"You walk in the shadow of the corrupter," growled the vicar of the benefactor of cruelty, patron of malice and physically perverted evil, the Daedric Prince Molag Bal. The worshipper's cropped hair revealed angry wrinkles formed in the likeness of a scowl. And what a fearsome scowl it would have been had Aderyn not come on a mission – even his stare-off matches with Azzan had not been this fierce – but he refused to give up. A comfort washed over Aderyn and he felt at ease – except for in one small way.

One of the other worshippers, a gaudy Dunmer male by the name of Olyn Seran, stared at him in such an awkward way that Aderyn shifted in place. He averted his eyes and stared back at the demented priest.

"Why do you come to this place," continued the pale Redguard.

Aderyn hesitated. He had to do this. "I've come to make a deal with your lord."

The Redguard smirked. "What business do you have with Molag Bal, the tormentor of Men?"

Almost immediately Aderyn wanted to shout out, "I have no business here!" and end it with a "You filthy maggot!" But should he have followed his initial thoughts, he could never complete his task, and he would be ashamed of not even trying in the least. He managed to form the words, pressing past the lump in his throat. "I've come to make an offering. My business is with Bal and Bal alone."

"Very well then," growled the priest. "If you've truly come to make a deal with Molag Bal – if you believe yourself worthy enough of His grace – present HIM with the offering of the pelt of a lion." He grinned maliciously. The vicar knew, just as everyone did, that the lions of the Gold Coast in particular – the closest area where they prowled – were some of the fiercest in the whole of Cyrodiil. But his demented smile quickly turned to a frown as Aderyn pushed past him, revealing a large clump of golden fur freshly skinned from a mountain lion.

Aderyn presented the pelt, laying it upon the stone pedestal set before the stone shrine. At first nothing happened. The devoted men and women to Molag Bal stared at Aderyn in silence. At least a gentle breeze rustled the grass and leaves, and wisped away the hair fallen in front of his eyes. The Redguard cackled and neared toward Aderyn, but something then changed. The priest's evil grin fell, and his eyes were downcast. Molag Bal had come.

Immediately the other worshippers bowed in reverence to their Lord. They, each and every one of them, knelt in the presence of the one they sought after day and night like honor-bound dogs with their tails tucked between their legs for fear of their master's punishment should they not do as instructed. A heavy demonic presence filled the area, stifling the wind, drowning out all serenity. Aderyn strongly felt the presence slithering around his ankles like a snake. He sensed its putrid aroma smothering nature's fragrance like meat left to rot in the sun. But above of all he heard. Aderyn heard the lust in Bal's voice. The lust for flesh, mind and spirit.

"What is this they bring me, O fetid Nine?" Bal's cunning voice inquired, echoing in Aderyn's mind as if he heard it in a tunnel or empty cavern. "Another mortal come to do my bidding? But not just any mortal. A Child of the Nine!" The evil prince said loathingly.

"Listen here, Elf. Listen to my voice." Bal spoke in a serenading tone, crafting every word with purposeful desire. "Listen to me and follow me. Your gods," he spat the word, "they only care for things with one life. But I… I can bring death. And with death comes a new, everlasting life. Through pain shall you find pleasure. Through suffering shall you find longevity. I can bring you both." Bal let his words sink in.

Aderyn grimaced and Bal laughed. "Do not resist desire. Despite your apparent lineage and long-lived races – O yes, I know of your ancestry; I know of your half-blooded origin. Despite these things, you shall die. But not only will you die physically – no, there indeed will be more – not only will your flesh rot away and never be seen again, never recognized for who it really was… you will die and never be remembered.

"Your precious Nine have no care for beings that are dead. They offer no life after death. They only care for what they can use now: those who carelessly follow their Divine Path. The path they formed for those who are blinded to do their bidding for the better of the world? No, they misuse mortals and elf-kind to help them satiate their own selfish purposes.

