Safia Dren

I sat at a simple wooden desk with a quill and bottle of ink in the Temple in Balmora. A copy of the Pilgrim's Path laid in front of me next to fresh sheaves of paper. I enjoyed copying the writings word for word, page for page. The writing was not fancy. Not like some of the nicer copies of Vivec's Sermons. This was a pilgrim's book. It was to be affordable and readily available. Calligraphy served no part of that purpose.

I copied the scripture among six other laymen, all of us supervised by an aging priest who took turns watching the work over our shoulders. When I detected a presence behind me, I assumed it was the priest until I realized he was on the other side of the room and the presence behind me remained. I stifled a small jolt of anxiety and broke from my concentration, glancing back to see my father standing in the back of the room, just watching. My heart skipped a beat and my skin crawled until I assured myself that I hadn't been caught doing anything but what I'd told him I was doing. A drop of ink fell from my quill and splashed on the paper I'd been writing. I released a gasp of frustration, a number of words now covered by a large splotch.

The priest turned to me, noticing the noise, and spoke reassuringly. "Do not distress. It is bound to happen from time to time. Still, do be careful. Wasted materials delay the good work."

I bowed my head politely. "I understand and apologize Muthsera. Please excuse me a moment. I have a visitor."

I carefully set the quill in the inkwell and stood, making as little noise as possible to avoid distracting the other writers. Orvas lifted the curtained doorway and stepped back into the shrine room. I slowly followed, my soft cloth shoes scuffing quietly on the stone floor. My mind was running away with frightening thoughts. There were any number of reasons for him to come and see me and none would bode well for me. I was inarguably at my happiest when father was too occupied with his work to pay me any mind and that was quite often.

Once outside the workroom, father strode around the shrine room that bore obelisks to the saints. I hurried to join him, eager to avoid his displeasure. Orvas pretended not to notice me at his side and I knew better than to speak out of turn. He would speak when he felt the moment was right which usually meant a small wait period to let the other party feel uncomfortable. The light of candles cast their shadows in the recesses of the walls. From deeper within, a blind priest vocalized a hymn of praise to Almalexia.

Orvas came to a standstill, staring at one of the stone obelisks. "How are you fairing daughter?"

His voice was soft and full of concern. I debated whether the emotion was genuine and shuddered slightly, unable to keep my unease out of my voice. "As well as is to be expected father."

Orvas slowly nodded. "I am, so very sorry about Balyn."

I shuddered, this time with rage. According to his view, it was my place to pretend I didn't know he was involved. That was what he expected of me, 'as a good daughter' he'd said more times than I could count. Unable to make myself stoop to what he wanted, I steeled myself to defy him, knowing there would be punishment. "No you're not."

Father made a short, huff of a laugh. "No, I suppose I'm not, but I am sorry that you are bereaved."

I glanced up at him, surprised at his nonchalant response. He was tall for a Dunmer. He used his height to full effect, always seeming to tower over others. "Was it you?" This only came out as a squeak.

"Sorry," Orvas questioned, cupping a hand to his ear?

"Did you have Balyn killed?" Once the words left my mouth, I knew I'd given him a rope he'd use to strangle me.

Orvas stood still, letting me feel every second of tension and filling the room with his presence. He couldn't help but lick his lips. The fear was delicious to him. Finally, I lowered my head, coming to a conclusion on my own. Only then did Orvas reply, "Not only was he a Telvanni, he worked for the Imperial guild. He was a rival and a race traitor and unworthy of company as rich as yours." Orvas turned the full bearing of his person on me. "You haven't been home since he died. Are you really taking it that badly?" He felt the rough wool of the priestess robe I wore. "Are you dedicating yourself to the Temple as a... priestess?" He drew out the last word, filling it with tones of derision.

I pulled myself away from my father's touch. "I may as well. You won't let me enjoy the company of a gentleman."

Orvas huffed. "Just find one worthy of you and he'll be fine."

"You mean one of your council club goons."

