Ilsabet's Headcanon (Quest Spoilers; Outline in First Post)

Ilsabet

Author's Note:

So it's been a lil' while, and that's largely because the motherboard on my computer died and it's been a saga and a half dealing with that, so pretty much everything ESO-related has been put on hold. (I did finally get access to my files, so I should be able to get the last High Isle entry posted before too long, but I'm not sure when I'll be able to start Firesong questing. Please try not to be too horribly disappointed by the wait.)

Meanwhile, I realized that in all the hullabaloo surrounding the premature death of my laptop, I completely missed the 7-year anniversary of this thread. I immediately set about rectifying this grievous oversight, and I think the artistic masterpiece I came up with more than makes up for my prior negligence.

So... happy birthday like a month and a half ago, Ilsabet's Headcanon!

Ilsabet

Another victory, another victory celebration. Is it supposed to feel so hollow? All the well-wishers gathered to share in our triumph, all the self-congratulatory speeches and approving nods, as if the fight were actually over and the big bad weren't still out there plotting his diabolical comeback.

I suppose we did save the monarchs, again, and we eliminated one of the Ascendant Order's powerhouses, and Lady Arabelle seems to think the peace conference isn't a completely lost cause. So maybe there is hope to be found amongst the storm-drenched ruins of All Flags Castle. But it's still hard to shake off this mantle of weary dread, knowing this mirthful respite will be all too brief.

We did feel pretty good about ourselves as we assembled with the rescued royals in Lady Arabelle's garden. The trials of Amenos were behind us, and if it weren't for the immediate and incessant royal bickering, I might have proposed launching into our peace talks right there. But Lord Bacaro had his plans, and the Ascendant Order's threat still loomed, and so there was work to be done.

Our first order of business was to see what we could get out of the big all-hands-on-deck Ascendant Order meeting that Irnskar had learned about. That would be a standard affair of using a confiscated summons to weasel our way in, and Lady Arabelle had prepared some Ascendant Order uniforms for the occasion. But there was a complication.

"Only two?" I asked, as Lady Arabelle handed out the disguises.

"Yes, dear. One for you, and one for Jakarn. What more were you expecting on such short notice?"

I looked at Bastian, trying to decide how much of a problem this was going to be. He seemed to be having similar thoughts, but then he put on his reassuring face.

"I'll stay here and guard Lady Arabelle," he said. "We can leave the sneaking around to the professionals."

I nodded, and looked to Jakarn. He grinned back at me. "You heard the man. Let's get in there and show them how it's done."

Inside we found the meeting already in progress. One of these days someone will let me start shooting at speechifying windbags, but we were under orders not to rile up the entire Order all at once. So instead we kept our heads down and listened in while the Magus and Lord went over their plans for using druid magic to blow up All Flags Islet, and then it was time for tiptoeing around the back to try to catch up to them after they'd made their dramatic exit from the assembly.

It was the Magus who caught up with us, but not before we'd poked around his little riverfront sanctum. He was predictably insufferable, thanking us for collecting the monarchs for him and assuring us of the great justice behind the Ascendant Lord's inexorable crusade to supplant the reigning warmongers. I was expecting to have to work a little to wheedle his true identity out of him, but he decided it would make for an amusing guessing game. I might have been annoyed enough to just pull out the name of any old two-bit noble, but there was that brother of Duchess Elea's who had been dabbling in druid magic...

And so it was indeed Count Damard Dufort who graced us with a look at the smarmy face under the helmet. If he was at all concerned about what we might do with that information, it was presumably less compelling than the chance to do a little extra gloating. We were completely helpless to stop him, after all. As if being up on that ledge somehow put him out of arrow range.

He knew exactly what he was doing, though. The next words out of his mouth were about Lady Arabelle - and how his knights were at that moment doling out her punishment down in the dungeons. It was a challenge, and a choice, and Jakarn didn't even hesitate before he took off running into the crypts, even as our enemy smugly strode off toward his waiting ship.

I was left looking after one, and then the other, needing to make a choice of my own. It shouldn't have even been a choice. The Ascendant Magus was a priority target, and even one-on-one I had a decent chance of at least ruining his day a little before he portaled out of my reach. Everything that was sensible said that was the way I should move. But... if Lady Arabelle had been captured, that meant that Bastian...

I let out a growl and started after Jakarn. We would deal with the Magus soon enough, especially now that we could use his identity against him, but we only had one chance to save our friends.

I caught up to Jakarn as he was debating between a pair of hallways, and then a clash of steel and a woman's ringing taunts spurred us on. If that was the woman it sounded like, and she was still fighting, that meant it wasn't too late.

We rounded a corner, both of us with our weapons drawn. And then there they were, Bastian and Lady Arabelle, back to back taking down the last of their would-be captors.

"Ah, so glad you could join us, dears," Lady Arabelle called, blithe despite being out of breath. "Why, Jakarn, you look positively panicked. What's wrong?"

"What's...? You were - you..." Jakarn sputtered, but before his panic could completely give way to relief, his attention turned to Bastian. "What the hell were you doing out there? You were supposed to be keeping Lady Arabelle safe, and you let these bastards lay their scummy hands on her?"

"Jakarn, that's enough," Lady Arabelle said sternly, and the rogue looked at her uncertainly.

"You'd better believe I was ready to fight to protect Lady Arabelle," Bastian said. "But as soon as I reached for my staff, she ordered me to stand down."

"These fine fellows simply wanted to escort us into their secret base," Lady Arabelle said. "Why make things unpleasant when we could accept their kind offer to bring us closer to the action?"

The truth of the situation sank in, and Jakarn lowered his remaining hackles. "I'm... sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you. I was just..."

"I understand," Bastian said. "I'm glad to have my partner back safe too."

A moment of something resembling grudging rapport passed between them, and then Jakarn cleared his throat and turned toward me. "So hey, how about that Ascendant Magus? Maybe you should tell Lady Arabelle what we learned."

It turned out that Lady Arabelle had had her own run-in with His Mageness after being "escorted" into the dungeons, which had been about as pleasant as one would expect. She was chagrined that her capture had become a manipulation tactic to keep us from apprehending Count Damard, but at that point all we could do was look ahead to thwarting what we now knew were the Order's plans to attack the royal delegates at All Flags Islet.

I'm going to go ahead and assume that Damard had already sailed his backup ship out of the Navire shipyard before we arrived to ransack the Silver Swan, because otherwise I'd have to be peeved about Lady Arabelle forgetting that salient fact after we rescued Duchess Elea. On the other hand, I can maybe understand being distracted by plans for a boat heist, and stealing a ship with our posse of sailor friends was actually fairly fun.

And then we got to All Flags Islet, and the fun abruptly ended. Castle walls, magic wards, a contingent of bodyguards, none of it made any difference in the end. It always comes down to beating the crap out of a bad guy to make him stop doing bad things, doesn't it? Well and in this case, also using ballistae to blow up ships and feeding druids to their own storm rituals. But after all that big talk about the power of wind and flame and mountain, in the end the Ascendant Magus was no match for three bickering royals and a pair of tired babysitters.

And it's a good thing too, because whatever Lord Bacaro was doing during this whole crisis, it wasn't getting us the backup we thought we needed. Sending letters must be time-consuming work. But maybe that's just me being petty after doing so much of the heavy lifting. Things worked out okay, relatively, so no need for grousing, right?

The monarchs have been on their best behavior during the celebratory shindig, even making public declarations that they'd support the peace talks whenever Lord Bacaro is ready to try again. That sounded good, but we'll see. High King Emeric shared his doubts with me more quietly, and given his greater experience in both politics and war, I'm not surprised that he doesn't quite share the enthusiasm of his younger counterparts. Or maybe he's just less inclined to sugarcoat his skepticism.

Despite the continued posturing and traces of antagonism beneath the veneer of courtesy, though, I can see how our alliance leaders have changed. They may never consider each other friends, but they've gone through a life-or-death battle as allies. Any one of them could have taken advantage of the fracas to turn blade or spell against the others, hoping to be the last monarch standing when the storm clouds eventually cleared. But they didn't. They stood together, fighting with and for each other, for a basic common survival that superseded politics or war. And I think they'll remember how that felt, even when they're back at a negotiation table ruled by stubborn egos.

