alcoves near eye-level, their wicks somehow dyed to put forth a rich, red light. It made it difficult to make out what colors the walls naturally were: there was either the burgundy-tinged tone of the little illumination the candles provided, or an utterly inscrutable darkness. The sound of their footsteps echoed beyond and behind them.

Lusius shot a glance at Imsin out of the corner of his eye. Despite the change in setting, she looked as she always had: aloof, detached, tired. He didn't bother looking to the Seneschal. The light danced in the recesses of his polished mask, but revealed nothing. They past several doors, all tightly locked shut. There, a slope leading upwards into the upper echelons of Ald Redaynia; there, the slope leading downwards, into the shadows and more.

And then, they turned right, and entered into a much larger reception room. It felt abruptly different. The lighting was almost serviceable here. Lusius' eye was first drawn to the long table in the center of the room, finely carved from an expensive tropical wood. It was resplendent in food, decked with ripe, glistening fruits and red, dripping meats. At the back, a grand, sprawling staircase led to a second level, and another locked pair of double doors at the top. Crimson tapestries hung along the walls, embroidered with symbols that Lusius did not recognize. And, somehow most surprisingly of all, another person.

Standing up from the table now was one of the native Dunmer, on the far side of middle age, dressed in attire that more befitted a clerk than a mystic. Upon seeing the trio entered his eyes flashed with hope, but once he got a better look at Imsin and Lusius that hope settled into a kind of polite confusion. "Ah, you must not be the Master of the Tower, I take it?" he said.

Lusius hesitated for a moment, to see if Imsin would speak. She did not. "I'm afraid not," he said, "My name is Saenus Lusius, formerly of the Frostmoth Garrison, under the command of Knight Protector Imsin the Dreamer."

The Dunmer offered up a smile of his own. "Well, it's mighty nice to meet you. Folks call me Drathyn. Drathyn Andavel. Can't say I much expected to see the legion round these parts, but I'm happy to meet you all the same."

Lusius took a step towards the table. "Likewise, I'm very much pleased to make your acquaintance.

As he approached, the scents of the banquet began to reach him. Savory blackened ash yams, the rich tannin of red wine—that sweet smell of that reddest of meats. Drathyn gestured to a seat, and Lusius took it. His hand drifted, passively, to the feast. But before his fingers could brush a honeycomb, he heard Imsin speak from behind him.

"Lusius," she said. The weariness of her body was not matched by the crispness of her voice.

He turned back to look at her. She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall. "Don't forget, you're on half-rations. You don't eat. Anything."

Lusius didn't understand. He wasn't on any sort of probation limiting his food or otherwise. He glanced from where Imsin stood to where the Seneschal stood, but he had vanished. Finally, he returned his attention to Drathyn. Lusius' new companion knew that Imsin didn't have a line of sight to him, and so was content to make a sympathetic grimace. He mouthed a word.

And yet, Imsin hadn't told him to avoid smalltalk, and he soon found himself with a dining partner in all ways except for any dining of his own. Drathyn took a big gulp of wine. "So, what brings the proud legions of Cyrodiil all the way to Sheogorad?"

"My apologies, but I'm afraid I'm not at the liberty to disclose that," replied Lusius, "Although I do hope that I might ask you the same."

Drathyn waved his hand. "Of course, of course. The reason would be boring, frankly, had it not devolved into misadventure. My family has an ancestral tomb on this island, some odd hours hike east of here. Every few years someone needs to make the trek north to check in on it. Clean the shrines, place new offerings, make sure some adventurer hasn't tried to loot the place. This year I pulled the short straw. Frankly, the process is a huge pain even your family tomb is near civilization and it'll damn near get you killed if it isn't. You don't need to make those kinds of trips for your divines, right?"

"Some very pious individuals engage in pilgrimage," said Lusius, "But it isn't an expectation of the faith."

"Is that so? Must say, I'm a good mite jealous. Detachment is a good attitude for a god to have. We have angry ancestors, here in Morrowind," Drathyn said, picking up and inspecting a pomegranate, "Though I must say I'm looking forward to all my descendants waiting on me, once I've kicked it." He gave the fruit a toss and caught it in his mouth. Red nectar dribbled down the corner of his lips.

Lusius tried to maintain eye contact. "Is it your custom to stay at Ald Redaynia after visiting your tomb?"

Drathyn shook his head. "Not that I know of. And I hadn't planned for it. The Ashlander I hired to ferry me across the sea never came back after dropping me off. I was in a real tight spot. But I saw some smoke rising from the distance and made the gamble that whoever was on the other end would be friendly. And were they ever!" he said, gesturing again to the feast.

"But I take it that you have yet to meet your host?"

"Mmm, yes. This 'Master of the Tower'," he said, in a rather uncourteous impression of the Seneschal, "Can't say that I have. Whoever he is, he's not much for socializing. Stays cooped up in his study," Drathyn said, gesturing his head towards the grand flight of stairs, "That butler of his ferries messages saying he's so pleased to offer his hospitality and is looking forward to sharing his table properly, but he's too tied up in his studies to come down."

Lusius didn't allow his suspicion to tarnish his smile. "Seems like a most unusual host."

