Again, she dreamed of the dark ocean. But this time she was not unprepared.
It hadn't always been this way. She remembered the first night only as a chain of sensations. First, she was falling so abruptly from the sky, spinning in the dark, unaware of heaven ended and earth began until her body crashed into the seas. Then, she was surrounded by freezing waters, flailing her limbs in vain, sinking from the weight of her body. She tried to bring her head above the waves to breathe—no, there's no air at all. The water poured into her lungs, filled her from the nose and ears, worming into her eyes, sapping away the vital life-giving warmth from her bones. Sinking, sinking, sinking. Her arms are slowing, she could no longer kick. She tried to open her eyes once more, but saw only the black waters. And death.
The second dream had been much the same. As was the third, as was the fourth. By the fifth, though, she could manage one great gasp of air before submerging, and that kept her alive for a few moments longer. She understood the futility of it all, and the familiar death that was barging her way. And yet this time, as her mind had nearly faded into nothingness, she heard something under the ocean. Something, yes, far-off and distant, deep below the waves where no light could challenge the darkness. She could scarcely make it out.
The song.
It was a strange music, warped by its travel up from the bottom of the seafloor. And yet there was something more to it, something that managed to snare her even on the moment of her drowning. She craned her head, desperate to just make out a tiny note more, but then she was dead.
During the sixth dream as she tumbled into the water, she began swimming down the moment she got her bearings. That was an ordeal, as she didn't know much about swimming. In the stories she read as a girl, it had all seemed so easy, a skill she had taken for granted. But it wasn't so simple in the deep ocean. She thrashed her arms and legs desperately, trying to swim down just a foot more, just an inch more. Again, she died. But again, she heard the distant song from down below. She knew that she had no choice but to swim deeper.
Seventh, eighth, ninth. A bit deeper every time. An stroke closer to her heart's desire. She had a breakthrough on the tenth dream from an unexpected source: she had fallen asleep after eating some bad stew, and found the nausea to be there in the roaring ocean too, and could make no progress. No matter. That provided the insight for this, her most promising approach.
On the eleventh dream, she was not unprepared.
The moment she felt herself falling through the air she straightened herself perpendicular to the ocean. She pierced straight into the water, the force of her dive bringing her down deep. Then, as the churning of the water rumbled in her ears and she watched a swarm of bubbles flee from her, she took a tentative breath. The water poured in and out of her mouth, sliding like an eel down her throat. Uncomfortable, alien—but not lethal. She savored a moment of relief, but only a moment. She quickly reminded herself that the potion she had purchased did not last as long, and her stock was running low.
She turned away from the surface and swum down, down, down. Down into the blackness that called to her; down to the song that had claimed her. And what a song it was. The farther she swam, the clearer it became. Her ears strained from going so deep, but now the once twisted refrains becoming just a tiny bit clearer with every stroke downwards.
And, to her surprise, there was not just music waiting for her in the depths, but light.
Somewhere, still so deep below, but just barely visible, were the faintest pricks of light, struggling through the dark to meet her. There was something glimmering down there, something crystalline, hidden in the ocean from the surface and the sky. And it was singing for her. It had always been singing for her.
She swam more frantically now, trying as hard as she could to find what those lights were. And yet it was growing harder and harder to approach. The air wasn't a problem, but the pressure was. The weight of a thousands of pounds of water was above her, and only grew heavier as she progressed. She would've been infuriated were she not so desperate. Because she was always supposed to be here, she knew that now. But her body, that stupid, fragile thing, was failing her. No matter. Her ligaments strained, but she pushed on all the same. The water was pushing on her, crushing her from all angles, trying to stop her from finding these depths, trying to kill her in this new way—and yet the song! She called out to it in turn, letting more of the abyss pour into herself. She was so close. The lights were becoming clear. Her body was changing, lengthening, molded by the ocean into a new and altogether alien form. And the song had never been clearer. Imsin, Imsin, Imsin—
"Imsin?"
Imsin awoke with massive, heaving coughs, the kind that bruise your ribs. She doubled over, shoulders aching, vision blurred. The taste of bile and brine was on the back of her tongue. Standing to the side of her was a young man wearing a guardsman's uniform and a concerned expression. "Ims— Ma'am?"
She closed her eyes and massaged the bridge of her nose. She gave a final, half controlled cough as her breathing steadied. The dream was fading. Reality, perhaps, had returned. "Why are you in my room, Lusius?" she asked.
Lusius was almost at a lack of words, although he shouldn't have been. She was his superior officer, after all, and he had been the one to volunteer to enter her room uninvited. "I... You were screaming, Ma'am."
Had she been? Imsin strained her ears, but all she could hear was the groaning of the ship around her, and something rolling below her bed. "Get out," she said, eyes still closed.
Lusius frowned, considered pressing the issue, and then saluted. He turned from her bed, stepped around an empty bottle, and left her chambers into the corridor where a pair of his fellows had been waiting.
"Well?" said the first, a tall Imperial woman, "How was she?"
Lusius looked over his shoulder to make sure the door was shut. "She awoke nauseous," he said softly.