It won't be long before the party breaks up and our little adventuring troupe goes its separate ways. Jakarn is already antsy to get back to laying low until trouble finds him again. Kaleen and the other captains are going to stick around Gonfalon Bay, guarding the delegates and getting their new ships and crews whipped into shape. And Bastian and I will noodle around doing whatever we feel like until we stumble over something else that needs dealing with.

You know what, I think I'm going to choose to be in a good mood and enjoy the rest of what this Breton paradise has to offer. That'll show all the crummy nonsense that wants to make me cranky. I wonder how hard it'll be to figure out that card game...

Ilsabet

Bastian is currently off pouting since I beat him at cards again. Someone should tell him that spamming the Orgnum patron isn't cheating. And I mean I am the Tribute Champion of Tamriel, so he shouldn't expect to have an easy time of it when he challenges me to a rematch.

I'm not going to tell him "it's just a game," though. Not after seeing how much Tribute means to those I've been fighting alongside, even if this battlefield is just a fancy placemat on a bar table and the artillery is a motley assortment of playing cards.

We all have something we'd like to escape from, don't we. We'd love an easy way out of our troubles, something to take our minds off the nonsense for a while. Hell, isn't that half the reason I threw myself into learning this silly game? But sometimes those diversions become troubles of their own, exerting a hold over us that we may not even want to escape from.

I can't know exactly what made Sorinne think that using skooma was a good idea. Everybody knows how addictive it is, and how it messes you up once the initial highs aren't enough anymore. But her life on the streets of Elsweyr was marked by enough lows to make those highs seem awfully appealing by comparison. And when someone you care for, who only wants the best for you and will always be there for you, offers to share comfort in the form of a sweet release, what could be more seductive?

Of course, we both see how blatantly manipulative and self-serving Raenobi is now. But it's also easy to see why her brand of manipulation is so effective. Sorinne was vulnerable, and needed a supportive friend to help her get through those dark times. Raenobi gave her just enough to mask what she was taking, like the sweetness of sugar camouflaging a life-leeching poison. We're all just fortunate that Sorinne was able to find her way out before she completely lost herself, and it's a credit to her resilience that she resisted the allure of just one more taste.

Brahgas, meanwhile, got a little too into the thrill of competition. And when I say "a little," I mean he's extremely lucky he's not chained up on some Dres plantation right now. There's confidence, and then there's cockiness, and then there's being so sure of yourself that you're willing to bet everything you have on your next match. And then betting a little more to make up the difference when things don't go your way. And then a little more, and a little more, and even if you know you should stop you're not so sure you can, and the avalanche keeps on rolling until it's your literal life on the line.

Would Brahgas have been fine if he'd just kept winning? Maybe. But scoring big early on is a good way to convince yourself of your own invincibility, and then it all comes crashing down as soon as you inevitably meet someone with more skill or experience or moxie. Or hell, sometimes all it takes is a crappy run of tavern cards and there goes your match. Or sometimes your opponent is just really good at spamming Orgnum. And however it happens, once the winnings dry up and the debt hole starts expanding, you're stuck playing catch-up and it's all too easy to find yourself at the mercy of some unscrupulous Dark Elves. (Okay it's not always Dark Elves. But it does make you wonder how much of the slave trade banks on addicts as easy targets.)

It might be easy to judge people who have fallen prey to addiction, and it might even impart a satisfying sense of superiority to those of us who haven't, as if we would never be so dumb/foolish/needy as to make those obvious mistakes. But self-righteous judgmentalism doesn't help anyone. Kindness helps people. Having a place where they can feel safe helps people. Supportive friends who enforce boundaries and accessible resources for information and counsel help people, like Razhamad giving Brahgas a job while he's on his Tribute break or Sorinne learning about addiction from scholars and priests.

I don't know if I have anything that qualifies as an addiction. Running into danger with little or no regard for my own safety, maybe? But whether I can identify with them or not, I can support my friends and encourage them to find healthy ways to deal with those cravings that they just can't seem to resist on their own. And even when I'm not here hanging around the gaming hall every day, it'll be good to know that Sorinne and Brahgas will have Razhamad looking after them like the chapter dad he is.

Speaking of friends and being supportive, maybe I'll find Bastian and see if he wants to go do some antiquity-hunting as a conciliatory gesture. I don't need to rub it in too much that I'm the bestest Tribute player in Tamriel. At least until the next rematch.

Ilsabet

I had a really weird dream last night. I was in Cyrodiil, but not the Gold Coast or Blackwood or any other part of Cyrodiil I've ever been to. It was closer to the Imperial City, right in the heart of the Three Banners War.

When I showed up I was welcomed into the ranks of the great Daggerfall Covenant, and I learned how to shoot ballistae and trebuchets and dump oil off of balconies. And then they sent me out into the field to siege castles and face the Covenant's foes, and I had no real idea where I was going so I just kind of looked around and tried to follow people who knew what they were doing.

There was a lot of chaos after that. Big battles to capture or defend keeps, skirmishes with Pact and Dominion troops, attempts to sneak around with varying success. And lots and lots of horse riding. I feel like I died a bunch of times, but each time I just went right back out there and kept fighting. I'm not sure if we ever got any closer to claiming the Ruby Throne for High King Emeric and putting an end to the war, but somehow each successful keep battle felt satisfying, even if the bad guys eventually took it right back.

It was actually kind of refreshing just being another soldier amongst the throng, with no special treatment or real expectations other than trying my best to contribute. Reminds me a bit of my first day in the Dominion after saving the world the first time, just being a nobody that no one would pay any mind to.

Over time I did rise through the ranks, and then came the craziest part of all: The Covenant made a mad push to encircle the Imperial City, and once we had succeeded, they decided to put me on the Ruby Throne. Empress Ilsabet has a certain ring to it, but that was probably the part that clued me in that it was a dream, and I woke up not too long afterward.

Hmm, now that I think about it, maybe that's the real answer to the Three Banners War. Just put me in charge and I'll tell everyone to stop fighting and go home. I'll have to propose that if the official peace talks fall through.

On the other hand, though, I'm not so sure I want to be in charge. My adventures in dream-Cyrodiil were exciting and all, but once they were done I was left with the sensation of being very, very tired. So maybe I'll let other people handle the vying for control of Cyrodiil and stick with what I do best.

Margravigne

Absolutely love this. Found it a couple of days ago after replaying the main quest, read right through until I finished at 8am. Great writing style and character insights, I'm really looking forward to further installments. Now if they'd only stop taunting our poor characters and bring him back....

Ilsabet

Margravigne wrote: »

Absolutely love this. Found it a couple of days ago after replaying the main quest, read right through until I finished at 8am. Great writing style and character insights, I'm really looking forward to further installments. Now if they'd only stop taunting our poor characters and bring him back....

Now that's dedication. Glad you found it so compelling. And yes we need more than teasers from our boy. (Although I wouldn't say no to more teasers at this point...)

Ilsabet

Fiiiiine I suppose I can get back to work. No vacation can last forever, and something something Maormer and something something druids and fine Dhulef I'll go see what this Sir Stefan has to say about defending Galen from all these jerks trying to ruin everything for everybody. I'm sure it'll be no big deal and we can take care of business without harshing my mellow at all.

I promise I'm not getting bitter and jaded again already. It's true that I was settling quite comfortably into carefree island life, but it was only a matter of time before duty called again and frankly I was starting to wonder what was taking so long. There were those side adventures where I met Dhulef the pirate mage and Druid Laurel the... druid, but those seemed like diversions into druid history and druid circle squabbles that other people could follow up on once the dust and sand had settled.

And then Laurel sent word that she could use a guide for a trip to Glenumbra, and the call of duty started coming more clearly into focus. That squabble back at Earthen Root Enclave wasn't just an isolated spat, and the formerly-reclusive Firesong druids are serious about taking whatever they want from their fellow circles and even the wyrd of High Rock by any ruthless means necessary. And since that seems like bad news for pretty much everyone else, it's going to be our job to stop them.

And so here we are on sometimes-sunny Galen, which seems thus far to be an amalgam of the wilds of Amenos and the civilization of Gonfalon Bay. I haven't ventured too far into the less hospitable areas I've heard about, so that's something to look forward to. Assuming those shifty druids and the rampaging Maormer pirates don't get us first.

