A/N: Early post! Mostly because the action starts to pick up in this chapter. Enjoy!


Night was falling when Nervyna returned to Raven Rock's outskirts. She came from the north, down the rugged slopes to where the basalt cliffs soared over the town. The approaching darkness would not help in her search, but this way she could avoid the gazes of the Redoran Guard and not arouse suspicion.

Finding the hidden cavern inhabited by the heretics was no easy matter; with the sun setting, the basalt cliffs cast long shadows that obscured any potential cavern entrances. Her Deadsight could serve to detect the souls of living beings nearby, but it could only reach so far. Leading Skorohod by the reins along the northern slopes, Nervyna hugged the cliff walls as she scanned the area with one keen, scarlet eye, and one dead eye glowing blue-white with spectral power.

There. A flash of color, indicative of the presence of living souls. Nervyna backtracked a few paces, focusing on the Deadsight again. Once more, the shimmer of souls came to life, located somewhere deep beneath the earth. Her living gaze swept the face of the basalt cliffs, searching within the shadows. She waited for the wind to shift. When she felt the breeze against her skin, gently tossing her braided hair, she trained her ears for the sound of wind blowing through a hollow space. The sound led her to a shadowy cleft in the hillside. Deep within, she heard the faint murmur of the breeze. Cavern entrance, right on Raven Rock's doorstep. It's a wonder they haven't been discovered yet.

Skorohod would not respond well to being pulled into a small space, and the danger of an ash storm was low – she left the beast tied to a tree nearby before drawing her blade and entering the cavern. Nervyna found herself traveling down a narrow corridor, hemmed in by stone walls on both sides. Roots hung from the low ceiling, forcing her to duck her head at one point as she navigated the tunnel.

She did not have to travel far before the tunnel ended in a small chamber. A hole in the ceiling led up to the surface, bringing the scent of ash and dust with it. A pair of worn and tattered banners hung from flagposts, bearing images of Tribunal heraldry, and a trio of simple shrines with Daedric letters chiseled into the faces were huddled together. There was a single torch on a sconce at one side of the room with a pull chain on the wall beside it. Pulling the chain did nothing.

Locked. No keyhole to pick, no way to blast my way through. I need to find a way inside.

Nervyna turned back to investigate the shrines. She had learned the Daedric alphabet as all Dunmer were taught and could even write with it if necessary. The shrines, she found, were three-sided pyramids with a Daedric letter chiseled on each of its faces: A, S, and V – Ayem, Seht, and Vehk. Those were also the traditional names of the Tribunal members if I recall correctly. I wonder…

She pondered one of the shrines before giving the leftmost one a nudge. As she had suspected, the stone yielded to her touch and rotated. Nordic ruins had similar such puzzles with animal totems on them. From there, it did not take long for her to find the combination that unlocked the door. When she pulled on the chain again, a section of the rock wall slid away to reveal a torchlit tunnel within. Drawing her sword again, the Dunmer braced herself before making her way inside.

Nervyna stepped carefully as she went, methodically checking for traps – an instinct long since ingrained into her. But there was nothing to impede her way forward. After a short trek, the cavern suddenly opened up into a wide, shadowed chamber with a ramp leading down to the lower level. Braziers and torches revealed basalt columns rising from all sides. A large opening in the ceiling allowed her to see the sky above, where stars were beginning to wink into life. Pale light shone from the opening, illuminating the massive statue of igneous stone that dominated the center of the room. That looks like the sculpture from Kenro's memories.

At first, Nervyna wasn't sure what she was seeing. But as she squinted, her eyes began to find details in the statue's form. It was a feminine figure, her hands arranged into a traditional Dunmeri gesture of blessing, bare feet carved in such a way as to suggest that she was floating on her plinth. Her head was incomplete, crowned with wooden scaffolding, but the stone was taking on the form of what the mer had to assume was a masked visage of some kind. It took some figuring out, but in the end, there was no mistaking what likeness the statue was meant to be carved into: the Mother of the Tribunal, known to the Dunmer as Ayem, or Almalexia.