Drathyn gave a laugh not unlike the bark of a small dog. "That's putting it lightly. I know you're not from around here, and there are a lot of strange stories about Morrowind in the west, but most Dunmer aren't like this." He took a moment, thinking his last sentence over. "Well, I suppose the Telvanni can be. But I don't figure that the Master is Telvanni. He'd let us know if he was. Repeatedly."

"If he is not Telvanni, who could he be?"

Drathyn rubbed the back of his head, and again mulled over his words. "Well, if you're asking me, I'd say—"

"Saenus Lusius."

Lusius shifted in his seat, startled. He looked behind himself, and into the bone-still face of the Seneschal, standing behind him. "We have prepared your room for the evening. Might I escort you there?"

His room? The evening? It couldn't be past mid-morning, given their early morning hike to the tower. He glanced to where Imsin had been standing just a few minutes ago, but she was gone. He, Drathyn and and the Seneschal were alone in the room. "Your commanding officer has already retired to her room to prepare for dinner," said his host, "The Master of the Tower wishes for you to rest now so we may all have a proper introduction, at the opportune time."

None of this seemed to surprise Drathyn, who stood and stretched. "Well, if we're being excused, I think I'll freshen up some. Hard to believe that it's already–"

Lusius stood, looking away from the Seneschal and straight to Drathyn. "Excuse me, but I have lost track of the time. What is the hour?"

Drathyn gave him a look, half-surprised that Lusius would ask such a question. "Hey now, friend, what do I look like? A clock? Let's get some rest, and maybe your grump of a commander will let you booze a little with me at dinner." With a hint of a smile, he pushed himself away from the table and walked down towards the exit of the room.

Lusius took a moment to compose himself. Suddenly, the air felt very dry again. There was no natural light to let him know the time. Could it really be mid-afternoon? Where had Imsin gone? He had hoped to think this through, but as he waited, so did the Seneschal. For now, his only workable option was to treat these people at their word.

Perhaps, tired and adjusting to the land, he was overthinking things. Perhaps.

And so he followed the Seneschal out of the reception chambers and deeper into the labyrinth that was Ald Redaynia. And at the top of the stairs, in the middle of those massive doors to the upper heights, a tiny peephole quickly and firmly latched shut.

Transference Summary: Sigil-stone based, by means of the Colored Rooms' pools

Encryption Method(s): Ward based, bypass via Blades' symmetric-key

Emergency Ward Reduction: BEX-NU-FAHDON

Good old Tye,

I think it was back in '23 when we made the bet, wasn't it? That time when we were dining at some greasy joint on the Waterfront when we saw him. The chap looked altogether a little bit too put together to be found in the gutter of the city, what with his pressed collar and shined shoes. You told me that taxman was on Alinor's payroll. I told you he was Sheogorath. And you know what – I still think I was right, dammit! You've never paid up for that. I should charge you interest.

Isn't that the difference between you and me though?

You see the man with the polished shoes and think, ah, how could he afford it? Who was he blackmailing? Who did he stiff? Yes, of course, the man's obviously betrayed somebody, but who? How? The why's unimportant. Let's prove he did it. We'll read his mail or send someone to follow him round town or kidnap and torture his lover. It'll all come out, somehow. So uncivilized. I can't believe how the Blades have decayed into a band of spooks.

You see, NONE OF THAT WORKED BECAUSE HE WAS A DAEDRA!

Yes, this is going somewhere!

You know it. I know it. Everyone knows it. The Mad God, Sheogorath, in his full, proper ensemble. Didn't matter what you tried to do to finger him. Your whole elaborate investigation collapsed because the whole thing was a game to him. An entire, cross department initiative wound up resulting in just a big old prank on you. In the end though, he must've had enough of a lark that you rubbed him the right way, since he didn't kill your career. Somehow.

The whole business more or less killed mine, though. But not in the way I had thought. I'm not stupid, Tye. I know what people would think. I had anticipated mockery: "Haw, haw, silly old X, seeing monsters in his porridge again." And here's the thing: I didn't get half concealed laughter, but absolute bewilderment.

I tell people, the taxman's clearly Sheogorath, the prince of madness. He looks just like him, dressed as he is. An old banker with a silver-capped cane and next-season's vest. And they say, back: banker? What do you mean, a banker? Isn't Sheogorath a jester? Dressed in purple motley? Isn't he obsessed with cheese? What are you talking about? Why would you call the Daedric Prince a banker? Why would you say such a thing? Are you right in the head? Are you mad?

And this is were I really got all wobbly. I looked over the same books I had read earlier that morning, and-all the words had changed! They're all twist-turned into new words and paragraphs and facts, all set out to spite me. All the old facts, the truth, they're all nicely preserved in my mind to this day. And I know they're all pickled in your mind, too. But why don't the damn bureaucrats remember! Why does the Library disagree with me! Are the Council REALLY hoodwinked, or are they just playing a fast one on your working boy?

Well, I'm asking about the means of this and not the cause. The cause is clear as day. See, I knew too much and was probably too arrogant, and the old skooma cat played his tricks on me as much as he played them on you. We all get punished in appropriately ironic ways, I reckon.

Hells, I promised you this was going somewhere, didn't I?

Do I really need to elaborate? It's obvious. Lusius is you, Imsin is me, and Drathyn is Sheogorath. Well, not Sheogorath but—ah, you understand.

I'd write more, but revisiting all of this has given me a headache.

Wasn't kidding about you paying me back.

Yours in solidarity,

\/
/\