"Follow me and you will know a new life. You will know of death and pain and suffering, and through those you will also know immortality. And with eternal life can you then show others the TRUE path of enlightenment." Bal quieted to a whisper. "What say you, last of the Aneureyns? What say you to allowing your legacy to linger on for eternity?"

Aderyn looked up into the eyes of the Prince of Torture and held his gaze for a moment before answering. He then let the words drop from his mouth with ease, having resisted the demented desires drifting from Bal's ethereal maw. "No," Aderyn spoke in a firm voice. "I do not come to follow you, but rather to retrieve what you have stolen."

"Ah yes, that pathetic Altmer, Varulae," Bal hissed. "Quite more trouble than the offer really was worth. Tell me, seeing as how you did go to protect that foolish Elante, how fared her quest of mine?"

"She has returned to her higher calling. Elante denounced you as her liege and now follows the Nine."

"Yes, I know of this. I no longer can feel her life force among my followers," Bal hissed, and then remained silent for a moment. He growled in aggravation. "Pray tell, then, why have you come to me if not to offer your soul to be added among my minions?"

"You know what it is I have come for." Aderyn crossed his arms. "Bal? Varulae does not belong among your ranks."

Bal hissed again. "You know I cannot simply just hand her over. But…" He trailed off. When he kept silent for too long a moment, Aderyn spoke.

"What's your price?" he whispered, almost afraid of the answer to come.

"Yes. My price. A life for a life, a soul for a soul. There is one in particular I wish to see in my service. The man I speak of, Melus Petilius, is in the service of yet another Daedric Prince, one of my foolhardy brethren. However, his… uh, talents, are not being put to use. I wish to see this man condemned and converted. I wish to feel his soul in my grasps. I want to see a man brought to the edge. And pushed. You will do this for me, and in return I shall release that wretched witch of a mer."

Aderyn hesitated. Did he dare accept this offer? Did he dare tamper with the control of minions between deistical rulers? Varulae…

Heaving a sigh, he closed his eyes. What do I do now?

"What will you have me do?" he asked Bal.

Bal cackled maniacally. "Oh, that's the spirit. I like to hear humility. Yes. Near Brindle home, just southwest of my shrine, you will find Petilius. A good man. An honorable man. He disgusts me. I wish to see him commit murder, and in doing so be brought into my services." Aderyn gasped. Did he mean? "Indeed," Bal answered as if reading his thoughts. "You will let him kill you with this." A dark-metal mace with dozens of crude spikes protruding for its girth appeared before Aderyn. "The Cursed Mace. Make him use this against you. Force him to commit the act he has promised never to perform and his soul will be forfeit unto me."

Aderyn shook his head. "How do you expect me to force a man to commit murder? Let alone allow him to just kill me?"

"Oh, stop squabbling."

"But if he kills me, I'll be dead."

"Semantics, pathetic mortal." Bal sighed. "Fine, as you wish. While you are doing this task," he released an annoyed huff, "I'll save your useless life. Probably," he added under his breath." I'll even allow you to feel no pain as he pummels your wretched carcass to a pulp. But if you do this for me! If you, in fact, are able to accomplish this simplistic feat, I'll release your precious Varulae from my hold and you can go on again and live your happy little lives FAR away from here. Now get out of my sight before I turn you into a pig, or sheep, or something worth only for its meaningless hide."

Bal became silent and the evil tendrils receded away from Aderyn. He felt lighter and at ease. The stifled air lifted and his breaths came easier. What had he just committed himself to?

O' Nine, forgive me. Aderyn picked up the mace and headed southwest.

---

Brindle Home: a quaint village containing only a few individuals trying to forge a fresh life for themselves. Aderyn proceeded into the midst of the village with downcast eyes. Several people looked at him curiously, but otherwise left him alone and went about their work. He tightened a worn green cloak around himself and pulled down the hood.

The sky darkened as he neared toward the center of the village and thunder clouds formed over head but sent forth no rain, presumably because of the condensed canopy the crowded trees provided. Most of the people began collecting their tools and equipment and retreated into their homes. When Aderyn tried to ask about Melus, most people scurried along at a quickened pace, giving him cautious glances.