Twang!

The sound of the bowstring made Nervyna whip her sword around in reflex, cutting the arrow out of midair. A quick glance around failed to reveal her attacker. She made to retreat into the tunnel only for an armored figure to land in her path from someplace above. Similar to Kenro, he wore a bronze visage of Nerevar with a large mohawk. Unlike the dead heretic, this figure also wore the full panoply of the old Ordinators: a brazen cuirass patterned with elaborate filigree, richly decorated with motifs honoring the old Tribunes.

As the Ordinator hoisted a spiked, ebony mace in his hand, a second Ordinator came up the ramp to her other side, putting aside his bow and drawing a blade from his hip. Nervyna looked back and forth at the Ordinators flanking her on both sides of the ramp. She cursed mentally for allowing herself to be ambushed; her Deadsight would have prevented it had she not been distracted.

Her accosters came close, but none strayed within range of her sword. The mer to her left snapped at her: "What do we have here? One of the Temple hounds searching for heretics to snuff out?"

"I recognize her face; she's the mercenary from the mainland who came to Raven Rock a couple of months ago." The other Ordinator answered. His voice was cold and stern like his mask. Those eye holes seemed to bore into Nervyna with pure menace.

"Ah. Yes, now I recall. She is the one who wears the Hand upon her chest." The first Ordinator sounded contemptible, eyeing the Hand of Ghartok painted on her armor.

Nervyna groped for words, hoping for a chance to resolve this without more bloodshed. It would not help matters to antagonize them. "Take it easy. I'm not here under the service of the Temple. I'm here by my own volition. I just wanted to talk."

"For what reason?" asked one Ordinator.

"To help." It was not a completely boldfaced lie. She did want to help them evade the Temple's growing suspicion and avert another religious cleansing by the sword – she just did not yet know what kind of help that would entail.

"And why should we believe you?" asked the Ordinator, hefting his spiked mace.

Nervyna turned her head toward him sharply. "The Temple down in Raven Rock is getting suspicious about heretics. With you right on their doorstep, it's only a matter of time before they find you."

Her eye darkened with grim sobriety. "And I can't promise that the Temple or the Redoran Guard will be more merciful than I."

For a moment, the Ordinators were silent. They seemed to share a quick glance before one of them, the one with the mace, spoke. "Perhaps the Mother has led you here, indeed. But your fate is not for us to decide. The council shall decide your fate."

He nodded to his comrade, who lowered his sword but did not sheathe it. Nervyna hesitated before sheathing her sword in a show of good faith, to put them at ease – she did not want a twitchy Ordinator to find an excuse to stab her. "Lead the way, then."

One of the Ordinators muttered something under his breath about faithless mercenaries. Nervyna scowled but otherwise pretended not to hear as she allowed them to lead her deeper into the cave, one Ordinator in front and behind her at all times. She followed them through torchlit tunnels, hearing the low, echoing murmur of voices in the cave growing louder as they neared the source of it. Incense tickled her nose. The Dunmer felt an odd sense of anticipation roiling in her gut. She chanced a glimpse through her dead eye to get a sense of what she was walking into. Her Deadsight brought to life numerous shimmering life signatures deeper within the cavern – dozens of them. There's a whole community here. If they turn violent like Kenro did…

Nervyna's thoughts were interrupted as the tunnel opened up into another chamber. The floor was paved with viridian glass tiles that stretched to every corner of the inner sanctum. Tribunal banners hung from support pillars all around. A large, circular dais sat in the middle of the room, ringed with concentric, golden panels. Standing in a circle on the dais was a group of five Dunmer. Two of them wore white and blue armor in the old Indoril style; Nervyna recognized them from Tribunal artwork as the armor of the Hands of Almalexia, who were chosen to serve as the living goddess' private temple guards in the old days. Another figure wore the enchanted robes of a mage and a traditional Redoran Watchman's helmet: a frog-mouth helm which reminded her of nothing more than a mushroom with slits for a visor. The fourth figure was a woman who wore light chitinous armor and had a pair of axes at her hips. She wore no helm; her blonde hair was done in a short standing ridge, and her arched expression hinted at curiosity rather than the hostility Nervyna felt from the other armored figures when they turned to glare in her direction.