I may have gotten a little sidetracked after getting my assignment from Dhulef. I was nosing around Vastyr, getting the lay of the land as is my habit, and as soon as I walked into the tavern I heard a familiar cat's voice wishing he could be more boring. And so Bastian got to meet Razum-dar, and we got to help him settle some old Eye of the Queen business. Raz is lucky it's been long enough that reminding me of Senalana didn't stir up too much angst. But it still felt good to give him a bit of the business about that trick he pulled on me back then.

And now it's back to actual work. I hope Sir Stefan and Lord Bacaro haven't fallen asleep waiting for their backup to arrive. Oh right, Lord Bacaro has apparently also made his way to Galen, offering the Society of the Steadfast's relief to those who have been affected by the island's various conflicts. I wonder how happy he'll be to see me ride in on my high horse. (Or... Dwemer spider. Either way.) Any help is good help when you're just trying to help, right?

Ilsabet

I've been trying to decide how much I can get away with leveraging the slight confusion I sense when I introduce myself and people hear my last name. I sometimes go ahead and clarify that "no it's MEnard, not MORnard," but then I start to wonder if people would treat me differently if they thought I was some kind of noble. I toyed with that idea on High Isle too, but over there the Mornard name seems to be less well-regarded after their demotion a few years back when the patriarch of the time made the mistake of supporting Ranser's uprising. Here on Galen, though, or at least in Vastyr, the Mornards are squarely in charge.

Of course, even if I hadn't developed a habit of pronouncing my surname very precisely, anyone who knows anything would immediately peg me as "not from around here" and therefore clearly not a Systres noble. And then I might get in trouble for impersonating a Systres noble to get free drinks or something, and nobody needs that kind of hassle.

Distinctly not being a Mornard does have its advantages, though. Like when the scion of House Mornard is taken hostage and his captor demands that House Mornard stay completely out of their nefarious druid business, and all Count Mornard can do is tell his soldiers to stand down and hope that Archdruid Orlaith doesn't come up with another reason to kill Stefan. But Bastian and I are not of House Mornard, and we will do whatever the hell we want, thank you kindly.

Okay so I might not proclaim as much to Orlaith's face, but that's why we do things stealthily. And pulling off a stealthy rescue mission is significantly easier when you have a very angry Maormer stomping around screaming for the presiding sealord's head. So thanks for that, very angry Maormer.

I'm still not quite sure what to make of Captain Siravaen. She's on our side, inasmuch as she's no friend to the Dreadsails or the Firesong. But she's also a loyal agent of King Orgnum, and presumably that means she thinks his goal of taking over Summerset and/or sinking it into the sea would be just peachy. Maybe it's a good thing all of this is not going down in Altmer lands.

And now, with Sir Stefan, Druid Niraya, and the Eldertide's sacred seed safely in our possession, it's back to Vastyr to see how the imminent Dreadsail siege is going. So here's hoping that the rogue Sea Elf captain will actually keep her word, and the sacred seeds will actually be safe within Vastyr's stone walls, and we can get back there in time to make a difference without everything going to hell.

Ilsabet

Yes, Lord Bacaro, how could this have possibly happened? How could you be the only survivor after the most vulnerable and the most important people in Vastyr were herded into the cathedral at your insistence? How could the second-most-fortified structure in this city have crumbled in an instant, leaving only you to step out unscathed?

Am I being unreasonable? Is this the old paranoia flaring up again? Or am I just pissy that once again things have spiraled way out of control even after all of our planning and preparation, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it?

How many sieges has Vastyr withstood? At least one really big one, according to some book I read, when the Maormer invaders turned the sea itself against the city's walls. And yet here's one little ragtag pirate armada bolstered by druid magic and the whole town is overrun in the blink of an eye. At least we can be comforted knowing it would have been even worse if we hadn't gone to the trouble of enlisting our own druid allies.

And yet, even if the city stands and the Sea Elves have been repelled, so much has been lost, and the damn Firesong have exactly what they wanted despite all of our successes thus far keeping it out of their hands.

Could I have kept those seeds safe? Really, should I just be the one to do everything? Or would it have been just as easy for Orlaith to knock me over the head or put me in some kind of magical bindings and pluck her prize right out of my pockets?

Gragh. I'm mad at Sea Elves, and mad at druids, and mad for Sir Stefan and everybody who had to watch someone they cared about die today. It's all so wasteful. And now I guess we get to see what the Firesong always intended to do with those seeds, and what kind of fancy doodads they'll sprout into for the next Druid King. Unless, I suppose, there's any chance we can protect Frii and keep them from falling into those blighters' hands too. And so... better luck this time.

Ilsabet

So far, so good. At least as far as Frii is concerned. There is the small matter of Druid Laurel being captured by the Firesong, but we'll take care of that in short order. I'm mostly relieved that we got through our expedition to Ivyhame with relatively little carnage, and came out of it with a lot of things learned.

There was a bit of carnage dealing with the Firesong guards posted outside the Druid King's old hangout, but I tried to get the necessary skirmishes over with quickly after seeing how uncomfortable the fighting made Frii. And we managed to stay out of sight while Orlaith and her lackey determined that they couldn't get into the throne room and took their leave. It was quite nice of them to clear the sanctum out for its true visitor to be welcomed home.

I haven't spent much time with Frii before now, but I'm glad I'm getting the chance to see how the sproutling has grown since they were awakened back in Bangkorai. And how they're still growing, with each new experience and connection and understanding. They have a remarkable intuition that just... knows, and it's fascinating to see how they reach out with mind and spirit and connect with the world that is and was and should be.

They speak often of their purpose, for which Druid King Kasorayn summoned them from the Green and entrusted them to the care of the Glenmoril Wyrd until the time came for his prophecy to be fulfilled. Of course, the Firesong who awakened Frii don't seem to care whether it's the right time or not, as long as forcing the prophecy's fulfillment can put their archdruid on the Ivy Throne. Whether Frii thinks it's a good idea or not.

As much as it compels them, though, Frii's purpose does not make them an automatic pawn of the one who now holds the sacred seeds. They still have choice, they say, and while they are drawn to fulfill their purpose, they get to decide how. So even if Frii cannot help but join the seeds in enacting their shared destiny, I at least take heart knowing that they will have agency, however that might manifest in the end.

Before we can anticipate the future, though, we needed to learn of the past. And the hall of Ivyhame, having opened its arms to the Sower, was prepared to help them do just that. With the aid of a mortal conduit, of course.

And so, another dream-walk. You'd think I would be used to them by now, but I still felt better knowing that Bastian would be watching over me and Frii in the waking world while I was adrift in the past. As I slipped away from the now, I felt an impulse to take his hand, just in case.

The vision Frii and I shared was of Kasorayn's final day, when the divisions and corruption within his druid circles had finally driven him to consign the symbols of rule back to Y'ffre until a worthy successor could be found to claim them. He knew that his dream of unity could not be achieved during his lifetime, even before that life was cut short by a betrayer's blade. And so crown, staff, and gauntlet reverted to three sacred seeds, and instructions were left for Frii and for the majestic beast summoned to guard the temple where rituals past and future must take place.

Back in the now, Frii had plenty to think about with their purpose laid out more clearly. Before we could talk much about it, though, we discovered Laurel missing, likely taken to the Firesong island as bait for the Sower. I don't think Frii plans to resist the lure. They probably always knew that their journey would take them to Y'ffelon. It's just a matter now of getting the backup we need to ensure the safety of both Frii and Laurel, and to counter whatever the Firesong have in store. So back to Vastyr and House Mornard we go.

Ilsabet

I wasn't expecting to run into Quen so far from Hew's Bane, but there she was a stone's throw from Ivyhame with a job gone wrong. A druid relic that she and her new Guild partner were supposed to pick up for a client, and a partner who'd gone missing after neglecting to reveal what he knew about the mark.

It was a diversion, to be sure. But the Firesong wouldn't hurt Laurel as long as they needed her to lure Frii to Y'ffelon. And I had a feeling that Frii had ways to stay out of sight while they waited for me to meet them in Vastyr. So with a mental apology to Laurel for making her wait just a little longer, I reckoned that we could spare some time to help out another friend in need.

I caught Bastian raising his eyebrows when Quen addressed me as "partner" as soon as she saw me, and shifting on his feet as Quen and I caught up on business new and old.

"Another old friend, eh? You sure know a lot of interesting people," he said as we headed into the Maormer camp.

"Thieves Guild. Abah's Landing." I don't think he expected me to be so blunt, but there was no point in dancing around the obvious. "You want to sit this one out?"

