"Drathyn seemed confident that the Master of the Tower was unlikely to be Telvanni," Lusius said, the even cadence of his voice making a fine pairing to the steady rhythm of his stride, "Which makes it difficult to guess the true nature of this building's owner. The most likely reason someone would choose to live this far away from civilization would be, I reckon, because they were involved in activities that they'd wish to conceal. We cannot discount that those could be, quite possibly, illegal ones. I am concerned how we would respond if such a revelation came to light."
Gods, did Lusius ever have words.
He was one to talk. Talk, talk, talk. Imsin knew the type. Some men understand the world and can take action to shape it to their desires and ideals. Others are too dull or stolid to consider such a thing. But there are some in between, like Lusius, who are clever enough to see the world but lack the conviction and daring to make their stamp on it. She found him difficult to respect, but also difficult to dismiss. After all, he could clearly see the world as it was. And far too often, she could not.
It's not like she had other competent officers that she could work with. The Legion Commander gave her few details about this post, other than there was a landing site near Ald Redaynia and that she should work with the "local authorities" to establish an Imperial presence. That's what she recalled of the letter, at any rate. She knew there had been more to the orders, more words, but she no longer remembered what they could be. She'd need to review the mandate again when they returned to camp. How many times had she had to reread it at this point?
She'd prefer to delegate the work, frankly, but it was too sensitive to do so. In fact, it probably ought to be classified from her eyes as well, if everyone were actually following protocol. That said, she couldn't go so far as to have Lusius handle such a task—
Why wasn't Lusius speaking anymore?
She abruptly turned her head to the side looking for him. Nothing there. Just the hallway, lit with those red-flickering candles. "Solider?" she called out. To no one, it seemed. Only the wicks served as company.
Where could he have gone? She had seen him just moments ago.
Imsin stood alone. She shook her head. A groggy feeling played at her sinuses as she breathed in, like the end of a hangover or the start of the flu. She began to turn her attention forward, but there was another surprise waiting for her. Lusius was gone, but it seemed as though she were not alone.
Standing several paces ahead was a figure, facing away from her. Another person in the halls would've been unusual enough, but this person was odder still in ways Imsin could not have predicted. She was a woman, and some kind of human. That much was obvious, because she was entirely nude. She had hair the color of a wilting sunflower.
Imsin took a step forward. The moment she did so, however, the elusive woman stepped forward in tandem. Imsin parted her lips in surprise, then took a full pace forward. The other woman did as well, once again step-in-step with Imsin. She called out to this woman, and as the words left her mouth, an identical sound was issued by the woman in front of her. Their echoes spun and danced with each other down the dimly-lit hall.
The Dreamer shook her head and took a step backwards, and of course the phantom woman did the same. Her breath grew faster and deeper. Some was stress, some was driven by that ill-feeling in her head, growing stronger. This wasn't right. Was it a trick of the Master? Of the twisted history of this tower, the one that she could no longer remember? Or was it that forbidden thing, deep inside, the thing her mind always insisted it could never be but her heard always knew it was?
Pain grew in her forehead. It was light, but sharp, like the pincer of crab.
She turned her head around to work her way backward. But no—as her head pivoted she saw that behind her stood a woman as well. She was as a copy of the one before her. Nude, as the other was. Her face inscrutable, tilted behind her shoulder looking behind herself. Just like Imsin's was.
Their heads moved together with the smoothness of legion in march. Imsin brought her head around, seeing the woman behind her move her head forwards from the corner of her eye. She she completed her motion, she could see the woman in front of her finish looking ahead, just as she was now.
Frowning, she moved forward again, this time at a quick pace. She made no progress. And then, she felt something. Now there was pain on her back, somewhere between her shoulder-blades. She reached behind herself to undo her armor and instead felt the flesh of her back. Where had her hauberk gone? Her gait stiffened as the pain spiked. Cries rang forth as the trio missed a step in unison, sprawling onto the floor.
Imsin reached as best as she could for the pain. It was changing again, like spikes forcing their way out from her skin, but the awkward positioning denied her a good grasp. Her hands groped awkwardly at her back. As she looked from the floor, she could see across from her one of the other women: also prone, also grabbing at herself. But from this angle, everything was much more clear. The skin of her back was rippling, then bubbling, like the surface of a stew being brought to the boil.
Another wave of pain surged through her. Imsin writhed, but kept her eyes forward, on the woman before her. The stranger's skin was warping more now, the distortions growing and growing. Something was coming, being birthed. Long and hard and articulated. Plates began to push up, out from her back, moving closer and closer to the surface, stretching the skin of her back to the snapping point. The suffering grew and grew for Imsin, but she couldn't look away as the body before her grew too taught, thin, red, veiny, about to rend—
Then a new ache, firmly across her cheek. It was both trivial and somehow more real.