The fifth, final figure on the dais was a wrinkled old crone with graying hair. She wore the flowing vestments of the old Tribunal Temple clergy, layers of black and gold and dark green with triple rhombus patterns along the hem. Nervyna saw no armor beneath the old woman's robes, but the way she lifted her chin ever so slightly gave the mercenary an impression of unswerving confidence. Her eyes were stern and hard as she regarded the trio coming upon the dais with their follower. She spoke in an elegant tenor, addressing the Ordinators: "What's this? Who have you brought before us?"

"An outsider," rasped one of the guards. "We found her skulking near the entrance."

"She says she came to talk. " The other Ordinator practically spat the word. "We would have taken care of her, but if she speaks true… It is you who has the final say, Matriarch."

Finally, the wizened mer's gaze fell upon Nervyna properly. The mercenary felt that calculating gaze taking in every little detail presented, lingering on the hand of Ghartok that she had painted on the chest of her armor. "I see you wear the holy symbol of the Hand."

"A symbol of my oath, nothing more," muttered Nervyna.

"Oh? An oath for a holy mission, then."

Nervyna pointed at her dead eye on the burned half of her face, her expression one of cold purpose. "No. An oath of vengeance . Not one sworn in a temple, but one sworn by my own volition."

There was some approval, and interest, in the Matriarch's eyes now. Wrath and vengeance were things the Dunmer understood all too well. "I am Drevlan, Matriarch of this sect. Who might you be?"

"Deadeye." That was the epithet she had earned here in Solstheim. Safer to give that than her true name.

"Ah. Of course. The mercenary from the mainland." Drevlan stepped around her lectern and approached the mercenary, giving her a proper look-over. "Our little temple here isn't exactly a place one simply stumbles across. Especially not far enough to alert the Ordinators. You sought us out to talk, you say?"

Nervyna nodded. "Aye."

"And why should we listen to you? What if you were here in service to the Reclamation Temple?"

The mercenary's eyes narrowed at the old woman. "I have no love for them."

Matriarch Drevlan made a slow walk around the mercenary, looking her over. "Ahh, of course. Now I see. You have suffered at their hands too, haven't you?"

Nervyn's expression darkened. Her memories of being at the hands of the inquisitors of the Reclamation Temple were still fresh in her mind. She still had nightmares, sometimes. Years had passed, but those kinds of memories never went away. "You could say."

"But I am to assume that you did not come here as a convert."

"Not exactly."

The Matriarch stopped in front of Nervyna again, arms folded across her chest. "Then why are you here?"

"To help. Maybe to convince you to move somewhere else."

Disdainful murmurs circulated around the dais from the other council members. One of them, the wizard wearing the mushroom-helm, asked: "To move? Why would we do that?"

Nervyna looked around the inner sanctum, at the assembled figures on the dais. "Your armor and weapons look in good shape; you're well equipped but undermanned. If the Redoran Guard caught wind of you, they'd wipe you out with sheer numbers alone. Yet, you're right on Raven Rock's doorstep, ignoring the danger. Why?"

"Why?" Matriarch Drevlan arched a fine eyebrow. "Because this is a holy place. Our Diviner, Erden Relvel – Three bless him, wherever he is – brought us here through his scrying. Did you see the statue when you came in? You couldn't have missed it."

The mercenary shrugged. "Sure. Ayem was well carved. I noticed the sculptor put a lot of detail into Her holy toenails."

A few of the armored figures on the dais shot withering glares in her direction. The chitin-armored woman with twin axes only snickered. Matriarch Drevlan did not skip a beat, plowing onward. "When I first entered the great chamber in Mournhold, after the Red Year, I found myself nestled in Her glow. Great pillars surrounded the stone where the Goddess Almalexia once stood. In the wake of Red Mountain's scouring fire, Mournhold had shed its skin to reveal a temple of rock and bone."