He shook his head. "I'm still with you, aren't I? Let's just call it recovering something that doesn't belong to these pirates either."

Thus reassured by my stalwart partner's presence, I headed in to look for Quen's partner... and found him half-dressed on a bed, mumbling at me that he was worn out and couldn't possibly take any more.

Um... okay. No bread this time, and no mostly-naked woman in sight. But if I had a drake for every time I've walked in on something like this...

Umindior wanted some water, and I obliged him with a bucketful to the face. He was not appreciative, but at least he could talk coherently after that. Between his distracted rambling and the note his paramour had left on her bedside table, we learned that the relic we were after had recently been activated by a couple of "idiots," and one of the head sea witches was trying to figure out what to do about it.

The idiots turned out to be a Sea Elf couple with only one thing on their minds. Well maybe two, if you count a desire to not be locked up awaiting punishment for their recklessness. But it was a different kind of desire that had led them to have a little fun next to the relic, which had in turn triggered a whole lot more desire throughout the camp.

Hooookay. So this job had turned into a mission to relieve a bunch of randy Maormer of the very item that was making them randy. Dodging blades and spells was one thing, but dodging innuendo and amorous advances was something else.

"How are you feeling?" Bastian asked, after we'd left Umindior to deal with the idiots.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I just noticed that you've been on edge since we walked in on that man. Is this... situation making you uncomfortable?"

I felt defensive and I'm not sure why. "I'm not a little girl. I don't have a problem with people... doing... things. I just wasn't expecting to walk into a camp full of people doing things. I'm fine, I can handle it."

"I understand. Sorry if the question was out of line."

It wasn't, really, but in truth I'm not sure if I could have explained to him why I instinctively felt so guarded. I just knew that if this was how this relic was affecting people, it was very important that it not do the same to me. To us.

We needed to be careful how we approached this thing. Quen still wanted to get the job done, but we couldn't just rush in and grab our prize. Fortunately the sea witches had come up with a way to suppress the relic's influence, so if we could use that to our advantage, maybe we could still pull this off without any... unintended side effects.

I give Quen credit for taking point on getting information from the Sea Elf fellow who'd taken a fancy to her. I feel like it's a good thing I've never had to seduce someone. I'd probably be terrible at it, but the alternative is scary in its own way.

Side note, "it radiates a gentle warmth, much like yourself" is a pretty smooth line. Maybe that's one to keep in my back pocket.

Some sneaking, some stabbing, some trying not to overhear too much, and we had in our possession the magic lust-suppressing sailcloth. And then, once Umindior had been freed from the amorous clutches of the head sea witch, it was time to put our willpower to the test and approach the ancient fertility relic that had reduced an entire pirate camp to wanton abandon.

It was pretty, and pinkish, and it did indeed radiate a gentle warmth. A warmth that resonated and stirred and made me keenly aware of the stalwart man beside me. Did he sense it too? Could he be feeling the same way...

No. Sailcloth. The stirring ceased, and even grabbing the wrapped-up relic and hauling it away was completely harmless. Thanks again, Sea Elf magic. The job and the day are both saved, along with our modesty and virtue.

Maybe this whole thing shouldn't have been that big a deal. I'm not especially happy about some of the less... consensual encounters we heard about and/or put a stop to, but if people want to get cozy and enjoy some extra spice, that's their business. I just know that sort of thing isn't for me. Especially when even the decision to get cozy isn't exactly in my hands.

I mean if I was going to... do something... with someone, I would want it to be my choice. Because I wanted to, and so did he, without anything pushing us into it. Even if that someone was someone I trusted, someone I cared for, someone strong and kind and idealistic...

We should get back to Vastyr. There's work to do, and bad news to deliver to Sir Stefan, and a good brisk head-clearing walk through the jungle is sounding pretty good right about now.

Ilsabet

Maybe some things are inevitable. They happen whether we want them to or not, whether we try to stop them or enable them or just stand back and watch, because the universe decides that's what should happen today.

But would those things still happen if we didn't do the things we did? If we decided not to even bother, because nothing we do matters either way? Or is the universe relying on us mere mortals to do the things we go ahead and do, because that's how things get done?

I have a feeling this line of inquiry is a good way to make my head hurt. Obviously there are things that mortals can't control, like forces of nature and the flow of time and the inevitability of our own deaths. Well okay, we can try to control nature and time with magic, and some people do pretty well warding off death by making deals with Daedra or plugging their souls into machines. But for most of us, the best we can do is try really hard not to let anything kill us today, for as many todays as we can hold out.

That is something, though. And it brings us back to what Frii has said about having choice. I've been thinking about that a lot since the big showdown on Y'ffelon. In the end, we couldn't stop the Firesong from acquiring the sacred seeds, and we couldn't stop the seeds from sprouting into the Druid King's regalia. For every success we had, the Firesong simply became more determined and their methods more drastic. They came close to leveling Vastyr in their pursuit of the seeds, and they would have drenched the entire island in blood if that's what it took to get ahold of Frii.

So could we have avoided all of that bloodshed and destruction by just handing over the seeds when Orlaith asked nicely? Seems like we could have saved ourselves a lot of work, at the very least. And we ended up in the same place either way: The seeds came together, and Frii worked their magic, and the regalia were restored.

The idea of just giving up and not even trying to stop something you know is wrong doesn't sit well, though. Even Frii felt it, even as they knew the call of their purpose was something they couldn't deny. They had a choice between two wrongs, and they couldn't just not choose. So in the end, they followed the path that would allow them to stay true to their purpose, and went along with Orlaith's demands to quicken the seeds, but they did so knowing that their allies would arrive at just the right moment to ruin the bad guys' day and circumvent the greater wrong.

And so Kasorayn's prophecy was fulfilled... sort of. Not really. Or at least not entirely. There's still the part about the new Druid King uniting the circles for good or ill. With Orlaith out of the running, and no obvious backup candidate, the regalia remain unclaimed and Frii remains bound to a directive with no clear direction.

Maybe the time wasn't right for the prophecy to be truly fulfilled. The Firesong did push the process along pretty drastically, after all. But were their actions a valid method of bringing about what Kasorayn foresaw? Is "forcing" a prophecy simply a more efficient way to get things done than sitting around waiting for something to maybe eventually happen?

Druid King Kasorayn wanted his people to be united. They weren't, and he wanted them to be, and he hoped that someday they would be. But when he left his Dream behind to guide his successors into the future, did he really know the exact season when his prophecy would come to pass? Did he have some kind of divination magic that let him see into the future, or the counsel of an all-knowing nature spirit, or some method of scientifically calculating the probabilities of future generations of druids setting aside their differences?

Or did he just spitball some numbers into a poem and leave future generations to guess at what they meant? Honestly that sounds just as likely. From what I've read, nobody can really agree on what the symbolism in the prophecy means, and there was a pesky Dragon Break in there messing with our conception of time so we don't know exactly how many years it's even been. No one would know if Kasorayn was on the right track or not, much less blame him if he got it wrong. And yet for all these thousands of years, generations of druids have cherished the Dream of Kasorayn as holy writ, certain that the appointed time would come and the Dream would become reality.

I remember Archdruid Ellic describing the sacred seeds as a promise. Dormant and perhaps impotent as they were, they represented an idea - and an ideal - that every druid could put their faith in: that one day Kasorayn's Dream would be realized. As long as that promise endured, each circle had a purpose in guarding its seed in service to the Druid King's vision.

But fulfilling a promise means trading potential for payoff. And the Firesong certainly didn't intend for the payoff to benefit anyone but themselves. Maybe ignoring the "unity" part of the prophecy is what doomed them to failure. Or maybe prophecies can't be forced after all.

But still, here we are with a crown, staff, and gauntlet reborn. And now Frii has more choices to make, both in service to the Druid King and on their own behalf. They know they're not quite done yet, not until a new King has been crowned, but there's nothing telling them what they should be doing in the meantime. And so their purpose is their own now, sort of, and hopefully they'll have enough time to sort out what to do with it before the next stage of our saga unfolds.

Meanwhile, as my thoughts inevitably wander, what could I say my purpose is? When Frii asked me for advice, the best I could offer was "find something you like and do it." But is that what I'm doing? Do I really throw myself into danger on a regular basis, get myself involved in political dramas and world-shaking plots, eschew anything resembling stability, just because I'm having so darn much fun?

