Morrowind is Bethesda's. Maybe if I say it enough I'll come to believe it. I'd be happy to sell Winterbell for a copy of Fable (that game looks good people, get excited). – [)

With more than enough potions in her bag, Winterbell felt the need to go exploring again. Wandering around talking to people and buying books was all very well, but the pressure behind her eyes had been stagnant for too long. Winterbell felt the magicka singing in her blood, and felt the desire to unleash it. Her interest in the Dwemer piqued by the tantalizing glimpse of Baladas's research, Winterbell made the short trek to the Dwemer bridge, near Arkgnthand.

Her questioning of the Balmora locals had revealed that the ruin was now a smuggler's haunt. Winterbell decided to approach the bridge with caution. Her knees protesting, the aging Dunmer climbed up onto some rocks overlooking the bridge. Squinting into the ash haze, Winterbell made out a lone figure standing on the bridge, apparently guarding a cart with some barrels.

Winterbell decided not to bother asking questions. This far from any guards or concerned citizenry, she felt that certain courtesies need not be observed. Winterbell drew her bow, and squinted along the arrow. The bowstring made a satisfying singing sound as the missile was launched, but her aim was off, and the steel shaft shattered on the Dwarven metal at the figure's feet.

Winterbell heard an attack cry, echoing weirdly off the walls of the valley, and a fireball sailed over her head. She bared her teeth in a gleefully malicious smile. "Use magic on me will you? I'll show you how to use magic!"

Winterbell slid down off the rock, skinning her hands in her haste. Her feet had barely touched flat ground when she hurled icy magical shards at the smuggler. There was a satisfying yell, and another fireball sailed past. The opposing wizard was running full tilt at the dark elf, a wickedly edged axe in his hands. Winterbell sent off two more icy blasts, and the smuggler, now revealed to be white-haired Imperial, stumbled. He put his axe away unexpectedly, and tried to cast another spell. Winterbell recognized the hand movements for the school of conjuration. She was fairly sure that getting caught between two opponents in a melee battle would not be a good idea. Luckily for her, the Imperial's spell seemed to have failed. Winterbell didn't give him the chance to try again.

Breathing heavily, and light-headed from adrenalin, Winterbell stepped over the corpse and continued across the bridge. Out of the haze materialized the ruin, majestic still, though its glory days were long gone. Its towering spires were eerily silent, save for the wind whistling mournfully though the slitted windows, and the occasional cry of a distant cliff racer.

Winterbell huffed as she struggled up the loose ash towards the ruin. She rounded a stone building to see a metal spike tower over her, its needle-like tip least sixty feet over her head. Winterbell walked up to its base and put her fingers to the cold metal. It had been strangely unaffected by the harsh weather, and Winterbell was silent for a moment, awed by the extent of her own ignorance. More determined than ever, Winterbell turned a crank, recently oiled by the smugglers, and the massive stone doors swung open.

Boss Crito was an unpleasant man in an unpleasant mood. Snowy seemed to have vanished, and that irritating Breton kid, Crito could never remember his name, was babbling something about glowing red eyes.
"Half the elves in our team have glowing red eyes," he snarled, "nothing from the lower levels is coming to get you. The doors are trapped and locked and I can't see those metal monsters using a key."
"Where...where is everybody then?"
"That's what I'd like to know." Crito seized a torch, and marched off, "Follow me."

Crito saw an unfamiliar figure rummaging around in one of the steel kegs. He raised his axe, and tried to sneak up on the intruder. Winterbell spun around, her eyes glowing in the dark. Crito looked surprised,
"A Dunmer grandmother?"
Winterbell snarled, and Crito got a face full of frost. The smuggler boss did not hesitate, he brought his axe down on the mage's slight frame. Winterbell gasped in pain as with a sickening snap a couple of her ribs gave way. Winterbell fell to her knees as Crito wrenched his axe out of her side. He swung his axe again, this time on her head.

Winterbell flung herself sideways, and raised her hand to grab the blade. Blood spurted as tendons in her hand severed, but Winterbell looked triumphant still. Her hand began to smoulder. Crito let out a horrible scream, his whole arm twitching violently as lightning crackled around the pair. Like a tree Crito fell, still twitching and sparking horribly as his huge frame crashed to the ground.

Winterbell was still bleeding all over the floor, but she made no move to heal herself. She fixed her molten glare on the young Breton, who had spent the battle looking on with a horrified expression. He flinched as she gave him a rictus-like grin,
"Would you like a go as well?"
He shook his head violently, and took off at a run, his shoes slapping on the stone floor. Winterbell grimaced as another spell knitted her bones and wove her arteries. Winterbell staggered to her feet, and looked around at the carnage. "Grandmother indeed," she snorted indignantly, "I'm not that old!"

A couple potions and a few hours of exploring later, Winterbell sat chewing thoughtfully on some of the smuggler's stores, a small cube of Dwemer alloy sitting on the table in front of her. It was covered in fine engravings, and was made of two pieces, fitted together so cleverly there was barely a crack between them. Winterbell turned the box over and over in her hands, studying the lines and markings closely.

Hours passed unnoticed as Winterbell discovered layers within layers to the puzzle, the cube itself still untampered with. Finally, Winterbell placed the box down on the table, gently squeezed two corners, and pulled carefully. With a quiet 'snick' the box fell apart, the intricacy of its internal mechanism laid bare. Within the box was a small roll of paper. Winterbell carefully stowed the paper in a small waterproof section of her bag, and, just as carefully, fitted the two halves of the box back together.