Orvas spun, the back of his hand slapping loudly against my cheek. Pain bloomed, shooting through my face as I collapsed to the ground. Tears stung my eyes, but I bit hard on my lip to fight them back. I couldn't stand giving him the satisfaction of breaking my will. There was a moment of quiet after the echo of the blow died out. None of the Temple staff dared acknowledge the event, those in sight turning their attentions toward anything else. I faced away from my father, rubbing my tender cheek.

Without a glance, Orvas stated, "You will be home for supper with your mother and I tonight and you will wear a dress, not this horse blanket. You are an aristocrat and I won't have you acting like a commoner among these commoners." He turned on his heel and strode to the door, purposefully tipping a large candle over, spilling hot wax on the tile floor for someone else to clean up.

I watched him go with tears brimming and as soon as he was out of ear shot, I broke out into sobs. This temple was the one place I was always safe from my father, his distaste for religion keeping him at bay. Up until now, Orvas had never tried to account for or keep track of the time that I said I spent here. For him to come here felt like a breach of my one sanctuary. My one safe haven was defiled. My life may as well have been over. I couldn't moonlight for the Thieves guild if father could check in on me at any moment.

After enough time had passed that the temple staff were confident Orvas was gone, the priest who oversaw the copying of religious texts came to check on me. His face was kind, his aging Dunmer skin smooth and soft from the gentle priests life he'd led. "Are you alright sera?" His expression betrayed his emotions to me. He wanted to offer comfort, but was lacking in the way of counsel. He was only a priest. What could he do against such a powerful man as Orvas Dren? Though he felt he was right to condemn the Lords actions, he had not the ability to change reality. For a moment, I felt just like him. I felt like the fearful battered little girl I'd been growing up. The girl I'd been before Sugar-lips Habasi found me crying in an alleyway on Balmora's south eastern side. In the moment that Priest held my gaze, I knew I was not like him. I had part chosen and part fallen into the role of a political agent and sabeutur. Father hadn't taken away my last vestige of freedom. He'd delivered an ultimatum, making sure I knew he'd never let me out from under his boot. Now I had to walk carefully and the time to strike back at him was soon at hand and I'd have to leave his house with all the riches and trappings of his position for an uncertain future.

I hastily composed myself and let the priest lift me to my feet. I sat back at my desk to continue writing. The paper with the inkblot regained my attention, having been forgotten among the storm of my other thoughts and emotions. I set the ruined page aside to find a scrap of paper that hadn't been there when I left. It was small, just a torn corner of a sheaf. It read simply, "Patience. Soon. GJS."

I blinked to clear my still damp eyes and glanced around the room, hoping to catch some sign of who had left the note of encouragement, but noticed nothing and no one out of the ordinary. It never ceased to amaze me how the thieves guild found ways to contact me. Their skill gave me hope. I knew couldn't stand up to my father myself. Not in broad daylight, but in the shadows, in the background I would be his worst nightmare. My fingers lightly brushed the daggers strapped to my wrists under my sleeves. "I'll strike again soon," I muttered, too quietly for the others to hear.

Gildee

"What do you mean she's been expelled from the guild? Ajira is the best potion maker in the city!" I was face to face with another enraged Bosmer, Galbedir. The old hag's silver hair was a mess.

"I'll have you know that she directly disobeyed the guildmaster," Galbedir's refined, high pitched voice was the exact opposite of my own and it made me want to vomit. So was her extravagant silk robe when compared to my practical leather hunting apparel.

"Well I say that you and your guildmaster are no talent skanks and Ajira is better off without you!"

Galbedir looked down her short, mousey nose at me, having to tilt her head back due to our similar height. "The day I decide to start taking opinions from filthy tribal elves like you, you'll be the first to know. Until then, please leave the premises. Your stench is nigh unbearable."

Can you believe that uppity witch? Well I did the only logical thing to do when someone highborn insults your smell. I pursed my lips and hocked a loogie right in her face. The next thing I knew, I was flying backwards, ramming the front door open with my spine and staring at the rainy sky from the cold wet cobblestone street.

"And stay out!" Galbedir slammed the mages guild door shut. I admit, I sat dazed in the street for a moment. I honestly thought I'd died and a golden angel was coming to take me to heaven.