My purpose is probably more along the lines of "find people who need help and help them," as Bastian would say. That certainly sums up most of what I do. But now I wonder if that's a purpose I purposefully chose for myself, or if it's just what I stumbled into after that whole Vestige thing happened. Would that be the creed I would have dictated for myself, if at any point in my life I had sat down to write one?

I'm not sure it matters all that much, honestly. I do what I do, and I hope for a good outcome, and it's hard to see myself going any other way. I know how ironic that sounds considering my many and varied regrets, but overall I think I've done pretty well for myself, considering that I'm just one person standing up to an awful lot of nonsense. Even if half the time I'm just making it up as I go along.

Frii was given a purpose by the Druid King, much as I was set on my heroic path by the Prophet. But I can still choose how I walk that path, how I live my life day to day, how I go about trying to make a difference. And if I wanted to, presumably, I could even choose to stop walking and find something else to do with my time. What would the world do, I wonder, if the Savior of Pretty Much Everything didn't show up right where she was needed?

That's probably a question for future would-be heroes to consider. I won't be around forever, after all. Although now I have an image of Granny Ilsa tottering around waving her cane at Daedric Princes and it's cracking me right up. So I'd better keep going long enough for that particular vision to come to pass.

Ilsabet

Unlikely allies! Exotic locales! A dastardly poisoning, a noble sacrifice, the master villain's secret identity revealed! You won't want to miss the next thrilling installment of Investigator Vale!

Maybe Lady Arabelle has the right idea, turning her experiences into pulp fiction fodder. I mean if she were the author of the Vale novels, which she totally isn't. But I bet I could churn out a whole boatload of thinly-veiled semi-autobiographical penny dreadfuls if I put my mind to it. And if nobody expected too much from the writing style, or the narrative structure, or the release schedule.

My heroine could be a plucky young adventurer who just happens to always find herself in the middle of the latest crisis, and rallies the colorful supporting characters to stand up to the evil threatening the good townsfolk until the day is dramatically saved. After some close calls, of course. Probably no carousel of romantic interests like Vale gets, but she could have a heartthrob sidekick that would keep readers wondering will-they-won't-they, even as she carries a torch for a lost love who may or may not someday make a surprise appearance.

Okay maybe that's a little too close to home. I blame Druid Laurel. But anyway, we have one more thrilling tale of intrigue and danger wrapped up and ready to put in the inspiration bin if I ever decide my new purpose is making a bunch of money writing books.

The cinders had barely cooled on Galen when I was summoned back to Mandrake Manor to attend to some light bureaucracy. Remember those peace talks, that our magnanimous Lord Bacaro had been so eager to hold? Well now, amazingly, he seemed to be dragging his feet about getting them started. The time wasn't right, it was too risky with the Ascendant Order still active, he was completely swamped with the Society's relief efforts on Galen. And meanwhile the alliance leaders were cooped up in Gonfalon Palace, not even allowed to interact for fear that they'd come to blows without proper adult supervision. (Which, to be fair, is a valid concern.)

So, Lord Bacaro, what gives? Is there an actual issue here that I can help with? Why yes, plucky young adventurer, there's mischief afoot in House Dufort, and Duchess Elea is totally a baddie who's been fooling us all. You'd better go to the shipyards and see what's going on with the Ascendant Order up there. Okay, sounds like a plan.

"You don't trust him, do you?" Bastian said, once we were sufficiently out of pertinent earshot.

"Is it that obvious?"

"I think I know your smile well enough to tell when you're faking it."

Well then, time to work on my poker face. Or just hope that most people aren't as perceptive as the guy who hangs out with me every day.

There was indeed Ascendant Order mischief at the shipyards, but there was also someone trying to poison Duchess Elea, which seemed an awful lot like the same person who succeeded in poisoning Lady Arabelle. And so with the good lady's life hanging in the balance, the plucky adventurer and her intrepid druid herbalist friend raced to uncover the secrets of the poison, concoct an effective antidote, and unmask the scoundrel behind it all.

I got to put my totally-not-fake smile to work again asking Captain Marguerite about the shipment of Steadfast armor that had somehow ended up in the Ascendant Order's possession. Surely Lord Bacaro's right-hand woman would be aware of and presumably complicit in any nefarious dealings he might just happen to be engaged in, right?

But, I had to admit, if she had known what was in Bacaro's secret druid basement, she never would have sent us down there. Unless it was a trap. But it wasn't, and there we found exactly what we needed to finally put the Ascendant Lord mystery to rest.

I'd say I hate being right sometimes, but it's more that I hate when my instinct is telling me something that I have to pretend to ignore because acting on it would cause more problems than it solves. At least being proven right gives me license to finally set about the necessary punching.

His Lordness had already decided to make his big move, and he was far enough ahead of us that all we could do was chase after him as he collected the trophies that would cement his claim to royalty. Because overthrowing the warmongering establishment responsible for the loss of his family wasn't enough for someone who believed he could trace his lineage back to Kasorayn himself. Druid King or bust, whether the actual druids wanted him on the Ivy Throne or not.

His command of the stolen regalia was enough to compel Frii into resistant obedience, and rouse the slumbering volcano spirit of Mount Firesong. This was of course a problem for anyone who didn't want a giant volcano to destroy the entire archipelago, and so it was time for the plucky adventurer and her stalwart sidekick to go to work.

If it had just been the giant volcano spirit, Bastian and I might have been in trouble. Divines know we got our heels singed by rising lava enough times running through that cave. And Laurel had already warned us that the spirit of Mount Firesong was a force of nature that even the armies of Tamriel couldn't hope to counter.

But when its ascendant master ordered it to eliminate us, the spirit sent forth a mere avatar to face us in combat. Troublesome, but not indomitable. And then Bacaro made his biggest mistake since bringing on Lady Arabelle and her unexpectedly pesky subcontractors: He called on the spirit to infuse him with its power, and made his decisive stand with the volcano's matchless might diluted by his own mortal form.

At least that's the best explanation I have for why we made it out of there with only a few scorch marks. Well, that and Bastian being a damn good healer. But as badly as that spirit wanted to erupt, Bacaro must have siphoned enough energy to moderate its destructive impulses, at least long enough for us to reduce the would-be king's dream to ashes.

The mountain still erupted, of course. And we have Frii to thank for that eruption not being anywhere near as devastating as it could have been. A new purpose found, bound by the regalia, the nature spirit transformed into the new master of the mountain. And there they will slumber, until they are in some way needed again.

It's actually kind of hard for me to think of it as a noble sacrifice, because even though they're not here walking around with us anymore, I know Frii is still there, just in a new form. Maybe they and Verandis should compare notes sometime. But I know Laurel will miss them, and I should probably see if I can remember that wyrd elixir recipe to hopefully help when she goes back to commune with her old friend.

There was one other gift Frii left the druids of Galen. A tree that will someday bear three new sacred seeds, so that the Druid King's prophecy can once again endure as a promise for generations of druids to believe in. Until the time is right, for real this time.

Of course, it will be up to the druids to sort out how their circles will move forward from here, which will primarily involve seeing how the surviving Firesong redeem themselves for their order's misdeeds. But with people like Laurel and Ryvana inspiring them, I'm optimistic about the direction they seem to be moving in.

This might be the first victory party I've been to that's doubled as a major Tamrielic political event. It was pretty savvy of Lady Arabelle to lure the alliance delegates here with cake, and I can only assume that the plan is to trap them in a room until they either agree to a truce or succumb to food comas.

These are spectacular cakes, though. And the (thankfully non-poisoned) wine isn't half bad either. I usually don't imbibe that much at these parties, but I'm in a better mood than I've been in for a while. Emeric once again claiming me as the Champion of the Covenant, swiftly followed by Ayrenn and Irnskar calling their own dibs, might have something to do with that. And seeing Raz again helps too, and getting some extra hangout time with Caska and Za'ji, and knowing that nobody here is likely to stab me in the back any time soon.

I also took yet another opportunity to ask both Count Stefan and Druid Laurel about their, um, friendship, which I've been keeping an eye on since Laurel made the mistake of admitting that they used to be involved. There's no disapproving father to get in the way anymore, after all, and we all know I'm a sucker for a good love story.

I maaay have pushed my luck a little too far with Laurel, though.