Matriarch Drevlan continued to pace. The other armored figures listened with rapt attention, hanging onto her every word. She continued: "I knew then that this stone was the heart of our Goddess. We brought her to this holy place, and through faith, love, and sweat, we have slowly restored Her flesh from the stone by chisel, hammer, and indefatigable purpose. She is incomplete, yes, but soon she shall be whole. Her place is here – and thus, so is ours."

Nervyna scowled, scarcely believing the story herself. "You're putting your flock in danger by keeping them so close to Raven Rock."

"And what would you have us do? Find a haunt somewhere far into the wilderness? Live in the ash wastes, or in the snow like the Skaal?" Drevlan scoffed. "This is our place of congregation. Most of my flock calls Raven Rock their home and come here for worship. We have no means to move, nor have we any desire to do so. I understand the risk – but we fear not the Temple of the Reclamations. The Mother's light shines upon us, and She shall guide and protect us in the coming days."

You really believe that a slain Goddess will protect you. Incredible. Nervyna had to resist the urge to growl. "I don't want to see the New Temple find you here. They'll send the Redoran Guard to kill you and all your flock."

"They won't. Unless someone aware of our presence goes back to tell them." Matriarch Drevlan arched her eyebrow. "Which begs the question: why shouldn't we consider you a loose end to tie up?"

All around Nervyna, the other council members slowly reached for their weapons. The mer in the Redoran Watchman's helm flexed his hands, causing lightning to pulse through them. Nervyna could sense the danger in the air. Her mouth grew taut with frustration. "Test me, then. I challenge your council members to single combat. Every single one of them."

She turned to glare at the four armored figures in her presence. They all held themselves like warriors; she could tell that they came from martial backgrounds and were not mere pretenders. "If your Goddess favors me, then she will allow me to best your warriors. If not, then you won't have to worry about me anymore."

Matriarch Drevlan narrowed her eyes, studying Nervyna again before casting her gaze upon the other four council members. After a few moments of contemplation, she nodded. "Very well. Almalexia's will shall be done. A trial by combat."

"Matriarch, are you certain?" asked one of the figures clad in the armor of the Hands of Almalexia. His voice dripped with contempt. "Should we truly honor this outsider with a trial by combat?"

The Matriarch turned a stern look upon the Hand. "Do you doubt that this is Her holy place? Here, we are all in Her gaze. Should it be Her will that this mercenary be welcomed here, then it is our responsibility to see to it. Is that not correct, Hand Kydren Indobar?"

"I suppose." The Hand growled. "Then let me be the first to fight in our Mother's name."

Matriarch Drevlan bowed her head once. "Very well. Come forth and test the outsider's mettle."

The mer in question stepped forth, drawing the long, viridian blade sheathed at his hip. He was no novice; his guard stance was practiced, professional. Narrowing her eyes, Nervyna drew her sword from its sheath in a single, fluid movement and settled into a defensive stance. From the side, Matriarch Drevlan watched them for a moment, before nodding her head once.

"Begin."

Kydren advanced purposefully but carefully, and Nervyna began to circle around to his offhand side, enveloping herself in the shimmering cyan of her armor spell. The Hand suddenly darted forth with a strike, checked and then countered by the mercenary with a looping cut of her sword. He allowed the blade to glance off his angled pauldron as he lunged. The viridian blade scraped across her stomach, and her armor spell shivered but held fast against the strike.

Nervyna kicked him back and retreated out of reach. Kydren staggered, recovered his footing, and launched an ice spike from his offhand. The mercenary sidestepped the first projectile and sliced the second one out of the air, before bolting toward her foe and closing distance before he could launch a third spike. Kydren met her eagerly, his viridian blade rising and falling to attack and counterattack. He barely moved to defend from her blade cuts, trusting his solid metal armor to thwart them. But overconfidence was an insidious killer, and Nervyna had spent the better part of a century learning how to deal with such opponents.

