As with every good investigation, questions are one of the most important factors in discovering the truth. However, the peoples participating in your interviews may not always agree to answer without a favor granted on their part. Greasing palms, as beggars oftentimes referred to it as, and normally being prime sources of information going on throughout the city, seemed a somewhat effective, if not rather expensive, route to take in acquiring information. Though, most attempts at gathering said knowledge simply left Aderyn high and dry – devoid of any further advancement in his search for the missing child.

Mostly, the knowledge passed onto him depicted the child was cursed and simply vanished due to supernatural presences. Unsettled by rumors quickly spreading around of such unjustifiable claims only made Aderyn consider their possibilities – though only long enough for him to deem them foolish, pushing them to the farthest parts of his mind. Yet, a couple apparently decent leads pointed him in the direction of the docks towards an Altmer female mage, and evidently possessor of great wisdom on paranormal activities – the fallacious stories seeming all the more possible.

The day was hot, midday's sun basking overhead for an unnatural amount of time, its ill-timed arrival playing on the nerves of every sailor hunting along the docks for their cooled rescuer – shade. Though, the remaining workmen left behind, out to roast under its rays, irritable and unfavorable to any other being at the time. Their only goal for the time being to survive the barrage of heat waves washing over the Gold Coast.

"What puts you in such high spirits, Nord?" Aderyn inquired at the cheerful sight of Wilhelm the Worm, Nord vagabond, an always seemingly optimistic person. But right now the only cheerful person in sight and the only person worth questioning.

"How could I not be?" Wilhelm replied back.

"Answering a question with a question, pauper?"

"That I am, sir!" A cheesy grin plastered on the ugly mug of Wilhelm's face revealed he had either received some great news or had received a bar of soap and enough money to finally start a decent living. Neither, unfortunately, were shared with Aderyn as of yet – the beggar's stench particularly offensive. "The countess has just granted me housing in the Harborside Warehouse just yesterday. As long as I keep rats out of the storage I can use it for my home."

"Then perhaps, in living here at the docks, you can answer me a question? Someone's location." Aderyn grew weary from both the constant burning sun overhead and running around trying to find some sort of information concerning Thormoor.

"Of course! Anything you ask, I'll do my best to answer."

--

The Serpents Wake, a said to be haunted ship, carried on her top deck his appointed informant – Varulae. Her haughty expression, the only necessary indicator to prove that she was indeed a mage, helped Aderyn to quickly identify her amidst the other female High Elves patrolling the southern docks. A silky red dress, accented by subtle purple embroidery woven into the wrists and collar, along with golden thread sewn intermittently throughout the gown, gave her the appearance of high class. Her simplistic hairstyle, however – combed back to mask its frivoled character – gave the manifestation of troubled times. Undeniably she witnessed some terrible situation, her brown eyes and sockets puffy and sagging from lack of sleep.

"Varulae?" She turned around to witness the younger mer walk up to her, though a look of confusion on her face. That same investigative stare Aderyn received when meeting someone new, someone with knowledge on mer culture and customs – in particular another mer he'd never before acquainted.

"Half Altmer – on your mother's side, I see. And the other half… Dunmer – your father a brave man." Taken aback by the sudden invasion into his past shocked him; however, intriguing him as to how she knew.

"Judging by your confusion," she critically looked over him, then resumed a mentoring expression, "I foresee you are wondering how I know such things?" He nodded. "First of all, your eyes are blue but skin dark. When a Dunmer and Altmer mix blood, their offspring's eyes and skin tone are represented based upon the sex of the two. Golden skin with red eyes when the father is Altmer and mother Dunmer, but dark skin and your mother's eyes when the father is Dunmer and the mother an Altmer."

"Have you known many mixes?"

"Only a few, but never have I personally met one such as yourself. Dunmer males tend to be far pickier in their choice of women than Altmer males." Aderyn agreed. Personally, he found the darker skin and red eyes of his father's bloodlines far more attractive than that of his mother's. Still, he had seen many beautiful High Elf women in his time.

"Well, why is it that you have come to me, master Dultmer?" That was the first time he ever considered what exactly he was. A mix of Dunmer and Altmer, using his father's lineage as the base for his race – a Dultmer? He found it rather intriguing. "What do you need?" Varulae reiterated with a hint of annoyance in her voice, breaking him from the reverie.

"Oh, I have come to you with questions – questions of great importance. I've been told you'd know where to look." The two locked gazes, the Altmer almost knowing what knowledge he sought.

"Follow me" she motioned for him to proceed into the top level of the ship – a haunted presence growing on their minds.

--

The Serpents Wake – rumors of its disturbing origin true – a haunted vessel infested with the spirits of past accompaniers. Varulae informed Aderyn of its dreaded truth, the history behind it, starting with her voyage to Summerset Isles to retrieve a family heirloom. The crew she hired, however, mysteriously died while there, haunting the depths of the ship – still guarding the heirloom deep within. She required his assistance with acquiring the ancient relic of her ancestry, stating it would certainly aid in his investigation.

Aderyn knew the precautions he must take, dealing with the undead a dangerous mission. His fears of them, however, would have to be dealt with while here.


His thirteenth birthday, and the day of his first summoning, a great day in all Dunmer societies. Today was to be the day he conjured up his first Ancestral Ghost – the guardians of all Dunmer people should they summon the spirit from its grave. Aldrina, in being an Altmer, had limited knowledge on this aspect of Dunmeris culture, but knew the complications of conjuring – a similar enough task.

Despite that only half Dunmer DNA filled his blood, Aderyn's ancestral guardian would work just the same. The act of it, however, proved a more challenging task than either had anticipated. Mispronouncing the appropriate words would cause the summoning to either fail or leave you out of control of the ghost.

Aderyn, focusing hard on the necessary words, infusing his trained Magicka with the words of power, granted him his first guardian ghost – at first pallid flesh, dangling from its only two arm-like appendages, gave the air of friendliness, but quickly began to transform into a darkened figure.

While the actual summoning went well, the ability to control the apparition, due from the lack of training unknown of on Aldrina's part, started to go awry. Aderyn's magicka, draining from him and into the ghost, unstoppable, filled the ghost with power. With little else to do but combat the being, Aldrina used her own magicka to burn the ghost – fire the most powerful elemental against ghosts and other beings of undead potential.

The event, however, left Aderyn scarred. His fear of losing control once again filled him with fear of undead beings – never again, he promised, would he deal with them or their ilk.


But now, Aderyn's promise to himself would have to be severed. A new vow to deal with death – or undeath for that matter – his promise to find Thormoor motivated him along to discover the truth. Romiskeld would never forgive him should he turn back now. So into the depths of the Serpents Wake did Aderyn proceed, his heart pounding, the pulsating sound ringing in his ears. Blood rushed to his head, a sense of being lightheaded, only needing to push down his fears to overcome them for the better of all.

One problem stood in his way, or should we say obstacle barred his path. The years of death pervading the bowels, rotting away as they scoured the depths for food, always hungry but never satisfied. These things, the multitude of them greatly increased over the years as Varulae hired new hands to fetch her heirloom, massed within the ship. An overwhelming scent suffused the air with the toxic stench of rotting corpses – a stomach convulsion waiting to happen. Still, he pressed on, combating his way past the spirits and into the bowels, the treasure within this hellish crypt a necessary find.