"All right then, since you can't resist asking me about Stefan, hopefully you won't mind if I do the same?" she finally shot back.

I raised an eyebrow. "I'm not crushing on Count Stefan, if that's what you're worried about."

"No, no, not him." She chuckled. "I'm talking about your friend Bastian, of course. You two seem close."

"Well, we've been working together for quite... some..." I caught the impish look on her face just a few seconds too late. "No, we're, we're not - We actually are just friends. Always have been. It's not like you and Stefan at all."

"Not at all, hm? I see." She smiled warmly. "I won't press you any further, then. I'll just... hope for the best, for both of you."

She glanced over my shoulder, and then smiled at me again and headed back into the crowd. I watched her go, suddenly aware of a slight burning in my cheeks. It wasn't anything she would have noticed, right? I mean what did she expect after hitting me with a question like that?

"Druid Laurel is a good person," Bastian's voice said behind me, and I definitely didn't almost drop my drink. "I hope things work out for her. And the rest of the druids too, of course."

Of course. I had no reason to disagree before needing to make another visit to the food table. There was still cake left and it wasn't going to eat itself, after all.

Now I know Laurel didn't really mean anything by her question, and she was probably just teasing me for being so interested in her love life, but I keep wondering if I should have tried harder to correct her misconception about me and Bastian. I mean is that what people really think about us? (Aside from my mother. We all know what she thinks.) I guess I can't blame anybody too much for making assumptions, since it's not like most people know anything about Darien, and I'm certainly not going to sit down and explain my whole complicated romantic history to everyone I meet. And Bastian is... well, we do get along well, and he is... who he is, so I guess I can see why people would look at us and think they see something that isn't happening. And isn't going to happen, whether anybody thinks it would be nice or not.

But if I were going to explain all that to Laurel, the time to do it was probably when she asked, and not however long it's been afterward when it would look like I've just been standing here stewing over it and she'd probably think I was protesting too much and really I should just relax and get back to basking in the satisfaction of another job well done instead of wasting brainpower thinking about how silly that whole conversation was.

Although, hmm... If I put the brainpower to more practical use, this is probably something to consider for the future adventure serial. If you're gonna tease your readers with a (possible) slow burn, your supporting characters are probably gonna notice something before your heroine even realizes what's going on. And they might say something about it, which of course the two of them will vehemently deny even though it's super obvious to everybody in the room except them, until some climactic event makes them confront their (possible) feelings...

Okay that's probably enough pulp fiction for one day. I wonder if I have room for one more piece of cake...

Ilsabet

Something is brewing, and I do not think I like it.

Why did I go to Stonefalls? Why did I go to the Rift? Why did I get out of bed this morning? Well at least the last one has an easy answer. I got out of bed because that's what I always do, even if that's where the trouble usually starts. Could I stay out of trouble if I just stayed in bed? Maybe I'll have to try that sometime.

I'm pretty sure I didn't realize we were poking around the secret entrance to a secret library when we stumbled across what turned out to be the headquarters of the Scribes of Mora. Did anyone else know there was a team of stealth librarians watching and documenting everything that happens? Were they there invisibly monitoring everything I did during my heroic tour of the Pact? Is my life story somewhere in their vault, just waiting to get fed to the ravenous eyes of the One Who Knows? (Which is a rad moniker for a Daedric Prince, by the way.)

There's way more than books hidden in Scrivener's Hall, too. They have a collection of portals that would rival Fargrave, which the scribes use to poke around and report on the shifting landscapes of the various planes of Oblivion. Most of these rifts remain closed, and the ones that open do so sporadically according to some cycle known only to the most experienced scribes.

Before I could say "TWO TICKETS TO THE COLORED ROOMS PLEASE," I discovered that the most recent rift-opening to Meridia's realm had ended prematurely and badly, trapping a number of explorers inside. Sooo that does not appear to be an option for now. Of course.

The rifts that were currently available sent us to the Deadlands and the Spiral Skein. While it hasn't been that long since we traversed the realm of fire and ash, the realm of spiders and secrets brought back more distant memories. Charging through web-covered corridors, determined to rescue someone trapped within...

We did rescue Keshargo, and kept the Itinerant Staff and its realm-hopping powers out of the hands of the usurper who preferred Mephala to Mora, and the Scribes are free to resume their purpose of doing absolutely nothing while observing everything.

Is non-interference really the best policy? Are the observers really complicit in the atrocities they witness and don't even try to stop? I don't think I can fault the Scribes for acting as the chroniclers of history rather than making history themselves, but I also have no compunction about interfering like hell when I see something that needs doing. (Just open that Colored Rooms rift a tiny smidge, I just need to squeeze through, I promise the place will be mostly somewhat intact by the time I'm done with it...)

Ahem.

And then there was the Psijic lady we stumbled across in Stonefalls, who was happy to see a fellow Psijic and appreciative of the backup as she investigated a weird Dunmer stronghold. She thought there was some kind of time disturbance there, which I guess is not the sort of thing you want to leave just sitting around. An eddy in the river of time, she called it?

The people there seemed to recognize us, and did not seem happy to see us. I mean okay, we're just here to help if we can, but if you feel like attacking us then don't get mad when we fight back. It took until we faced their leader for me to realize that this "Scourge" they kept going on about was supposed to be me. Did they read about my martial exploits in the newspaper or something?

Or - oh. So that's what time eddies means. Those little swirlies where the water goes back on itself and okay great we're time-travelers now. But how did those people know about things that happened in the past before we went back to the past to do the things? And would we have gone back to do the things if they hadn't tried to fight us because of the things we did which... we hadn't done yet...

Okay no I'm not doing this to my brain. It already hurts enough trying to make sense of what Saresea said after she got all multichronal and could apparently see everything in all times at once, including her own death and my "creation" and enough historical events to fill a mountain of libraries. How did she even process that much input at once? Better her mind than mine.

I'm more interested in the cryptic comments she made about me, about something I'm supposed to know, or will know, but of course she couldn't just tell me because that would be too easy. And there's an artifact that I'm supposed to... sign? What the hell is a proxy?

Bah. I suppose that's what I get for wandering around wherever the whim takes us. I say we go park ourselves in Wayrest and catch up on the old sights before we stumble into any more trouble.

Ilsabet

"Sign it, proxy."

So that doodad Saresea uncovered in Bal Sunnar, and the other doodad Keshargo stripped out of the Itinerant Staff... it was all about this contract, even then? And everyone just assumed I'd go through the process of assembling the doodads, and have my talk with the giant eyeball monster, and go ahead and sign my name away in service to yet another Daedric Prince? Even before any of that was on the table actually in front of me?

Sigh... Well I can't say I proved any of them wrong. And maybe now that I've taken action on my own behalf, I can be less annoyed about people deciding things about me and for me and treating me like some chosen messiah when I haven't done a damn thing yet.

I mean I have done plenty of things, but that doesn't seem to be what this "fate's chosen" thing is about. It wasn't "hey you helped out Azura that one time so maybe you could do me a solid too" or "hey you stuck it to Molag Bal/Nocturnal/Dagon so maybe you'd like to punch another naughty Prince in the face " or even "hey I heard you're kind of a pro at saving the world, wanna go again?" I mean Leramil did lead with the world needing saving, but it was all awfully sudden and preordained. Literally I'm walking down the street in Wayrest minding my own business and I get hit with "fate has plucked you from the flotsam of chaos for this specific moment." Who even talks like that?

Someone who's been delving into forbidden secrets for a hundred years, I guess. And I mean if Nirn's survival depends on having an ace world-saver on the job in Apocrypha, then okay that sounds like as good a next project as any. I'm just... I dunno, it feels weird being treated all special just because somebody somewhere proclaimed me a Chosen One behind my back. Like I've been shoved onto a stage with no rehearsal and no script and everybody's staring at me expecting some brilliant performance and I have no damn clue what's going on. Also I may or may not be naked.

Hopefully this won't actually play out like some anxiety dream. I already know I'll have some mystery Princes to deal with (hello Daedric Triad flashbacks) and we've gotten at least one shocking betrayal out of the way, so keeping my clothes on should be the least of my concerns.

I would really like it if I didn't have to spend all my time wondering who is and isn't trustworthy. At least I have one person I know I can rely on. But "that person you're working with is totally a traitor" didn't work particularly well when Bacaro pulled it, and it's not going to convince me to dance to your tune when you've been acting way sketchier than the person you're trying to vilify.