When the Hand lunged into his next strike, Nervyna twisted sharply into the blow, deflecting it. As her sword whirled around for the counter, he twisted his torso again, anticipating the strike to take it on his pauldron as he had been trained to do – but this time, the strike came from below, and he was presenting her his offhand side. There was a crunch as her sword struck the Hand's unarmored armpit. She drew the blade across, ripping into fabric and cutting deeply into flesh, making Kydren gasp in pain and stagger. A pommel-blow to the face mask sent him tumbling to the ground. He made to rise, but when he felt Nervyna's sword at his throat, he dropped his sword, yielding.

Murmurs of surprise swept the gathering of heretics. Nervyna flicked the blood off her sword as Kydren climbed back to his feet. He gave her a glare through his mask and stepped away from the ring, pressing a hand to his wound and searching for a healing potion. She glanced at the Matriarch, whose eyebrows had drawn together into a scowl. But the Matriarch said nothing, instead turning to the other council member clad in the armor of Almalexia's old Hands. "Hand Ethra Mavandas – step forth and defend your brother's honor."

"It shall be done, Matriarch." The other Hand, a woman, took the center of the dais. She wielded an ebony scimitar in one hand, but unlike Kydren, she raised a hand and enveloped herself in an armor spell. There was a stern coldness in her steely masked gaze that reminded Nervyna far too much of the Ordinators depicted in old Tribunal Temple-era artwork. The mercenary scowled and refreshed her armor spell, taking up a defensive stance.

Matriarch Drevlan signaled with her hand. "Begin."

Hand Ethra had a more measured approach than her brother, but she advanced upon Nervyna with no less confidence. The Hand watched carefully as the mercenary circled to her offhand side, mirroring her in turn. Nervyna felt something was amiss – her foe was just a beat too slow in following her. The Hand was exposing a small opening in her offhand side's flank. Not trusting it fully, Nervyna feigned a committed, snapping cut of her sword.

Ethra suddenly tossed her sword into her left hand, deflected her foe's long blade, and thrust a right hand crackling with magical flame at Nervyna's face. The mercenary leaned back and dodged the point-blank fire blast, feeling the blistering heat wash over her. Blinded by the glare, she could not defend herself when her foe's ebony scimitar struck against her throat, thankfully thwarted by her armor spell. In retaliation, she smashed her pommel into Ethra's face and delivered a slash across her chest as she retreated, both strikes thwarted by her foe's own armor spell.

Ambidextrous, thought Nervyna as she and her foe circled each other again. Ethra kept her scimitar in her left hand, while her right began glowing with conjuration magic. Dark purple magicka manifested in the heretic's hand in the form of a large, shimmering shield. Ethra then bolted toward Nervyna with a battle cry, scimitar whirling overhead. The mercenary retreated, deflecting her foe's powerful windmill slashes, attempting counterattacks that were thwarted by the Hand's shield at each turn. Ethra kept up the pressure, chasing her foe around the ring. Armor spells shivered and waned as they traded blows. It was only a matter of time before a blade penetrated the spell and found flesh to bite into.

When Ethra delivered a feinted slash into her foe's chest, she was suddenly rewarded with the telltale cyan flash – her foe's armor spell had finally failed. As the Han's next strike fell, Nervyna blocked it, bracing with a half-sword grip, then drove her pommel into the Hand's helmet, shattering Ethras' armor spell in a cyan flash. Stunned by the savage blow, Ethra staggered onto a knee, unable to bring her defense to bear as the mercenary brought her sword down but stopping just a finger's breadth shy of her neck. When the Hand made to rise, she pressed her blade warningly into her nape. Finally, with a grunt of frustration, Ethra dropped her sword and yielded.