Sitting on the trunk of a recently felled tree – many parts had been sawed off and taken for use in building some of the homes – Aderyn pondered his mission and whether or not he was doing the right thing.

The followers of the Daedric deities… its not like they're worshippers of the Nine. So what does it matter who they serve? Aderyn tried to reassure himself that he was doing the right thing. They're all heathens, anyways. They serve heathen gods so they don't deserve just treatment. Aderyn nodded his head in affirmation to his decision. But something didn't quite fit.

But Elante was… and now Varulae… His thoughts were interrupted as a balding and graying fair-skinned Altmer came up to him.

"Can we help you here, sir?" the mer asked with a kind smile.

Aderyn stood up. "Yes, in fact. I'm uh…" Aderyn cleared his throat. "I-I'm looking for a man named Melus Petilius. Do you know him?"

"Of course. No one who lives in the village DOESN'T know of him!" The Altmer's eyes lit up as if he were recalling a childhood hero. "He killed off a horde of goblins when they attacked our village in the early stages of its construction. He'd singlehandedly slain a nest of imposing minotaurs," though a hint of regret filled his voice at the last mention of Melus's feats.

His face then became grave, grave as if death lingered behind every word he was about to speak. And it did. "That's all in the past now," he said in a weary tone.

Aderyn looked shocked. Petilius couldn't be dead already. Molag Bal would've at least known that. The dastardly prince wouldn't really send him on a wild goose chase.

As if to satiate Aderyn's surprise, the mer spoke again. "If you intend to get much from him, don't look forward to it. He does nothing more these days than mourn his recently deceased wife. Since the death of Vena, we've seen neither hide nor hair of the man in our little village. He's gone off by himself." The mer lowered his eyes and released a low sigh.

"What about his wife, Vena?" asked Aderyn, carefully trying to gain as much information about the man, Melus Petilius's past. "What can you tell me about her?"

"She was a good woman. Melus loved her as best as he could." The mer looked directly into Aderyn's eyes. "He blames himself, you know? One day he went off fighting. Vena became terribly ill. A sudden fever – incurable by priests, healers and alchemists alike – and she was gone." He then became quiet and spoke in whispering tones as if something bad would happen if he continued.

"He never forgave himself!" the mer exclaimed. "I don't think he'll ever forgive himself for not being there when she passed. It was then, the very day he stood on his wife's grave, that he vowed to never raise a weapon in hostility again." He sat down on the log with a huff. "Ever since then our village hasn't had the protection that Melus once provided, and raids have only become all too frequent." He finished, apparently weary of the remembrance. He put his head in his hands.

"Can you tell me where he lives?" The mer raised his eyes and gazed curiously at Aderyn.

"Why do you want to know that?" asked the mer.

"To bring light to our darkened friend," Aderyn lied.

"Can you really do it?" the mer spoke in excited tones. "The village would be ever grateful." Aderyn felt a twinge of contempt fill his stomach.

Aderyn nodded, refusing to show his anguish over what he had committed himself to. Could he really condemn a man to another fate? One more terrible than the one he had already let himself slip into?

The mer directed him further southwest, to where Aderyn's target lay in wait. He had to go through with it. He had to free Varulae. Aderyn just had to find a way.

Melus swore to never raise a hand in hostility. Aderyn spat and cursed at Bal. He knew, that wicked vermin, thought Aderyn. Yes, Bal knew of Melus's vow. He knew of Melus's loss. That treacherous, lustful, conniving "prince of torture". Of course, Aderyn knew if he didn't then Varulae would be trapped forever in torment by that wicked demon…

"Wait. That's it!" Aderyn shouted, perhaps a little too loud, at the sudden revelation. Aderyn covered his mouth, afraid his thoughts would come bursting out of him. He quickly devised a plan to bring Melus to the edge. And at the perfect moment, he would push the man over that edge and into oblivion.

A little illusion magic here, a little deception there. It's perfect. The only problem with the idea, however, scared him. It had come from his mind. But what a devil he must play.