I did have to ponder that shrine entrance decision longer than you might think, though. I mean the obvious choice was to trust that Leramil's decryption of that encoded letter was more reliable than the guy throwing red flags. But it was hard to resist the delicious temptation to call Dralys on his bluff and see what sort of trap he had planned for me, and show him what happens to people who think they can manipulate me so easily. Ultimately, though, the sensible overruled the petty, and ambushing the ambushers actually turned out to be a pretty good time.

And so with the real traitor out of the way, the big boss made his tentacley appearance, and I guess it's been long enough since I ran into him in... was it Bangkorai and Craglorn? that he made quite the unnerving impression looming over me with that otherworldly voice of his. But we're totally on the same side, and that contract is supposed to protect both me and the mortal world from any hijinks on Mora's part, so I'm sure everything will be fine. I did actually attempt to read the contract like a responsible adult, but I didn't even make it through a whole page before my eyes started crossing. But Leramil assures me that this is a perfectly standard contract that hasn't screwed her over in any way, so I'm sure everything will be fine.

Sigh. I guess we'll see. I am good at dealing with whatever comes my way. And we wouldn't want me getting bored without a world to save. I'm less thrilled by the prospect of rubbing elbows with the Telvanni again, but maybe their peninsula will have some nice sightseeing opportunities. And so, when the time is right, we'll be off to do our new Princely ally's bidding.

Ilsabet

Ilsabet

We've arrived in Necrom. And I have already identified an immediate threat to my prospects of saving the world.

There are... so many urns. So many urns. They don't all contain honored ancestors, right? Some of them are just stashes of stuff that nobody needs anymore? No Bastian you don't need to put a leash on me, I'm just salivating over the delicious Dunmer food being cooked somewhere in the vicinity, maybe you could go pick us up some vittles for like an hour...

This is going to be rough. Nobody told me Necrom was the Urn Capital of Tamriel. I guess it makes sense with all the dead people. But how do they expect anybody's fingers to remain unsticky with all of that stuff just sitting around...

I wonder if Hermaeus Mora has started to regret ordaining such an easily sidetracked champion yet. But I mean he must have known what he was getting into, right? At least one of those eyes must have seen me in action in literally every tomb I've been to. And okay maybe it isn't exactly a heroic habit, rifling through burial coffers, but the corpses generally don't complain, right?

Well... the ones here might. And I should probably actually be more careful here, and not just because I could easily lose days wandering around checking every single container I see. Necrom is a place where the living and the dead mingle, in some cases quite literally. Ancestor worship isn't a spectator sport when you can walk up to your great-granddad's final resting place and ask his ghost for advice. So maybe it's a good thing I have Bastian to be my impulse control.

And there is, of course, work to be done. Leramil was quick on the trigger with my first assignment as soon as we made it into town, and fortunately recognized almost immediately that I'm gonna need her to keep it simple with the arcane-speak. Mora took our subsequent meeting as another opportunity to remind me of the gravity of my charge, and I'll admit that it is pretty unsettling to know that we're dealing with enemies capable of evading even the Great Eye's sight. But he seems to think that having me on his side will give him an advantage that his adversaries won't see coming. If that's the case, it mostly tells me that they haven't been paying attention. Because if I'm on the scene, it's a pretty sure bet that I'm gonna be a problem.

Presuming I actually have what it takes to pull through with this fate's chosen thing, of course. But Mora was confident that fate had made the right choice. What was it he said? Something about my innate ability to succeed, no matter the odds stacked against me? Where have I heard something like that before...

But anyway, if that's fate's criteria, then my track record does kinda speak for itself. And if these mystery Princes are so focused on keeping to the giant eyeball's blind spots, then maybe they won't notice me sneaking through the shadows behind them.

Now if they were smart, all they'd really need to do is put an urn under a box propped up by a stick with a string attached, and then we might be in trouble. Maybe that leash isn't such a bad idea...

Ilsabet

"Both light and shadow can be deadly."

I wonder if it should have occurred to me sooner who that courier's contact would be. I really didn't have much to go on, an edgy-sounding code phrase and a story about some spy among the Telvanni masters. It wasn't the kind of setup that made me think of sanctioned murder, but maybe that just shows how out of touch I am with the Telvanni social scene.

But there was Naryu, just as enthused as I was about being dragged into the quagmire of Telvanni politics. It should have been a simple writ, if only the naughty spy hadn't been using a fake name that none of the present company claimed to recognize.

We got that sorted out well enough, only a little stinkier for wear, and the masters can sort out their own differences now that the relevant treachery has been revealed. But Naryu and I both knew that there was something else we needed to resolve between us, a conversation years past due, and so we agreed to meet up at the tavern in Necrom once we'd had a chance to wash the eau de kagouti out of our hair.

I was surprised at how forthright she was, once the focus on work had been set aside. Maybe it was a relief for her to unburden the regret she's been carrying all this time, to confide in the one person who knows the full extent of what her apprentice went through after the furtive departure from Balmora. Or maybe she was just tired of holding it all in and pretending everything was fine.

She never blamed me for killing Veya. And honestly it never occurred to me to feel guilty or defensive about having done it. She knew, from Raz's (predictably embellished) account, what Veya had become. And she knew that ending Nocturnal's Earl was necessary, even something she herself should have done before the Earl ever had a chance to come into being.

I don't really regret advising Naryu to spare Veya in Balmora, even after everything that happened in Summerset. As I told Naryu, Veya made her own choices and walked her own path. But it's easy to get lost in the what-ifs and if-onlys when all you have is a disastrous past to look back on. If only Naryu had tried harder to get through to Veya. If only she'd been more emotionally supportive, more there for her. If only she hadn't pawned her off on someone else because she didn't know how to handle an unruly child that she'd never asked for. If only she'd drawn her dagger when the responsibility was in her hands.

There wasn't anything I could say to make it better or convince her not to blame herself. But I hope she saw in my eyes that she wasn't alone in feeling the way she feels. And it was a poignant reminder that I wasn't the only one who lost someone atop the Crystal Tower that day. My light and Naryu's shadow, whisked beyond our reach, leaving those chains hanging heavy on the heart until we grow accustomed to the weight and can almost convince ourselves it's not there anymore.

There's still more work to do in Ald Isra, but rescuing a cranky ghost man was the furthest thing from my mind when Bastian and I stepped out of that tavern. He wanted to know if I was okay, but whatever answer I might have had was lost in the tolling of some mournful cathedral bell. And so I just let my feet wander, and he followed close by as he always does, until we landed silently on some promontory looking out over the ash-blown sea.

All these years later, and it never really goes away...

Ilsabet

Author's Note:

Sometimes I play games that aren't ESO, and recently my picrew hole has expanded to include making (or attempting to make) AU Ilsabets in other games' character creators. Please enjoy the following screencaps, many of which will be in spoiler tags because long post is long.

My attempt at a Baldur's Gate 3 Ilsabet was so successful that I decided to actually do a run with her, which has just completed Act 2. She's a half-elf gloomstalker ranger who is romancing Gale and has an ongoing lockpicking rivalry with Astarion. Her Dream Guardian also has an uncanny resemblance to a certain hunky knight.

Final Fantasy XIV doesn't have a proper crown braid (at least one that doesn't have a bunch of other stuff going on), so sadly Midlander Hyur archer Ilsabet feels more like an approximation. She's still sitting in character creation limbo but if I ever need yet another alt she'll be ready.



I don't have any plans to play Dragon's Dogma 2, but they came out with a free character creator so I was like let's see what we can do. This game also lets you design a companion for your main character, so of course that had to be Bastian. (Or as close as I could get, I really tried very hard.)

And that's it for now, at least until I come across something else that has crown braids and is either free or something I want to play anyway.

Ilsabet

So, Peryite and Vaermina. Pestilence and nightmares. I might be able to think of a more unpleasant duo if I really tried, but I should probably just be glad it's only two Princes this time instead of three. Well... as far as we know.

I'm honestly not sure how these people managed to stay undetected by the One Who Knows for so long. I mean we're talking about cultists who leave written instructions sitting around and load up ship holds with literal plague rats and give themselves names like Blightcrown. Not exactly subtle.

But, there they were infecting an entire necropolis and enslaving an entire mining town and opening an undetectable gate into Hermaeus Mora's backyard. So whatever they're doing, it's working. Or it was until Mora's secret weapon showed up.