Two down, two to go. Nervyna stepped away from the retreating Ethra and took deep, measured breaths to steady her pounding heart. Her blood was pumping, and adrenaline was flowing hot through her veins in a rush, but she projected a veneer of calm, stoic determination as befit a veteran warrior. The Dunmer swept her gaze around, daring the next challenger to approach. Both defeated Hands turned away when her gaze passed over them, but the robed mer in the Redoran Watchman's helm stepped forth boldly. "I am Sindras, and I shall strike you down with arcane fury."

"Get on with it." Nervyna swung her sword up onto her shoulder, shifting her feet into a ready stance. She betrayed no unease but already was making calculations in her head: How far the distance between them was – how many spells could he fire off before she reached him – what defensive options were available to her to close the gap. A cyan flash enveloped the mercenary, but she knew that Destruction spells would chew right through it. Her opponent's hands glowed with magicka; he cast several spells on himself in anticipation.

Matriarch Drevlan's gaze felt like cold pinpricks against Nervyna's skin. She heard the old woman speak: "Begin."

Lightning filled the chamber. Nervyna threw herself into an evasive roll, avoiding the bolts as they streaked overhead. She swung a hand glowing with flames at her foe, blasting him with a jet of fire as she advanced. Sindras raised a ward to thwart it, but the glare of her fire forced him to launch his next lightning bolt blindly. Nervyna twisted sharply, felt the air grow charged with energy as the bolt sped past her. She swung her sword one-handed and caught her foe's outstretched hand, directing it aside before his next spell could fire. Her next blow struck him across his chest, making his armor spell flash warningly. He staggered back with a grunt, then pointed his hands at her chest. Fire exploded from his hands; the force of the spell made the mercenary's armor spell flash as she was subjected to the full fury of his flames.

Nervyna was a Dunmer, and therefore she had natural resilience against the overwhelming heat that washed over her. That did not make the experience of burning any more pleasant, however. Gritting her teeth against the searing heat – and recognizing that she had mere moments before her armor spell faded under the assault – the mercenary rushed into the blast of fire, striking. Her aim was true; her next cut destroyed Sindras' armor spell and sent him staggering, ending the firestorm. Before he could raise his hands again, the mercenary charged and dropped her shoulder to ram him forcefully.

Sindras never saw it coming. The mage was thrown off his feet and sent crashing onto his back. Still, he raised his hand for a desperate last shot, only for the mercenary to stomp a boot down on his wrist, breaking it with a snap and pinning his hand to the floor. Sindras snarled in pain and tried to point his other hand at her, only for the razor-sharp point of her sword to appear beneath his chin. With a sulking mutter, he dispelled his magic and yielded.

Nervyna stepped back to allow her foe to rise while the defeated challengers all shared uncertain and disbelieving looks. Sindras healed his own wounds before stepping off the dais. The mercenary felt suffused with inner calm and battle-focus as she turned her gaze to the final challenger, the chitin armored Dunmer. Matriarch Drevlan called her up: "Vesparth, you may step forward."

Vesparth grinned and stepped into the ring with a chuckle. "Oh, this ought to be fun. Can't remember the last time I had a good challenge."

The mercenary's only reply to that was to settle into a combat stance. She sensed she had too little magicka for another defensive spell; she would have to trust on her reflexes and armor. Her foe would not make it easy – the blonde Dunmer was lightly armored, looked quick on her feet, and grinned with Nordlike eagerness at the coming battle. The heretic slipped the pair of axes from her belt into her hands, twirling one. It had a distinctive Dunmeri design to it, and it held a sheen from a powerful enchantment. Her opponent caught her staring and showed the weapon off proudly. "Like her, huh? Careful though, sera, her kisses are sharp."

Matriarch Drevlan had only just begun to raise her hand when the heretic suddenly bolted toward her opponent with an exultant battle cry. Nervyna met this with a short forward step and a disciplined thrust from her sword. Vesparth deflected the thrust with one axe and slashed at Nervyna with the enchanted one in her other hand. As she twisted her body to evade it, the mercenary felt the axe's edge scrape hard against her clavicle; not deep enough a cut to draw blood, but it was enough to trigger the weapon's enchantment.