""You've got to be careful when getting mages riled up. You never know just what they're capable of."

I blinked several times and a tall, High Elf woman came into focus. I tell you, this has got to be one of the fanciest girls I've ever seen in armor. She was dressed head to toe in this intricately crafted suit of armor that gleamed like gold. The torso piece was closely fitted to match her figure and I'm not saying I'm jealous, but she looked fabulous. A second piece hung down around her waist and thighs like a skirt made of hanging feathers. This goddess reached down to me and pulled me to my feet with ease. I had to think of something classy to say to this girl. "Oh, I've been tossed out of much nicer places than that. Somebody has to bring the high and mighty down a peg," I shook her gloved hand. "I'm Gildee, what's your name?"

The tall, slightly gold skinned High Elf reciprocated. "I'm Cindana." Her smile was so bright I didn't notice the sky was overcast. "If you don't mind me asking, what happened in there?"

I huffed. "A good friend of mine was a premier member of this guild. It would seem she was expelled and nobody knows where she's gone."

Cindana nodded soberly. "Are you, perchance, talking about the alchemist, Ajira?"

"Yeah, how'd you know that goldie?"

Cindana bit her lip in consideration. "She apparently disappeared about the same time as a Dunmer I'm looking for from the Fighters guild."

I couldn't hold back a sly smile. I slid in so we were shoulder to shoulder and playfully nudged her ribs with my elbow. "Are you talking about Han lu? Did that heartbreaker run out on you?"

Her blush was preceded by a moment of incomprehension. "What, oh no! Nothing like that," she insisted, waving her hands for emphasis.

"Too bad," I mused. "He's a real cutie."

"Do you know where he is?"

"No, I met him in Suran last week. He's a friend of Ajira's though."

"Hmm," Cindana looked thoughtfully out over the river and slowly suggested, "We ought to talk. Perhaps you'd allow me to buy you dinner and we can discuss this out of the rain."

Turning up the charm, I grabbed her arm. "Oh, don't worry sweetheart. I'll allow it just this once, but only because you asked so nicely."

Cindana Highfael

I watched in awe as the small Wood Elf laid in to a third plate of whatever meat the Eight Plates diner was offering. 'Nix hound,' I read off a chalkboard by the kitchen. I glanced down to my own plate with a conservative serving of mixed food groups and back at the Wood elf's plate. There were bits of chopped onion and ash yam in the mix of gravy, but that was all the vegetation Gildee allowed in her meal.

"You're of the Green pact aren't you," I observed. "The Bosmeri religion that abstains from eating plant life?"

Gildee paused, surprised by the tidbit of knowledge. "Kind of. It's more like a code of life than a religion and mostly we abstain from the fruits of the vine. The fruits are for the animals and the animals are for us. How do you know about that?"

I allowed one corner of my mouth to up in a grin that met my tired eyes. "I've traveled a lot with my father in his studies. That's actually what I wanted to speak with you about. My father, Itermerel, is a high ranking researcher in the Imperial mages guild. I was supposed to meet him in Pelagiad, but he never showed up. I came to Balmora to look for him and a lead took me to the mages guild. The guildmaster, Ranis Athrys, was… unhelpful at first. Then, one day she remembers that my father left with an escort named Han lu to meet me in Pelagiad. Except, he never arrived. I've been scouring this town for Han lu, but nobody has seen him for days or knows where he's gone. Now I hear that a friend of his disappears around the same time. I get the feeling we need to be looking in the same place."

Gildee's fork paused. "You know, I think there's something wrong in that guild. Nobody wants to look me in the eye and give me straight answers. That guildmaster is especially shifty. I'll bet they're hiding something."

"I agree," I concluded, happy to have someone on my side. "Which is why I propose a partnership. I want to look into the Mages guild and maybe the Fighters too. Otherwise, we have no leads on the people we're trying to find."

Gildee raised her cup. "Partners then?"

I gracefully raised my own and tapped it against Gildee's, who then threw back the whole drink. I paused in bringing my own cup to my lips to watch the Bosmer's rambunctious manner, unable to help a chuckle at how different she and I were. Gildee saw my courtly grin and met it with a mischievous smile. It didn't matter if we were opposites. I liked her.