Now that I think about it, though, I'm not sure I actually stopped them from doing anything they set out to do. They only got a chunk of that relic that can find any secret, but that's apparently still enough to find secrets, and Master Shelreni still has a chance to decipher the ritual in that Black Book even without the cranky ghost man to do it for her. And that rogue Dremora was far enough ahead of us getting into the Tranquil Catalog that he'd already plucked what he needed from the archives before we even got there.

So... we have information, I guess, some of which might actually be useful, but uncovering our adversaries' super-secret identities doesn't feel like the coup it should have been. Not when an awful lot of things still need to come together to actually stop them from unraveling reality in pursuit of some half-remembered dream.

Our first glimpse of Apocrypha could have been something out of a dream, most likely one inspired by some sketchy alcoholic beverage. It's bleak, but also... colorful? If the color is kind of a washed-out lime green. Somehow the ink raining down from the sky didn't leave black blotches all over our clothes, but I really don't want to know what that goop was that we kept having to splash through.

And everywhere you look is books. Walkways made of books. Walls made of books. Pillars made of books. Books that float, books that flutter, books that have somehow sprouted tentacles. I don't even know if any of them could still be read, or if pulling one out would make the whole formation collapse in a heap. I guess when you have that much knowledge crammed into one realm, sensible organizational strategies go out the window pretty quickly.

Our visit was brief, but I'm sure we'll be back soon enough. And in the meantime I've got another sassy passenger to tote around in my pack, and a watchling helper who's even more jaded than I am, and a corpse-tender blatantly crushing on our wise scholar friend.

So... whatever happens, at least it's going to be an interesting time. Hopefully without any nightmares invading our sleep or globs of plague snot giving us the actual plague.

Ilsabet

I wonder what it would be like if I were smarter. I mean I'm not exactly dumb, but no one would call me a big-brain genius either. And maybe that's for the best. I get to let other people do the mental heavy lifting, and I only occasionally have to worry about anyone deciding I'm worth mind-controlling or rooting around in my noggin for intel.

And maybe having a thicker skull helps protect what gray matter I do have when it's, say, exposed to the kind of forbidden knowledge that can literally blow the mind of any mortal who beholds it. Or maybe I just succeeded in keeping my eyes squeezed sufficiently shut while the wacky inmate waved the opened forbidden knowledge box at the things whose brains we wanted to turn to mush. I certainly couldn't tell you what that Known Thing was, which must mean I don't know it, which is presumably a good thing. I don't really need any additional toes.

It's always kind of hard to tell how concerned I should be going into these not-really-mortal-friendly environments. I mean it's surprising enough that Bastian and I made it through the hold of a plague-ridden ship without being stricken like every other person who passed through there, but otherworldly realms like Apocrypha are on a whole other level of regional hazards. I still remember how untethered we felt in Fargrave, as if our minds couldn't help but drift among all those streams of infinite possibilities. And I probably should have expected something similar here, despite Leramil's reassurances that being marked as an agent of Mora would protect me in his domain.

I give Bastian a lot of credit for holding up as well as he has, even without a protective charm like Leramil gave to Gadayn. Maybe staying close to me extends some kind of warding aura to him, or maybe a trained mage's mind is more naturally resolute. Not that you'd necessarily know it looking at that Morian fellow.

We knew the Infinite Panopticon was going to be an even more intensive test of our mental mettle, a storehouse of powerful secrets existing outside the bounds of what we would understand as reality. But Leramil seemed largely unconcerned about protective measures considering that even a glimpse of the pocket dimension's shifting interior has been known to drive mortals mad.

I probably should have asked for another one of those charms for Bastian, but we made do with staying close and hoping for the best. And things went pretty well, with Leramil's guidance and Meln's ghost sight, until a portal spell went awry and we found ourselves without our guide and with only a vague idea of where we were supposed to be heading.

But Bastian and I still had each other, and I don't want to think about what might have happened if he'd landed in some far-flung corner without whatever protection an agent of Mora could grant him. Especially as the winding pathways got even windier, and the unpredictable portal-hopping got hoppier, and our final destination was the concentrated forbidden memory contained within one of the Great Eye's actual eyes.

Within, we weren't even physical manifestations of ourselves. The shiny transparent effect was kind of neat if you didn't think too hard about where the rest of you had gone.

The rogue Dremora, Torvesard, was waiting for us. To speak, not to fight. To inform us of his intentions to recover memories that had been stolen by the Great Eye. To reassure us that he wasn't out to harm us or anyone else.

He suggested that we leave, for our own good, since to continue delving into this place would likely be fatal for mere mortals. Meln reckoned we should do the opposite of what the Dremora told us to do, and I couldn't really argue. Especially once I spotted the urns lining the inexplicably rocky hallways. Mora's memories wouldn't mind a few missing lockpicks, right?

And so we wandered, not thinking too hard, making sure Bastian was never too far behind me, until I came to rest and realized I had no damn clue where we were.

"Hey Bastian, do you know which way we're going?"

"I've been following you. Does that mean you don't?"

"Um..." I squinted down yet another passageway roughly hewn into the rock. "It all kind of looks the same. And everything's been a little blurry since we got in here."

"I know, I feel it too. Ever since we entered the Panopticon. But it's definitely stronger here. Like the knowledge is too much to take in, pressing in all around us."

Okay, so we were lost inside a forbidden Moric memory that may or may not have wanted to crush or consume us, without the one person who might have had the experience and the mental fortitude to tell us what to do.

"Should we try to go back? Or..." Just trying to figure out our options was making my head hurt.

Bastian frowned, and then peered ahead down the rocky passageway. "There, you see those urns? Keep moving toward them."

The urns. Of course. The ones I hadn't rifled through yet must mark the way forward. Just keep moving toward them, to the next ones, and the next ones, and eventually we'll reach -

A vision of a confrontation between Mora and Vaermina. An echo of a memory of long ago, traces of an event that Mora wanted erased from history. The half-remembered dream that Torvesard wanted to reclaim.

And Torvesard, determined to resurrect that echo, fending us off with summoned minions just long enough to restore a shrine to his spurned Daedric mistress.

And so now, having returned to fresh air and solid ground, we must contend with both our adversaries being one step closer to their reality-shattering goals, and the possibility that they're only and perhaps understandably trying to reclaim something that was stolen from them. I'm not quite at "are we the bad guys here" levels of questioning our mission, since I can believe that if Mora found it necessary to delete something from existence then he must have had a good reason for it. But Mora had damn well better be justified in what he's doing if he's dragging me along to enforce his will.

And of course, I have no real way to evaluate the rightness of what he did and is doing, considering that knowing the secret would defeat the entire purpose of making the secret unknown. I doubt I would be the exception to the rule and it would be fine if Mora just whispered what happened into my ear and I promised not to tell anyone. So here I am, taking it on faith that a Daedric Prince is really acting in the best interest of our existence and not just trying to cover his ass because he did something rotten.

As Scruut would say, just... peachy.

But at least I didn't lose Bastian, or my sanity, or too many brain cells. I think. See this is where I’m not sure if it would have been better if I were smarter, if I could have sorted this all out on my own a lot sooner, or if it would have been even easier to lose my mind if I had more mind to lose.

We got Leramil back in the end, though, so she can get back to the mental heavy lifting. And I will continue to hope that she and her patron aren't leading me through some elaborate fate's chosen farce. It'll probably be fine, right?

Ilsabet

Author's Note:

Paragon of self-control that I am, it took approximately three weeks for me to go ahead and make FFXIV Ilsabet and spam her through the early levels that I've done about a dozen times. (I am also not an altaholic.) I discovered after making her that there actually is a crown braid hairstyle, but it's only available to Elezen, and since I didn't really want to remake her as a gangly elf it's probably a good thing that her cute side braids have grown on me.

I of course named her chocobo Darien, and of course her retainer had to be Bastian (who I definitely didn't name Bas-chan because Bastian was predictably taken).

This might be the most lies per capita of any of my forum posts.

Please enjoy these screencaps of Ilsabet's noobly journey toward finding decent glam.

And here's Darien rocking the ostentatious weaponry-of-light barding my main character made for him. That's totally Dawnbreaker in the back there. (Also Snorri the (ald)goat says hi.)

And here's Bas-chan looking especially dapper, along with bonus Fennorian because why not.