Fire burst to life against Nervyna's armor, setting her fur collar alight. The Dunmer hissed in pain and tried to retreat to pat them out, but her foe advanced with an unrelenting flurry of blows. Nervyna was forced into the defensive, checking Vesparth's twin axe strikes as they fell like a rain of arrows while ignoring the stinging pain of flame and smoke so close to her face. Her foe refused to give her any chance to regain the initiative. Vesparth's axe strikes came at her from all sides, sometimes feinted, sometimes committed, keeping Nervyna constantly guessing and guarding against them – all this while her armor smoldered, filling the warrior's nose with the acrid scent of burning fur and cloth, stinging her eyes.

Vesparth laughed and taunted as she delivered axe blow after axe blow, sensing weakness from her foe. "Quit running! You were so confident fighting my comrades – where's your nerve, Deadeye? Where's your grit? Come on, I'm here! Fight me!"

Nervyna shut her opponent's words out of her mind, concentrating on withstanding the storm. She was only a few years shy of being a century old – she had lived most of those years by the sword, and her years of traveling the road after her exile from House Athram had kept her body hard and strong; she would not falter easily. There was also one trick up her sleeve that she had not yet used. With her options limited, now was when she opted to use it, after deflecting one of Vesparth's brutal axe strikes. She took a sharp breath, watching her foe's other axe coming in from the side, ready to sink into her skull, and Shouted. "FUS!"

A tremor shook the dais as her Shout flew into Vesparth, catching her mid-step and sending her staggering backwards. Nervyna bolted forward, sword whirling, and her foe desperately tried to evade, swinging her axe at the same time in a bid to at least trade blows. Vesparth's axe blow fell short, however, while Nervyna's long blade finished its deadly arc at her foe's unarmored temple.

Gasps echoed in the inner sanctum. Nervyna held her foe's gaze – her living eye hard and red, like a bloodstone; her dead eye cold and white, like a Skyrim blizzard, holding a faint spectral glow within its depths. Vesparth's eyes were wide with shock, her breath caught in her throat. After a few speechless moments, the heretic grinned and lowered her axes. Newfound delight gleamed in the Dunmer's eyes. "I should have figured! You're the Dragonborn!"

"Not just the Dragonborn." Nervyna turned to address Matriarch Devlan. The old crone's eyebrows had climbed up her forehead with initial shock. Recognition now flashed across the woman's expression, her lips twitching upward into a slow smile. "The glow in your eye gives it away. You are Nervyna, are you not? The troubled daughter of House Athram."

Murmurs flitted amongst the council members now. Epithets that Nervyna had long thought behind her suddenly echoed softly in the chamber. Death-Kissed. Slayer. Watcher of the Spirit Realm. Despoiler of the Honored Dead.

"Nervyna Athram?" muttered Hand Kydren. "She's supposed to be dead. Executed by the inquisitors of the Reclamation Temple."

"Clearly not, if she's standing with us," snorted Vesparth, slipping her axes back into her belt loops. She eyed the Dragonborn's horrifically burn-scarred face. "Though with a face like that, I'd have taken her for dead, too."

Matriarch Drevlan and the others were staring at her, expecting an answer. Nervyna huffed and growled in annoyance. "That's what should have happened, aye. So goes the official story, anyway. Couldn't have the blemish of my memory sullying the good name of House Athram – or their liege lords in Great House Redoran."

"And instead, they let you go. Always watching out for the reputation of the noble houses." Matriarch Drevlan's smile was grim and humorless. "But not before the inquisitors of the Temple of the Reclamations had their way with you, hm?"

Anger flashed across the Dragonborn's face. "None of your business."

The Matriarch seemed pleased, stroking her chin thoughtfully. "I no longer have any doubt that Almalexia brought you to us. You are someone who has suffered at the hands of the Temple – who has seen the true face of those who serve the Reclamations ."