Laden down with Dwemer goods, Winterbell used a scroll to get back to Balmora. She had examined the doors to the lower levels of the ruin, but the locks were beyond her. Despite trade in Dwemer goods being technically illegal, Winterbell had no trouble getting rid of the weapons and armour she had collected. It seemed Dwemer goods were in high demand, for as she sold the little cube and a large number of coins at the local pawnbrokers a burly Redguard hovered over her shoulder, his eagerness, much to Winterbells delight, pushing the price up.

Winterbell strolled back to the Mage's Guild, her purse heavy with gold. Ranis was, as usual, busy, but she did greet Winterbell with a "I'll talk to you later," and a significant look. Winterbell wondered, with momentary panic, whether or not Ranis knew about her membership of Telvanni, but dismissed it as unlikely.
"You're back!" Winterbell raised her eyebrows at the enthusiasm of the greeting, but replied cordially enough,
"You're back as well I see."
"Nice robe, is it new?" Marayan grinned at her. With a faint smile Winterbell ignored the compliment and began her ritual of emptying out her bag onto the table.

Marayan did not seem to be in the mood to return to work, instead wandering over to examine the goods Winterbell was sorting. He picked up a Dwemer coin with a knowing look,
"I knew you'd be knee-deep in Dwemer ruins, maybe I should have referred you to Sadrith Mora."
"I'll have you know I'm working for Skink as well, thank you." Winterbell made a grab for the coin, but Marayan held it away from her. Winterbell was not amused. She narrowed her eyes and magicka began to sparkle around her hands. "Give it back. Now." She held out her hand. Marayan raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, and made to give back the coin.

Suddenly his eyes widened, and he seized Winterbell's hand, "What happened to you?" he asked in a horrified voice. The majority of Winterbell's palm was fresh, angry scar tissue, and had the strange, fluid texture of flesh healed hastily by magic. Winterbell pulled her hand back firmly,
"I'm not the only person who visits Dwemer ruins. Besides, if you think that's bad you should see my ribcage."
Marayan blinked at her for a few seconds then collected himself, "You're not well, should shouldn't be doing this sort of thing. There are much safer ways of making money-"
"I don't do it to make money!" Winterbell snarled at him, then with an icy, "Excuse me." She walked upstairs to see Ranis. Ajria peered curiously through the doorway; Marayan shrugged self-consciously and dropped the coin on Winterbell's desk.

"Ah Winterbell," Ranis practically oozed sarcasm, "if your, doubtlessly vital, business allows you the time, would you be so good as to do some duties for me?"
Winterbell was well aware that she was not being offered a choice, and listened carefully to Ranis's instructions. She was being sent into the ash-wilds to persuade a mage to join the Guild, and another to pay her dues. She wasn't to take no for an answer. If Ranis hadn't been so insistent on getting her money, Winterbell might have wondered if it wasn't a plot to get her lost in Vvardenfell's wild interior.

The journey to Sulipud was long, uncomfortable and dangerous. After about a week of trekking across ash and lava plains Winterbell was in a filthy temper. She was quite sure she wouldn't get lost, however, for to return to civilization all she had to do was follow the trail of fried cliff-racers.

Llarar Bereloth had a surprisingly well-staffed Velothi dome in the middle of nowhere. Winterbell forced her way up to see the mage by a combination of intimidation and bribery. Llarar was less than happy to see her, but to her relief he didn't start throwing fireballs.

Llarar was quite sure that he didn't wish to join the Mage's Guild, and told Winterbell so in no uncertain terms. Winterbell remembered all too clearly what Ranis's orders were, but with half the mage's household looking on, Winterbell did not feel it prudent to wade into a fight. A sly grin stole across Winterbell's face, some energy returned to her travel-weary frame.
"Master Bereloth," she began, pacing in front of him like some predatory cat, "I've been informed that you used to be a member of House Telvanni." Llarar didn't deny it, he merely waited for Winterbell to continue. "I wonder, does House Telvanni know that you're an ex-member? Perhaps I should make sure all your paperwork has been completed."
Llarar looked worried, but he tried to argue, "How can you possibly get me in trouble with House Telvanni? You're Mage's Guild."
"Can you afford to take the chance that I can?"
The mage accepted his defeat gracefully, and promised that he'd join the Guild when he was next in Balmora. Winterbell couldn't help feeling slightly sorry for him; it appeared he'd been hard done by by both factions.

The next mage on Winterbell's list was much less polite. Working out of what Winterbell guessed was a necromancer's cave Manwe was practically insulting. Winterbell eyed the middle-aged Breton with a smile that was close to a snarl, "You do know that if you don't pay I'll be obliged to kill you."
"I'd like to see you try," Manwe sneered, "I'm surprised you managed to drag your old bones all the way out here without dieing."
Winterbell suddenly became very calm and composed, "That should tell you not to underestimate me." She said quietly. Then she attacked.

Magicka crackled between the dueling pair. The Breton had her natural immunities, but Winterbell kept up the barrage. Her magicka exhausted, Manwe raised her fists as a last defence, "Where does it keep coming from?" was the last sentence she ever uttered. Winterbell stood triumphantly over her corpse,
"You know, I'm really not sure myself." She answered.

A damp wind blew from deeper inside the cave, bringing faint sounds of conversation and industry. Winterbell's mouth quirked. "Necromancers. Such a terrible, terrible blight on this island. I guess there's only one course of action a concerned citizen can take."