The woman gave a lift of her brows. "Ah, I told you all the clams were bad. Nearly made me spew myself," she said with a quickly fetched grin.
Lusius had never cared for Gaea's crassness, but knew that in her own way she was trying to diffuse the situation and see the best in their captain. Their other companion, a bear of a Nord, was entirely humorless. "Nauseous? Woman sounded like she was hacking out a lung. Puking, no doubt. She drunk? Hungover?"
The sound of a rolling bottle came to Lusius' mind. "I didn't smell liquor on her breath."
Hrisskar sneered and shook his head. Lusius knew he had seen through the impromptu attempt to avoid the question. "A wine-sot commander. Damn the luck. That's bad enough when you're garrisoned. Out on the edge of civilization it'll get us all killed."
"Or she could be seasick, I reckon," offered Gaea, hopefully, "Seas are mighty choppy tonight."
"You two can tell yourselves whatever you'd like, but you're an idiot if you don't see her as a liability," said Hrisskar, "Don't come crying when she's too drunk to hold a sword next time we're ambushed."
With a snort, he made his way off, out to his watch he presumably was supposed to be taking. The distrust between the guards from the legion and the men drafted into service from the watch had been simmering since before their departure. Now, the tensions caused by soldiers' remaining loyalty to Insim contrasted the guards' distrust of her threatened to boil over. As Lusius considered the situation, Gaea forced a laugh and cracked her knuckles against her her head. "Well, no use staying here. But really, Saenus," her voice dropping as Hrisskar vanished from view, "Is she okay?"
"... No," said Lusius, "I don't believe she is."
"Damn it all. So is Hrisskar, what..." Gaea said, weighing the words in her mind for an awkward second, "Is he right?"
Lusius shook his head. "Insim is a decorated commander, and she was handpicked for this mission by the Imperial Knights themselves," he said, doing an workmanlike job of convincing Gaea, and himself. "If they had significant reservations, they would not have sent her."
"Guess so," said Gaea, "Damnation. Well, can't be helped. So, what now? Care for a hand of cards? Dice."
"Not for me tonight, thank you," said Lusius, "I think I'll head abovedecks for a little fresh air."
Gaea pursed her lips. Years ago, she would've harangued him for brooding. Now, though, she knew better. She gave a wave of her hand. "Well, you know where to find me when you change your mind," said Gaea, turning around and heading deeper below decks.
The other soldiers could escape into their games or cups, but not Lusius. The stress hung on him, weighing him down. It dragging his thoughts to reality of what little he could do. Something was wrong with Insim. Something was wrong with this mission. But there was no other option than to press forwards. As he climbed the stairs to the sea, the boat sailed ever on, closer to their objective, their destiny, and all of the horrors that awaited them.
Ever onward, into the Sea of Ghosts.
Spymaster -
I've gone to the liberty of attaching notes to the dossier in order to get you up to speed with our investigation so far.
If there is anything that speaks to the decline of our intelligence networks it is that this excerpt could be printed in a syndicated publication without immediate intervention. I have tried to understand how the High Rock branch had not so much as begun an investigation into the story during its serialization. While it is highly tempting to attribute this inaction to a conspiracy against the state, it is to the best of our knowledge better attributed to the incompetence of our agents. I understand that many in the order have had reservations serving an Empire without a Dragonborn firmly on the throne, but the fact of the matter is that if mankind itself is to survive this era we simply cannot let political tensions let events like this slip unnoticed and uncensored.
With that said, I shall return to the text. Setting aside the dream (see, of course, Appendices [REDACTED] for details, analysis and interpretation there), several characters make their introduction in this chapter.
Saenus Lusius seems to be modeled after a real individual of the same name. He enrolled in the Legion from a recruiting station in rural Country Chorrol in 3e 423, and was transferred to Fort Frostmoth by 3e 427. Any further records regarding his postings or stations were lost during the Red Year, although his surviving letters to and from Cyrodiil can be found in Appendix J. He seems to have been a capable, if undistinguished, legionnaire during that time.
Gaea Artoria's career is much the same, enlisting in Kvatch in 3e 421 and arriving at Frostmoth in 3e 427 as well. Beyond that, there's nothing to go on. She has even less documentation than Lusius, likely illiterate, and not important enough to be mentioned outside of the most basic personnel rosters (save one reference in the Castle Kvatch Crier touting her victory in a sweetroll eating competition. Don't ask me how that got archived.) I strongly suspect her scenes are more conjecture than an effort at legitimate historical recreation.
Hrisskar is a real riddle. There's a prisoner with his name mentioned in a manifest in Old Ebonheart circa 3e 420, which is the closest thing resembling documentation that I can find for him in Morrowind. It's conceivable he could have been pressed between then and 432. But Hrisskar isn't exactly an uncommon Nord name. There were at least three men named Hrisskar in Skyrim in the decade of 420, and perhaps one more in Hammerfell. It's hard to say anything more with real certainty.
And I won't patronize you going over Insim, given that she's the whole reason for this mess in the first place.
More dossiers to come.
I remain your servant,
L. Cosades, 16 Last Seed, 4e 83