"And she kicked our arses, don't forget that." Vesparth grinned as the other three council members shot withering glares her way. She refused to wither, turning instead to hold out a hand to Nervyna. "You're not so bad, sera. Even for someone who uses heretical Nord magic."

Grudgingly, out of a sense of honor, Nervyna accepted the handshake. "Thanks. I think."

"I believe that the Mother's will has been made clear." Matriarch Drevlan bowed her head in Nervyna's direction. "Outsider, you are welcome here in Ashfall's Tear – for now. You have earned some of our trust, but not all of it."

"Understandable." Nervyna breathed a mental sigh of relief. She turned to regard her defeated opponents, all of whom now regarded her in turn with some respect. A few even nodded her way. At last, the Dunmer turned her attention to the Matriarch. "Will you heed my warning now?"

"We will consider it." The old woman nodded. "But we cannot pack up and leave everything. Our holy mission demands it."

Nervyna arched a skeptical eyebrow. "Holy mission?"

"Indeed. Important religious artifacts vested with the power of the Three were scattered to the four winds when the Reclamation Temple took control. Over the years, I have worked tirelessly to locate them and return them into the hands of the Tribunal's people." Matriarch Drevlan raised her head with pride. "A number of these artifacts are already in our possession, safely preserved."

Vesparth grinned and brandished her enchanted Dunmeri axe where Nervyna could see it. "Like this little thing here: the Cleaver of Saint Felms. Nice bit of work, isn't it?"

Nervyna grunted a grudging assent, then turned her attention back to the Matriarch. "So, you're looking for artifacts."

"We are. We even have leads on a few more artifacts – perhaps the most important of them – nearly within our grasp. Retrieving them, however, is another matter." Matriarch Drevlan's lips curled into a smile. "This is the sort of task that mercenaries like you do for gold, is it not? Could I convince you to help us? There would be adequate monetary recompense for your trouble, of course."

Nervyna hesitated. Several of the armored figures on the dais looked at each other, exchanging quiet looks that spoke volumes. An outsider, handling their precious relics? Yet, the Matriarch looked serious about the offer. But this was too much to decide on the spot. At length, the mercenary shook her head. "I need to think about it."

"Very well." The Matriarch did not seem fussed. Her air of confidence never wavered. "Should you change your mind, you know where to find us. I trust the guards will not give you any further trouble if you decide to return here."

The pair of Ordinators who initially brought Nervyna in both bowed their heads in deference. "As you command, Matriarch."

Nervyna looked around at the council members, all of whom regarded her with some newfound respect. Eventually, she nodded once. "I'll keep your secret and give your proposal some thought. No promises on taking the job, though. I'll be seeing you."

With that, the Dunmer turned and strode back toward the tunnel. She felt the eyes of the heretics against her back all the way out through the tunnel. Her feet carried her back to the chamber with Ayem's sculpture and stopped her there. Nervyna's gaze trailed up the length of the Goddess' form as she stepped closer, laying a gauntleted hand on the black, igneous stone of Her ankle. For the first time, she invoked her Deadsight to study the statue. Spectral light glowed in her dead eye as she peered beyond the veil, into the realm of spirits. Within the stone, she saw traces of soul essence. Diffuse, scattered, and incoherent, yes – but it was no mere stone.

Such a thing was not unheard of. Nervyna knew that even ordinary objects could become imbued with purpose and spiritual importance if it held great emotional significance to someone. It was the reason why most necromantic rituals to summon a deceased spirit called for the inclusion of an item of importance to that person when they were alive, something that connected them to the realm of the living. Even something so basic as a stone could have such properties, it seemed.

The Matriarch claims that Ayem once stood upon this stone, she thought, looking up at Almalexia. But does she truly believe that touch of Her holy feet has imbued this sculpture with Her spirit? Her heart?

Clearly, the heretic Matriarch saw something that even her own Deadsight could not discern. Nervyna shook her head and walked off, making her way toward the ramp that would lead her back to the surface. She needed time to think. And maybe a strong drink or two.