Looking up, she saw Lusius standing above her. His hand was raised, and from his expression he seemed shocked himself on what he had done.
The women were gone.
Imsin realized that her face was contorted from the ordeal, that was now, thankfully, drifting far, far away. The implications of it would need to wait. She was with her junior officer.
She molded her expression from its raw passion to a lazy intrigue. "Bold of you to strike your commander," she said, rising to her feet. Her legs could carry the burden, now.
Lusius glanced at his hand, then back to Imsin. He took a long pair a seconds to choose his words. She could hardly blame him. "You had gone unresponsive, ma'am. I presume you'd want me to try every avenue to revive you, in a potentially hostile environment."
'Potentially hostile environment'. Some euphemism. Still, Lusius was right enough for Imsin to smirk. "You presume correctly. We'll forgo the court martial." She looked up and down the halls, empty but for the two of them. "Did anyone pass us by?"
Lusius shook his head. "Not that I am aware of."
"Good. Then I suggest we move on," Imsin said, returning to motion.
It was unbecoming, embarrassing even, for Lusius to see her in such a state. But Imsin knew the fact that she had slipped again was far more dangerous. But it was the damnedest thing—after the waking Dream on the ship, she had returned to her exercises. Just as her old dream friend-fiend had told her. Just as she did when she built her career. When she lived.
How could she slip again, now of all time?
No, she was being too introspective. Too detached. She needed to ground herself. She drank the world in, as fast she could. The scent of smoke from the candles. The sound of the boots on the ground. And the faintest iron-taste of blood in the side of her mouth.
Her cheek had grazed her tooth, when Lusius had struck her. It was hardly an elegant solution to her problem, but it had a kind of brute effectiveness. And it might've just saved her. Perhaps, this Saenus Lusius hadn't earned her respect, but for now, he had shown that in the time of trial, he could discover a kind of initiative. And really, isn't that a heroic quality in its own right?
To the Esteemed Tyremaillin, Knight of the White-Gold Order Second Class, Associate Observer of the Elder Council, Acting Spymaster of the Blades Imperial Intelligence Division (Eastern Districts),
As you no doubt are aware, our operatives recently found Luciana Prosper brutally murdered at her home in Cheydinhal. This was reported in official channels as a break-in gone wrong. It was, in fact, a coordinated assassination conducted by undercover Thalmor agents. Similarly, the recent riots in Bravil were not, as publicly disclosed, due to grain prices, but due to Altmer agitators. The Black Horse Courier reported on these events alongside an editorial revealing corruption in the office of the Grand Inspector of the Census and Excise. These revelations, while true, were seemingly leaked in an attempt to corrode public faith and trust in our institutions. All of these incidents have occurred in the past week.
I belabor this point because Dominion's provocations are escalating in frequency and severity at an alarming rate. So why is it, when the Empire's stability grows more compromised by the hour, that you find it appropriate to allocate numerous agents exclusively to a task that seems utterly divorced from any practical application to the nation's security?
I am not entirely unsympathetic to your interests. Yes, there are numerous unexplained curiosities surrounding The Sea of Ghosts and the Townway Manor Fire Incident. And yes, the Thalmor did show some interest in the story at the time of publication. But it is a decades old piece of weird fiction, and we are in a contemporary struggle over the future of Tamriel. I had very much hoped that it would go without saying that we would let wisdom guide and prioritize our efforts.
What, in the end, is the point of all of this? Even if you found the answers that your team is apparently looking for, will it provide safety to our agents in the field? Will it disrupt the Dominion's operatives in the west? Will it give more resources to the Legions for the inevitable war that is to come? Will it bolster the unity of the Imperial Dragon in the face of Altmer omnicide?
It is a matter of bureaucratic inertia that the Empire is saddled with two intelligence agencies: the old in the Blades, and the new in the Penitus Oculatus. It is your prerogative to have your division pursue whatever initiatives that you believe will best defend the Empire in this new age. But there will soon be a time for choosing, when the luxury of having fractious internecine turf wars between us will no longer be affordable. And when that day comes, the Elder Council will need to prioritize the institutions and taskforces that provide tangible results, and not esoterica derived from pulp fiction.
And, to level perfectly with you, your heritage will win you no trust. I do not question your loyalty. But many will, and do.
So, as a patriot dedicated to defending Cyrodiil and as your colleague who worries your talents are increasingly ill-invested, I ask you once more: shelve the research into The Sea of Ghosts. Reassign your agents into watching and nettling the Dominion. Do something, anything, that will help tip the balance of power. For the day of reckoning is nearly at hand, both for our careers and our Empire. On that day we will all be forced to take accountability for our actions. I pray you will have enough justify your labors.
Yours in Confidence,
Fabian Martellus, Senior Administrator of the Imperial City, Penitus Oculatus