Tyermailin

I waited in the darkest corner of a corner club on the Northeast coast of Vvardenfell. The coast town of Tel Vos was… small. There was indeed a small town, made of economy houses, mostly owned by farmers and fishermen. The one impressive thing about the town was the local aristocrat's home.

The town of Tel Vos had been built around an Imperial fort. However, that had been at least 200 years past. The fort had lain abandoned and vandalized by the last residents of the dying town. However, a Telvanni Lord with vision had seen more to the castle than just a crumbling ruin. Rather than demolishing or rebuilding the fort, Master Aryon had used the traditional method of Telvanni magic to build living towers out of enormous trees. With patience and magic that had won him a seat as a Telvanni councilman, he planted a tree in the ruins and not only rebuilt the old fort, but enlarged it, continuing halls and rooms, where once had been stone walls. The result was magnificent. The old stone fort was visible as the centerpiece of the tower, but wherever a section had crumbled, the building was fused with the living hollow tree, enlarging and growing out of the structure.

If my business wasn't so clandestine, I would have spent hours touring the truly unique palace. However, this mission was delicate and could prove to be paramount to Caius' goals.

When an armored Imperial opened the door, he stood out like a sore thumb. The other patrons were very notably, working class Dunmer. The professional soldier scanned the place for any other figure that would stand out from the farmers and fishmongers. I certainly did that. A tall, clean, High elf in mage robes was about as common here as a tasteful bottle of wine, which I might add, was nonexistent, much to my chagrin. The soldier made his way through the dinner crowd, drawing only a handful of glances. He was well known around here.

I stood to greet the Imperial with a shallow bow. "I assume you are Turedas," I offered as a greeting.

"I am," the Imperial answered curtly. He stood an average human height, just under six foot. He was clean shaven and well muscled, made even more imposing by the signature Legion armor he wore. The design included overlarge pauldrons which were specifically designed to have that effect. "I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding," the Imperial explained. "You asked me here to interview for a position in Lord Aryon's employ, however, I don't handle the hiring and usually such business is conducted in the tower proper. If you wish for a position, I must direct you to apply personally."

I smiled at the Imperial, who had not taken a seat, no doubt wishing to conclude this business and be on his way. "There was no misunderstanding good sir, only misdirection." This caught the soldier's attention. His fingers unconsciously stretched out to the handle of his sword.

"What exactly do you mean by misdirection? I have an important position and I don't appreciate people wasting my time."

I felt a thrill of excitement at the prospect of finally doing something worthy of a Blade's agent. Forcing myself to keep a level head, I held up my hands to gently placate Turedas. "I am not wasting your time, you have my word. You seem to be a direct man, so I'll stop beating around the bush. You are Turedas Tulanian, retired distinguished Legionnaire to the Emperor. You served in two campaigns for the Dragon Throne before taking a command position at Gnisis Legion fort here on Vvardenfell accompanied by a promotion to the rank of Knight Errant. However, before you could return home and retire, the quarantine was affected trapping you on the island."

He nodded, stone faced and still looking at me as though I were a coiled snake, ready to strike. "I retired and took a bodyguard position to Lord Aryon. I couldn't keep up with the workload of running the Legion fort anymore. Do you have a point Altmer, or are you just trying make me paranoid?"

I gestured to the seat across from me, which the soldier reluctantly took. "I am not here to cause you trouble. Your Emperor requires your service again."

Recognition shone in the Imperial's eyes. "I suppose we have a lot to talk about. May I suggest we talk over a bottle of wine?"

I recognized the phrase. Caius had taught me that higher ranking Legionnaires were taught code phrases to ask when they suspected they were in contact with an undercover Blade. I deliberately gave the appropriate response. "Surielle brothers is a rare vintage in these parts."

Turedas recognized the code phrase and leaned in, lowering his voice, dropping his guard and lending me his complete trust. "What can I do for my Emperor?"

Brimming with the excitement of a boy stealing from the cookie jar, I responded equally quiet. "What do you know about your employer's grandson?"